Authors: Jeff Gunhus
The world glowed under the three quarters moon. Frozen air arrived without the fanfare of wind or storm, only a continual sigh as if in satisfaction for completing its long migration from the far northern reaches of Canada, content to settle into the shallow Appalachian valleys before continuing the journey on to the wide expanse of the Atlantic. The trees, attuned to the faded morning and evening light and aware that the Change was coming, communally bowed to the cold night with lowered branches and directed more of their life saving resources away from their leaves. The night’s chill signaled the end of a season and the beginning of the next. The season of survival had begun.
The occupants at the end of Forest Glen Drive were finally asleep, warm under thick blankets and blissfully unaware of the dropping temperatures in the world outside. The house was quiet but not silent. No house is ever silent. Sharp creaks as wood adjusted to new temperature and pressure. The hum of the refrigerator and the clunky tumble of newly made ice. The click of the thermostat sparking the heater, beating back the stealthy outside air, the seeping icy intruder. A house comes alive at night with its own pace and rhythm; its own breath.
Listening to the inhale and exhale of the dark structure was the one member of the Tremont family not able to sleep. Buddy remained by the front door as he had promised his master. He was not certain what was going on, but he had sensed fear in the people he wanted to protect from harm. The floor was not as comfortable as his usual cushioned bed in the corner of the room upstairs, but the discomfort helped him stay alert. Whatever threat was out there, whatever danger, he wanted to be ready to warn his master.
The clock in the living room struck three muted tones, simultaneously marking the depth of the night and assuring that morning was close by. Buddy lifted his head at the sound. He was used to this noise and most nights it didn’t bother him. But this night was different. He didn’t understand why, but something was bothering the family, something that came from outside. So tonight the sound snapped him to full attention. He sniffed the air, testing for any unknown scent that might give away a potential threat in the dark. Nothing.
Buddy turned to the front door and peered out of the windows. Even this late at night he could see the forest in great detail. The keen eyesight of his pedigree and the bright cast of moonlight brought the images of dark trees into sharp relief. Fingers of dark shadow extended from the tree line, across the driveway toward the front porch. The gentle wind rocked the smaller limbs back and forth, turning the shadows into flexing hands, creeping closer to the house as the moon descended.
A small whine escaped from the dog’s throat. He felt the hackles rise on his neck. His nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he shifted weight from one paw to the other. He whined again, each breath ending with a low growl.
Buddy looked over his shoulder up the stairs and considered barking. He stared back out of the window. There was nothing out there. Nothing he could see anyway. But his instincts told him a different story. His instincts told him something was there. Something dangerous. Something bad. And it was heading his way.
Sleep came in pitiful increments. It plagued Jack with short bursts of dark dreams before stealing away back into the night, leaving him to stare at the ceiling above his bed and wonder what the hell was going on with his family.
Lauren twisted in the sheets next to him, fighting her own demons as she tried to get some rest. Jack reached out and placed his hand in the middle of her back, taking comfort in the gentle rise and fall of her body with each breath. Counting each inhalation, he closed his eyes and lured sleep back from its hiding place, welcoming the smooth comfort of drifting away from the world, away from his problems.
He was back in the dark hallway; a place he recognized. It wasn’t a real place, just something from his dreams. And, like always, he held no misconceptions about the false reality. He knew he was asleep.
It was dark, always dark. He thought of it as a hallway but it could have been anything. A tunnel. An open field. There were no walls that he could see, just a blurred edge of darkness, like a thousand layers of black veils, each one so shear that it would no more than tint the world grey on its own. But together, in so many layers, they created a shifting black barrier, impenetrable but with enough depth that one believed that intense concentration was all that was needed to see beyond the screen and view the truth. But that kind of focus required curiosity about what lay in the periphery and Jack lacked any such desire; the object in front of him, as always, consumed every bit of his attention.
The thing at the end of the hallway was the only light in this nighttime world. It glowed and this luminescence filled out an evolving, indecipherable shape, like a human, but not. Like an animal, but not. It’s very indistinguishable nature was what made it impossible for Jack to tear his eyes away, as if fearing the second he did, the thing would reveal its true nature and he would miss it. Without anything to provide perspective, Jack could not tell if it were massive in size and a great distance away, or a thing in such miniature that a single step would put him in danger of crashing into it, perhaps making it spin out into the darkness to be lost forever. Not knowing filled him with trepidation and, like in every dream for the last two years, he stood paralyzed with fear.
It was the same image as always but this time the object moved. Or he did. He couldn’t be sure. The thing grew brighter and larger, a soft breeze crossed his face giving him the sense of great speed.
Then the voice. Coming from everywhere. And nowhere. Coming from inside his chest. Like wind transformed into speech. Whistling. Harsh.
He’s here. He’s come for your daughter.
“Who?” Jack cried out. “Who’s here?”
You can’t beat the devil, Jack. You have to run!
