Return to Red Creek

by Nathan Hystad

  Fredrik couldn’t see anything from his bed. His hand darted up, turning his nightstand light on. Everything glowed in the soft orange radiance, and his gaze darted to the dog-eared comic beside his bed. The issue of Creatures Unleashed stared blankly at him, the werewolf on the cover suddenly making him wish he’d opted for something a little tamer before bed.

  Tap tap tap. The sound came again. He glanced at the clock to see it was three in the morning, and considered calling for his dad. But he couldn’t bring himself to. He was thirteen, too old for nonsense. It was probably nothing; a leaf stuck on the window, blowing in the wind. Repeatedly. In perfect time.

  Tap tap tap. His heart jumped.

  Fredrik flopped the covers to the side and hurried out of bed, pulling the pillow down by accident. It hit the floor softly and startled him as it landed. He took slow, methodical steps toward the window, his bare feet swiping gently against the hardwood. “It’s nothing.” Tap tap tap. “It’s nothing.” Tap tap tap.

  Fredrik had nothing to be afraid of. He’d heard all the rumors over the years, but all that stuff had happened long before he was aware. He was one when the last kids were taken, and the Smiths from the orchard across the field from them were dead now. Still, Brittany Tremblay had gone missing, and that concerned Fredrik. It concerned him deeply.

  His mom told him Brittany would find her way home. That she probably got lost in the forest, but Fredrik knew as well as anyone that the forest wasn’t that big. Walk one way, you found the highway; go the other, you got to the farmland.

  All of this crossed Fredrik’s mind as he crossed his bedroom floor and stopped in front of his window. It was dark outside. There were no streetlights on their property, and the only motion sensors were at the front, so they could see when a car was coming to the house.

  Tap tap tap.

  With his heart in his throat, he peeked under the curtain. He was ready to scream, to alert his parents of an intruder, but there was nothing there. No werewolf, no zombie waiting to eat his flesh, just the side yard.

  Fredrik looked up, spotting the moon. It was almost full, and it only appeared for a second, before the clouds blew in over it once again. During that moment, he thought he saw something in the yard. Was it an animal? Maybe it was Brittany. She could have emerged from the forest and crossed the field to their house. She needed his help.

  Fredrik had always had a crush on the girl. She seemed so sophisticated, even though the other kids called her poor and made fun of her clothes. Fredrik didn’t care. He thought she was cute. Gone were his worries of monsters that go bump in the night. Young love clouded his mind as he unlatched the window and opened it wide.

  “Brittany?” he whispered, never quite seeing what grabbed him, pulling him to the damp ground. His face smashed the dirt with a sickening crunch, and he tried to shout out, but nothing came. He couldn’t find breath, but he saw an arm reach up and shut his window from outside, before he felt himself being pulled up onto a shoulder.

  The last thing he saw was the farmhouse, and the moon peeping from the clouds, before his vision went black.

  _______________

  Paul had woken up at six and was on the street, pounding pavement with his worn-in sneakers fifteen minutes later. The sun was set, but beginning to sneak over the horizon by the time he was a couple of blocks into Central Park. He loved this routine and wasn’t sure he’d ever stop running. Terri even came with him a couple of times a week, but today, she was going to shower and make breakfast so they could get on the road to Bellton by nine.

  It was a four-hour drive on a good day, and it was a spring break Saturday in the state. Paul was already dreading the heavy traffic, but he was with his family, and Stevie was getting into audio books, so he had the boy’s newest favorite fantasy series cued up in his SUV. Terri would listen and smile as Stevie commented on it, telling them who his favorite characters were and why the bad guys needed to get stuck with swords. Paul enjoyed it too. It was fun and refreshing to hear the stuff. He wrote horror but had found himself reading less of it, especially over the last twelve years.

  More runners were out now, and he kept his breathing even as he hit the far end of the park, glancing north along the park’s edge to spot the beautiful exterior of the Metropolitan Museum, another place he and Taylor were going to visit this week. They’d been there together at least two dozen times, and he was convinced she was getting bored of it. He sure was, even though he saw something new each time.

  It was like a game of chicken with them, though, and he hoped it went on forever. Paul turned around, and by the time he was home, Stevie was up watching cartoons, and Terri was in the kitchen, the smell of a freshly-cooked omelette wafting over to him. He was always ravenous after a run, and today was no exception.

  “Stevie, go get dressed!” Paul called to his son. “And comb your hair. You look like a scarecrow in a windstorm.”

  Stevie glanced at him from the couch and laughed, trying to flatten his cowlick. “Mom said I could watch one.”

