The Wicked

by Dan Dillard

  She wasn’t convinced it was going to be okay. She wasn’t even awake. She considered dialing her phone, calling Faith and telling her to come home. Where were they anyway? It was after two. No, she could handle this. Babies cried, and this one had just had a bad dream, or needed to burp. She could deal with it.

  Charlotte sat in the rocking chair and looked into the green of the night light and rocked. Charlie-Bear snuggled against her and continued to moan and cry, but decreased in volume and intensity. She started singing, anything she could think of, and even though it was still months away, Jingle Bells was the first thing that came to Charlotte’s mind. It seemed to work.

  *****

  Wicked danced to the tune as music was in its foul blood. It danced as she sang, and let the child relax for a moment, but the temptation was too great. It conjured the vision of a maligned Santa Claus and shouted a piercing ho, ho, ho inside the baby’s head. Charlie-Bear wound back up and shrieked, pounding his fists against Charlotte’s chest and face.

  “Shit!” she said.

  She stood up and bounced, trying to calm him, stepping from one foot to the other, still humming the tune to Jingle Bells. A full minute later, he was still screaming.

  “Maybe a change of scenery,” Charlotte said.

  Out the nursery door and into the hallway they went, down the stairs and into the entry next to the front door. Something was staring in through the sidelight window. It took seconds to register what it was, and Charlotte, in her still-sleepy and agitated state simply stared until her mind recognized the face of an old man. Jonas Salk-Peter Falk was peering, shading his eyes from the street lamp light so he could see in.

  “Let me in!” he shouted. “I can help!”

  Charlotte shrieked and ran to the living room. She fumbled her phone from her pocket and dialed Faith’s number.

  “Come on, Sis. Answer, answer, answer.”

  Nervously, she bounced, holding Charlie-Bear in one arm, the phone to her ear with the other. She watched the front window, hoping beyond hope that the old face in the front window wouldn’t be there, but it was. The old man was out on the lawn, looking in at her and shouting something. He bounced like she did, dancing back and forth in his little jig, the way he might if he was also trying to calm an upset baby.

  “Hello?” Faith said. She sounded calm and happy.

  Charlotte opened her mouth and explained everything without taking a breath. “You’ve got to come home. Charlie’s screaming and there’s some creepy old man outside asking me to let him in. I don’t know what to do. Where are you guys?”

  “Slow down, Sis. We stopped at a diner for coffee. What’s wrong?”

  “Just come home. You have to come home. There’s some...guy outside. Old, he’s dancing. He’s so creepy.”

  Charlotte could hear Faith explaining in the background, and then there was a shuffling sound, as if the phone was changing hands.

  “Tell me about the man,” Sam said.

  His tone was short and authoritative. It caught Charlotte by surprise.

  “He’s old. He’s dancing back and forth in the front yard.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  She thought for a second, glancing back out the window. Jonas was still there, still dancing, still talking to no one.

  “He said he wanted me to let him in. He said he could help.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t let him in. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Should I call the police?” she said.

  “No. Not yet. I think he’s harmless.”

  “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen him around,” Sam said.

  The phone call ended and Charlotte considered calling the police. She sat on the couch and kept one eye on the man outside. Charlie-Bear continued to cry, continued to squirm in her arms, but he’d stopped hitting her or himself.

  “Ten minutes, buddy. Your mommy and daddy will be here in ten minutes. Hang in there.”

  She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead without even knowing she was doing it. They sat that way for several minutes before Charlotte realized she was crying.

  She saw a tear splash on Charlie-Bear’s arm. Quickly, she wiped at her cheeks with her free hand and then smiled at him. His face still showed concern, but the screaming had ceased.

  “What’s wrong with me, Charlie-Bear? Your aunt’s a mess.”

  He looked up at her, and in his eye, lit by headlights from a car pulling in the driveway, she saw something with needle teeth smiling back.

  NINE---

  The car stopped at an angle, not the usual perfect parking job Sam prided himself on. The engine cut off and it caught Jonas’s attention. He spun around to see Sam and Faith getting out of the car. Sam was furious.

  “What are you doing here? This is my home. You can’t be here.”

  Jonas danced back and forth.

  “I can help. Can help. You need my help. Help help,” he said.