Jack turned around and saw his bedroom far behind him, like a photograph hung on the opposite side of the room. He turned back toward the glowing object. “Who are you?”
RUN!
Jack bolted up in bed, his shirt clung to his torso with cold sweat. There was a noise from downstairs. He threw off the covers and swung his legs around to the side of the bed. The burst of adrenaline in his system shocked him awake before his feet touched the ground. He pushed the dream aside, grabbed the Louisville Slugger and ran to the door. Downstairs, Buddy barked and snarled like a junkyard dog clawing at a chain fence. There was the noise again. A deep, bass sound beneath the dog’s high-pitched yelp.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Buddy’s snarls broke into a new level of frenzy. Jack paused at the top of the stairs. The cold metal weight of the Louisville Slugger in his hands felt suddenly inadequate. As much as he was against guns, he cursed himself for not having a real weapon in the house.
He looked to his left down the hall toward the girls’ rooms. He shook his head and tried to think through the options. The noise was downstairs. Buddy was downstairs. The threat had to be down there, probably still outside. And there was only one way up from the lower level. So whatever Buddy saw had to come through him first to get to the girls.
Armed only with his home run swing, Jack stepped down the stairs.
Halfway down, Jack could see into the great room. Though the lower windows of the room were curtained, the windows on the second story were uncovered. Enough moonlight filtered in so that he could make out the broad outlines of the room’s furnishings.
Jack crouched on the steps and peered through the spindles of the stair rail. He mentally cataloged every dark shape, sure that one of them would move and charge toward him or rise up just as a telltale flash of light signaled a bullet was on its way. But all the shadows stayed in place. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
Except Buddy’s relentless barking and snarling, almost insane now, like an animal caught in a trap.
Jack wiped the sweat from his hands and regripped the bat. Buddy was by the front door. Whatever was going on had to be there. He didn’t like leaving the stairway unguarded. If someone was in the house, the stairway was the only way to get at his family. As long as he stayed there no one could get by. But he had to find out what was going on at the front door.
He moved off the stairs and crept through the hall leading to the entryway. Buddy raged at the front door, his barking echoing off the wall
s.
Outside. It has to be outside.
The entryway was dark but Jack could make out Buddy’s hulking shadow at the far end of the entryway. The dog was right next to the door, his tail tucked between his legs. Jack walked forward on the balls of his feet, the bat held in front of him. As he came closer to the door, the other sound he’d heard became clearer.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The front door. Someone was outside trying to break it open. It sounded like a battering ram against the thick wood door. More than a fist. Or even a foot. Whoever was on the other side had to be throwing their whole body at the door to make it shake so hard. And they didn’t give a damn about the dog on the other side.
Buddy leapt at the door, clawed at it, his paws churning the air.
Again and again, the heavy wood door banged and shook in its frame.
Jack reached out and flipped a switch. The entryway flooded with light, forcing Jack to cover his eyes until they corrected themselves. When he lowered his hand, he saw Buddy also frozen in place by the sudden swath of light. Dog and master met eye to eye. The communication was clear. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The door had stopped shaking.
Buddy snarled and leapt toward Jack. With a jolt the dog was choked back and the door behind him shook from the force.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Jack stared at the door. One end of a thick leather leash was tied to the door handle, the other end wrapped around the dog’s neck. The door had shaken because Buddy was tied to it. There wasn’t someone trying to break down the door. Someone was already in the house.
Jack turned and sprinted back through the hall. He took the stairs three at a time.
“SARAH! BECKY!”
The girl’s rooms were at the end, one next to the other. Becky’s room was first. He flung the door open.
A little voice came out of the dark, “Da-Daddy?”
Jack flipped on the light switch. The room’s bright primary color scheme jumped out at him. Clown faces painted on the walls stared at him with dead expressions. Meant as happy decorations, they were sinister now, their mouths bent into strange sarcastic smiles, eyes too narrow and intense. Jack half-expected one of them to peel itself off the wall and race him to Becky’s bed.
Becky clutched a pillow to her chest and looking up at him with wide eyes. “You O.K.?” Becky nodded. “All right. Stay right here. Stay in bed. I’m going to check on your sister.”
Jack locked the bedroom door with himself inside. The girls’ rooms were connected by a shared bathroom. He decided to go through the bathroom instead of going back into the hallway. For all he knew, the intruder could be out in the hall right now, right behind the door he just locked.
He clambered across the room, toys skittering across the floor as he kicked them out of the way. The bathroom nightlight was enough to see by. He ran through the room and threw open the door. Even before he could reach the light switch, he knew something was wrong. The room was freezing cold. Like walking into a meat locker.
He flipped the switch. Sarah’s room was a calm pink, a princess motif she picked out herself. Her bedclothes were frilly, white and pink. Under the pink blanket lay his baby girl, shivering in the cold, blue lips pressed tight against chattering teeth. Her window was wide open. Jack looked around the room. Nothing else seemed out of place. He ran to his little girl and put his warm hands against her cheeks.