  “Well, your mom’s only the boss Mondays to Fridays, and on alternating weekends. Today is my day. Go get ready,” Paul said, rolling his eyes at Terri when the kid was running toward his bedroom.

  “He sure is your son,” Paul said, getting an oven mitt thrown at him for the comment.

  “And Taylor is your daughter,” Terri said, as if it was his fault she was staying at the school for spring break.

  “It’ll be nice to leave the city for a couple of nights. You’re always trying to get me to leave and do things, so here you go. Now’s your chance.” Paul poured a cup of coffee and took it to the bedroom, where his clothes for the day were laid out on a chair. A few minutes later, he was showered, dressed, and sitting at the kitchen island beside Stevie, who’d managed to get his hair semi-flat against his head.

  They ate in relative silence. When the dishes were cleaned up, Paul hauled their bags into the elevator to the underground parking. He was alone. His wife and son would meet him at the front of the building.

  The parkade was only half full. It appeared a lot of their building had the same thoughts as Paul and Terri this weekend. Most of the residents of the area who owned cars rarely took them out for the inconvenience of driving around Manhattan. Paul found it faster to take the subway, more often than not.

  He headed for the new Range Rover, as their old car had been traded in a few years ago. He missed his old BMW but was happy downsizing to one car. They hardly used it as it was. Taylor had her own car, and he was glad to be able to buy her some freedom like that. Paul hadn’t had anyone buying him a vehicle when he was in college.

  His first car had been a Festiva with no radio, with hand cranks for the windows, and the only air-conditioning was rolling the windows down all the way and driving faster. Still, Paul had fond memories of the hatchback. Maybe he was coddling Taylor too much. She was a great kid, always kind and grateful for everything, but she hadn’t worked a day in her life, and he worried that might hold her back when it was time to get to the real world.

  His daydreaming had taken over, and Paul found himself standing in front of the SUV, staring at it blankly. A parkade light flickered behind him, and his shadow flashed on the hood of the vehicle repeatedly. He watched it with interest as it seemed to move of its own volition. He stayed still, but the arms of the shadow lifted, like they were going to strike him.

  Paul was about to defend himself when the light came on fully again, the flickers stopping. This wasn’t the first time since the orchard fiasco had ended that he’d seen something like this, and he doubted it would be the last. He thought it might be related to his anti-psychotic medication as a child or the trauma his family had been through. Each time he let himself think it might be real, he pushed the idea away.

  His heart continued beating too fast. Paul got into the driver’s seat, turned on the lights, and pulled away from the driveway, up the ramp, and out onto the street. The sun blinded him, and he pulled a pair of sunglass
es from their resting place on the center console when he parked at the entrance to the building.

  The new doorman gave him a nod, and Paul smiled in return, not able to put a name to the face quite yet. He rolled the passenger window open as the uniformed man walked over to him.

  “Nice day for a drive, isn’t it, Mr. Alenn? Going away for the day?” the doorman asked.

  “Weekend. Seeing the daughter upstate.”

  “Need anything while you’re gone? Expecting any packages?” the man asked. He was younger than most doormen at the building.

  “Nope. We’re all good.”

  Stevie was running for the door, and he stopped at the doorman. “Hello, Robbie. Have a good day,” Paul’s son said to the man, and Paul grinned at how sociable his boy was at this age. He was everyone’s friend.

  “You too, kid. Mrs. Alenn,” Robbie said, nodding to Terri, who smiled as the doorman held the car door for her.

  Robbie walked away into the building as Terri whispered to Paul, “He’s an odd one. Have you ever seen a doorman in their early twenties before?”

  “Hah. I was just thinking the same thing,” Paul said.

  Stevie piped up from the backseat. “I like him. We talked about comic books the other day. He’s cool.”

  Paul gave Terri a glance and pulled away, heading up the narrow Upper West Side street. “Stevie, you have to watch who you trust out there. Not everyone is your friend, okay?” Paul had talked to the boy about this a few times, especially when he was younger, but it never seemed to stick.

  “I know, Dad. Geeze, I’m not stupid. Can we listen to my book now?” Stevie asked, and Paul watched him in the rearview mirror. He was a good kid. Not quite as smart or inquisitive as Taylor was at that age, but a fun, warm-hearted soul.

  “Sure, bud.” Paul pressed play and started the four-hour trek to see his daughter.

  _______________

  Taylor came to, aware someone was in the room with her. After a night spent researching monsters and an incriminating journal, her nerves were fried. She briefly wondered how she’d ever fallen asleep in the first place, before remembering the sound of plodding footsteps moving slowly toward her bed.