  “You’re insane,” Faith said.

  “His eyes. You saw it in the baby’s eyes, didn’t you? You you.”

  Sam couldn’t answer. He looked at Faith and she was staring back at him in shock.

  “What’s he talking about, Sam? Did he do something to our son?”

  The front door opened and Charlotte stood there, holding the baby. Her face was pale and her expression blank. Sam approached her with Faith right on his heels.

  “His eyes,” Charlotte said.

  Faith pushed past her husband and grabbed her son.

  “What about his eyes?” she said.

  Sam’s heart sank. He looked at Charlotte, then at Jonas, then at Faith.

  “Sam,” Faith said, tears starting to stream, “What about his eyes!”

  For just a split second, Jonas stopped bouncing and held still.

  “Tell her, Sam. Sam. Tell her about the Wicked,” Jonas said.

  Faith scowled at her husband and glanced at the strange man on their lawn. Charlotte sat on the concrete front steps, still lost inside her own head. Her body shook as she lit a cigarette from her emergency pack.

  “Locked inside, the Wicked is. I can get it out. Out out.”

  “You said it could come and go. That it was free,” Sam said to Faith’s horror.

  “Free. Yes. But I can take it away. I can trap it back. Keep it in me Jonas-Salk-Peter-Falk.”

  Jonas danced back and forth, conducting again as if standing in front of a philharmonic. Faith smacked Sam across the face. Sam accepted it and bowed his head.

  “What is wrong with our son?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Something is inside him. Something that gives him nightmares. Something that might hurt him.”

  “And you believe this bum?”

  “Faith, I’ve seen it,” Sam said.

  “I s-saw it, too,” Charlotte added, still staring into space. Still shaking. “Eyes…teeth. Long, sharp teeth,” she said and took a hard drag from her cigarette.

  “Wicked is real. Real real.”

  Sam stepped into the yard and grabbed Jonas firmly by the shoulders. He shook the man and gritted his teeth.

  “What can we do?”

  Jonas’s face cleared, his eyes stopped darting and his feet settled. He looked into Sam’s eyes, and for the first time, Sam saw a person was there, and not just a cartoon character.

  “Where does the child sleep?” Jonas asked.

  “Top of the stairs. That’s his window...there,” Sam said, pointing.

  “I need to be in that room. That room room.”

  “I’m not letting that man in my house,” Faith said. “Not some crazy man who thinks something is living inside my son.”

  Charlotte stood up and pulled a drag from her cigarette. She approached her sister and spoke, keeping one eye on Jonas.

  “I s-saw it, Faith. Look. In Charlie-Bear’s eye. There’s a…I don’t know…a m-monster with long teeth and bloodshot eyes. It was looking out at me. I saw it.”

&nb
sp; Faith looked at Charlie. He had finally calmed, but was clinging to her for warmth. The late summer evening was cool, forewarning the coming autumn.

  “Why isn’t it there now?” she said.

  “Oh, it’s there, there, there. Inside the boy. Used to be mine. Mine.”

  Faith glared at him. She stood behind Sam, shielding the baby from view of the old man.

  “Wicked likes youth. It likes the fear pure, pure. Not complicated by wisdom. Kids, kids, kids grow out of that fear. That fear. But, I’m like this, like this. I don’t grow. Not my mind. Wicked got away from me. Outgrew Jonas-Salk-Peter-Falk. J-Jonas Falk.”

  Sam understood what he meant. For the first time, he felt sorry for Jonas, a man plagued by a monster for what had to be sixty or more years. Now Sam only wanted to protect his only son.

  “I can help. Help. Please. I can help help.”

  Jonas started to dance again.

  “Fine,” Sam said.

  “No,” Faith protested.

  “I’ll be right there. Charlotte too. Nothing is going to happen to Charlie-Bear.”

  “I’m not going back in there,” Charlotte said.

  Sam grabbed her wrist and jerked her so she was looking at him. The ashes of her cigarette fell and landed in a red-orange spark. Sam took the butt from between her fingers and flicked it into the grass.

  “He needs you. We need you, Charlotte. It wants to turn him into…”

  “Into what?” Faith said.

  “Into a demon. Into a wicked.Wicked wicked,” Jonas said.