“Sarah. Are you all right sweetie?” She didn’t answer. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.” He pushed back the covers and picked her up in his arms. With his one free hand, he grabbed the baseball bat. Together, they went back through the bathroom to get Becky.
The door to Becky’s room was open.
Becky was gone.
Jack lunged into the hallway. Nothing there. Still clinging on to Sarah, he rushed down the hall. “Becky! BECKY!” he shouted. “Lauren! I need your help. Where’s Becky?”
He ran into the master suite but stopped as soon as he was through the door. Lauren was asleep in their bed with Becky nestled against her. It didn’t seem possible. How could they be sleeping as if nothing was going on?
Sarah slipped from his grasp as he lowered her to the floor. Too scared to complain, she curled up against the wall, shivering.
The still figures of his wife and daughter huddled on the far side of the bed, both facing away from him.
On the side of the mattress closest to him, a large lump twitched violently under the covers. With each spasm, the shape crept closer to Lauren and Becky.
With a cry, Jack leapt across the room and tore back the sheets.
There, under the covers, was Buddy, or what was left of him.
The dog’s rear legs were mangled and useless, almost impossible to recognize as part of his body. A gashing wound was open across his side, deep enough to expose bits of bone. The blankets were drenched with blood. The dog’s head hung at a strange angle, the jaw shifted ninety degrees to the side.
Buddy turned toward his master, a single wild eye able to function. A gurgling noise came from the dog’s throat as he tried to whine for help.
Jack’s eyes moved over to Lauren and his little girl. Everything was in slow motion. A strobe-light world of sequential snapshots.
He walked around to the other side of the bed so he could see their faces. They stared back at him, wide eyed, mouths open.
Jack dropped to his knees and covered his mouth to block his screaming. The bodies were covered with black, oozing sores. Every one ringed by purple flesh. Dead. His baby. His wife. Dead.
There was movement on the other side of the bodies. Buddy was still alive.
Got to put the poor animal out of its misery.
Jack stood, nodding at the thought. His body was numb, feeling as dead as the corpses on the bed in front of him. He crossed back to the other side of the bed, back to the bleeding, whining lump that twitched on the bed. He raised the bat over his head.
Got to put the poor animal out of its misery.
The thought sounded strange to him. The voice was wrong.
The dog is suffering. You have to do it. End its suffering. Then the same for Lauren and Becky. Just in case they were in pain too. You have to end their suffering.
It wasn’t his voice, but it didn’t matter. The voice was right. He had to put the dog out of its misery. Then take care of Lauren and Becky. Bury their poor bodies. It was all clear to him. He knew what he had to do. Then, afterward, after he’d done it all, he’d get Sarah out of there. Take her far away.
Yes, take Sarah away. You know where.
Jack twisted his hands on the bat to get a better grip, flexed his arms to prepare for the downward swing.
Then a different voice roared up from deep within his mind.
“Stop, Jack! Don’t listen to him. Wake up!”
Jack rocked back at the sound. He fought to make sense of it all. No, he knew what he had to do. He took a step forward, the bat poised to strike.
“Daddy, no!”
“Jack. JACK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
He froze. The voices. It was Lauren and Becky. Not dead, but alive. It didn’t make sense. He’d
seen
their bodies. How was it possible?
The bedroom lights flashed on. Lauren sat upright in bed. Becky was beside her, pressed up against her mom for protection. Jack looked down on the bed where he had aimed the bat. Buddy was there. Rolled over on his back in submission. There was no injury. There was no blood.
Jack dropped the bat on the floor and staggered away from the bed. He collapsed on the floor and sat with his back against the wall.
The voice rose up in his mind, like a wave crashing over him, pounding at him. It was in his head, it was everywhere, shouting at him, laughing at him. Jack recognized the voice.
Nate Huckley.
The words came across as clear as if Huckley was crouched next to him, whispering in his ear.
I’ll be back for you, Jack. You can count on it.
Then the crash and roar of the wave disappeared and the voice was gone. The only sounds left were Becky crying and Lauren’s voice saying that everything was all right. Jack heard the voice like it was coming from an echo-chamber. “Daddy’s O.K. now. Daddy’s O.K.”
Jack turned to look at Sarah, still crouched against the wall on the opposite side of the room from him. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He stared and tried to force a reassuring smile. Sarah leaned forward and whispered just loud enough for him to hear, “That voice. It was the bad man again, wasn’t it?”
Jack crawled over to his little girl and wrapped his arms around her. It was her next words that sent shivers through his body.
“Is he really going to come back like he said, Daddy? Is he really?”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much. He didn’t understand what was going on. He just wanted it all to stop. As he sat there and rocked Sarah in his arms the same thought ran over and over in his mind, like an old scratched 45 record stuck on the same lyric,
“What if I hadn’t snapped out of it? What would I have done next?”
One look at Lauren and Jack knew he wasn’t the only one trying to deal with that thought.