  “Into a demon,” Sam said. “It wants to make a demon out of our son.”

  Charlie-Bear shrieked again and wrestled in her arms like he was trying to get away. He beat his tiny fists on his head. Faith grabbed his hands.

  “Stop that, Charlie!” she shouted.

  The boy did as he was told, his bottom lip quivering, and his eyes full of tears. He looked up at his mother as if for further guidance. Faith looked down at her son and in the light from the porch, something flickered and she gasped. She hugged the boy to her chest.

  “My sweet Jesus,” she whispered.

  “You see it?” Sam asked.

  He was torn between wanting her to see it and not wanting her to see it. He was torn between helping his son and not wanting a crazy, rambling bum in his home. He was torn between believing Charlie-Bear was normal or possessed by something from another plane of existence. He was torn between sanity and insanity.

  “Damn it, Faith. I don’t know what else to do!” he said.

  She nodded with reluctance. Sam turned back to Jonas.

  “What do you need from us?”

  TEN---

  Sam went into the boy’s bedroom first. Charlie-Bear clung to his mother with white knuckles as she followed. Jonas was in the hall, waiting. Charlotte came in behind her sister. The green light was still glowing. Faith turned on the light switch for the overhead lamp.

  “No,” Jonas said. “Needs dark. Dark needs.”

  Charlotte flipped the switch back and the room was again glowing a sci-fi green.

  “Put him in his crib. His crib crib,” Jonas said from the hallway. “Then watch his eyes. Won’t take long. Take take.”

  Faith looked to Sam. He nodded.

  “Go ahead. I’m right here,” he said.

  She tried to set the child down, but Charlie-Bear hung on, tried to climb back up. He started to whine, then cry out loud. Faith kissed him on the cheek, and apologized as she peeled his interlocked hands from behind her neck.

  “I’ll be right here, baby,” she said and set him down.

  The smell was instant, a rotten odor that burned in their nostrils. Sam stiffened. Jonas bounced and spun in a circle, conducting and clapping just outside the door.

  “It’s here. Wicked is here here,” he said.

  As Faith watched her son, his eyes flickered. She gasped, and Sam put a hand on her shoulder. Charlotte started to cry, and covered her mouth with both hands. She shook her head in disbelief. Jonas danced and clapped.

  Wicked was out, skirting from shadow to shadow, a mist that none but Charlie-Bear saw, but a presence each could feel. Sam felt the hairs on his neck raise.

  Jonas stepped into the room. He continued to dance for a moment, then stopped, staring at a point that existed in the darkest shadow in the room.

  “I see you. See,” Jonas said.

  Wicked stepped into view and cocked its head. Faith screamed. Sam and Charlotte were stunned, but validated. The creature licked its eyes, moistening them, as it stared at Jonas with grim recognition.

  “Your dreams I see. We used to be,” it said.

  Its brow folded into a look of anger and it lashed out with a hand full of razor claws. Jonas danced, stepping to one side then the other, waving his hands just like the Wicked. Man and creature circled, like wrestlers in the nursery. Charlotte left the room, crying and shaking.

  Jonas danced and Wicked watched. The standoff would’ve been comical in a film, or as a drawing, but in that baby’s bedroom, it was wrong…backwards…evil.

  “Take the baby. Take take,” Jonas said.

  He nodded at the crib, a motion that snapped the monster from its trance. Faith moved to reach for her son. Wicked protested, leaping toward the crib, blocking Faith’s path. She shrieked and stepped back, trying to find a way around the thing she couldn’t identify. It countered her every move. Sam approached from the other side and Wicked snapped at him. Its teeth clicked together and sounded like metal tap shoes on a wooden floor. Jonas clicked his tongue in his cheek, as if he was calling a dog, or telling a horse to giddy up.

  “Wicked, Wicked here I am. I am am,” Jonas said.

  It looked at him, seemingly mesmerized by the dance and singsong quality of the old man’s voice. Perhaps the recognized bond was still strong.

  Sam took careful steps behind the creature, shielding the baby. He didn’t touch Charlie-Bear, not yet. Not until Jonas told him to. Crazy as he seemed, every word Jonas had said was true.

  “Dance with me,” the old man said to the monster. “Dance dance.”

  “In your dreams, Wicked be. Terrifying things you’ll see,” Wicked said.

  “That’s right, right,” Jonas said.

  Jonas danced, rhyming and repeating the creature’s words, a mirror of the monster, and Wicked danced along as if it was enjoying the game. Jonas circled one way, then the other, and when Wicked followed him around, when Charlie-Bear was at the creature’s back, he gave a quick nod to Faith. It was no more a gesture than any of his other twitches, but she caught it.

  “Get the baby,” Faith whispered to Sam.

  Sam did as he was told. He picked up Charlie-Bear and moved slowly toward the door. Charlotte was out in the hallway, still crying. Still shaking. Faith left ahead of Sam.

  “They’re coming,” Charlotte said.

  Faith looked confused.

  “Who? Charlotte, who’s coming?”

  “The police. They’re coming to take that man away.”

  “What did you tell them?” Faith said.

  “That a man broke into the house and was trying to hurt Charlie-Bear.”

  Sam was in the doorway when the creature grabbed him. It dug its claws into the meat around his collar bone. They sunk in with a sizzling sound, burning the flesh as they tore into it. He let out a shriek and fell to his knee. Wicked spun him around and pulled at the baby. Hot scratches singed the flesh of Charlie-Bear’s arms and he screamed as the creature held on. Faith screamed. Charlotte screamed.

  Wicked’s free hand moved like a street magician waving over a trick hat. Something, a ball of blackness, swirled inside its palm.

  Jonas dove for the monster’s feet and held on to both of its ankles. Wicked sneered, looking back over its shoulder at him. Sam let go of the baby, his eyes blurry, his head fuzzy as if he might pass out. The burning from the claw marks in his shoulder began to spread, and black tendrils crawled along his skin, moving up his neck and cu
rling into his face.

  “The child is mine, a vessel be, and soon another just like me,” Wicked said.

  Jonas pulled harder, tightening his grip.

  “No. No, take Jonas-Salk-Peter-Falk Falk. Take me me.”

  “No,” Wicked said.

  Its playfulness was gone, the rhyming was gone, there was nothing left but the evil it was made of. The black ball swirled faster in its hand, growing and pulsing with a sound like rushing water. The odor of death filled the room. Jonas held the creature’s feet and Faith pulled at Charlie-Bear. Charlotte crawled to Sam’s side.

  “Sam! Sam, wake up,” she said.

  Faith got her hand around Charlie-Bear’s belly and was using her foot for leverage against the monster’s ribcage. The skin of her forearm was burning as it touched Wicked. She shoved and pulled, shoved and pulled.

  “You can’t have my son!”

  Charlie-Bear shouted in agony, his belly and limbs being pulled in different directions, the scratch marks on his arm burning, black tendrils growing from them as they were on Sam.

  Jonas gained ground. With effort, the old man wrenched himself forward and bit down on Wicked’s leg. The creature cried out like a frightened cat. Its black blood dripped from Jonas’s teeth.

  In all the commotion, no one heard the policemen enter. One held his weapon on Jonas as the man opened his mouth to bite again. This bite was on Wicked’s neck. Its nasty blood was already eating away at the skin on Jonas’s face, his lips and gums melting away, making his teeth appear that much more menacing...and in the shadowy room, in the green night light glow, it must have looked like he was fighting the mother for her baby, like he had bitten the child.

  The policeman’s shot rang out and separated Jonas’s jaw on the left side, sending teeth fragments and wiggly bits of this and that flying. He held his grip on Wicked, and as the second shot opened a hole in Jonas’s forehead, Wicked’s grip on Charlie-Bear let go.

  Faith fell back in a pile, her son on top of her. Wicked burst into a cloud of dust that settled on Jonas’s legs and chest, and for a moment, the room was silent.

  Faith hugged her son, checking him for wounds. Charlie-Bear was upset, but there was also a look of relief in his once-again bright blue eyes. The scratches on his arms were fading and the black tendrils were gone.

  She reached up and turned on the light. As she stood, she saw Sam, Charlotte kneeling over him on one side, the second policeman administering CPR on the other. The black coils were no longer emanating from his wounds, but he was not moving. It was too late. Faith began to cry.