  Her head was buried deep under the covers, which were musty quilts, probably pulled from a trunk somewhere for her visit. The scent was overwhelming, and she tossed the blankets aside, ready to attack the invader.

  “Whoa, it’s just me,” Brent said. His hair was messy, and he didn’t look like he’d slept much either.

  Taylor let her arm fall to the bed as her boyfriend sat close. He leaned in and kissed her on the top of the head. “Tell me I dreamt all of that stuff about shadow creatures and your family,” he said.

  She shook her head then rested it on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, no, you didn’t.”

  A soft knock carried from the bedroom door, and it opened at the impact.

  “You guys up?” It was Isabelle. She was in pale blue pajamas, matching tops and bottoms: the kind that button up all the way with a collar, like you’d find on Christmas morning.

  “We’re up. What time is it?” Taylor asked. She’d flipped her phone onto its face at some point.

  “Nine thirty,” her cousin answered.

  “Shit, we slept in.” Taylor moved to get up, almost shoving Brent out of the way.

  “What’s the hurry?” Brent asked.

  “Guys, I read more of the journal last night,” she told them.

  Isabelle frowned at her. “You should’ve waited for us. We could’ve done that this morning.”

  “Yeah, what she said. No wonder you look like you didn’t get any sleep,” Brent said.

  Taylor bit her tongue, not wanting to tell him he wasn’t much better off. “Maybe, but it had to be done.”

  “And what did you find out?” Isabelle asked, and Taylor suddenly felt claustrophobic in the small room. If she closed her eyes, it felt like she was stuck under the orchard. She could almost smell the musty underground corridors.

  “Let’s go into the other room.” Taylor got up, and when they left, she grabbed the journal and her phone. She stopped at a mirror on the wall and pulled a brush from her bag, setting the other stuff down. She did look a mess. How could Brent ever be interested in her when he saw her like this?

  Brent wasn’t there. “I told him to have a quick shower.” Isabelle patted the couch. “What did you learn?”

  Taylor was conflicted, but she could always fill Brent in later. “A lot of the writing was illegible. It was written in haste, some of it smeared, other parts ripped out or faded. The basis is this. Our ancestors, the Schmidts, lived in Germany.”

  “I never even knew we were German,” Isabelle interrupted.

  “Neither did I,” Taylor said before she continued. “It was the early eighteen hundreds. They moved to a northern village, one sparsely populated at the time. It was becoming a logging town, and they needed the work. Out of desperation, the whole family went along for the ride. The parents of both Elisabeth and Hans, along with siblings, made the trek and found work there. They lived together in a cabin made with their own hands.”

  “This is all in the book?” Isabelle asked.

  “Yes. The details were rushed, but that’s the gist of it. After a few months, the logging crew uncovered something. It doesn’t say what, but they used the word nest, which is the same in both languages, as far as I can tell.” Taylor heard the shower turn off from the room beside them.

  “A nest? Like the one under the orchards?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. It’s becoming a little clearer, isn’t it? So the creature’s nest is disturbed. An ancient being, who lives underground in a remote part of Germany. Who knows how long it was there, lying dormant?” Taylor thought it might be very old.

  “What happened next?” Isabelle was far off the edge of the couch; Taylor wondered if she was going to fall off.

  “Take a guess.”

  Isabelle’s voice went even quieter. “Children went missing?”

  Taylor nodded. “Bingo. A bunch of kids go missing in the next month, and the logging crew starts to see things out there. That’s where they start calling it Schattenmann. Shadow man.”

  “Are you guys coming up to eat soon? There’s coffee!” Taylor’s aunt shouted from the top of the stairs, and despite the creepy stuff they were digging into and discussing, Taylor had to smile. She loved her aunt, and spending time, albeit a little twisted time, with Isabelle was priceless.

  “What’d I miss?” Brent asked from the bathroom door. He was wearing jeans and no shirt. His hair was damp, and Taylor couldn’t miss the darting glance her cousin gave Brent. Not that she blamed her. The men weren’t made like that in Red Creek. Brent grabbed a navy polo and pulled it on, coming to stand beside the couch.

  Isabelle took this one. “The Schmidts moved to a logging town, where they proceeded to dig up the shadow monster’s nest, apparently awakening a horror on our family.”

  Taylor was impressed with the quick explanation. “There’s more.”

  “Coffee’s getting cold!” Aunt Beth shouted from upstairs.

  “I’ll tell you on the way to Gilden Hospital,” Taylor said, running up the stairs. She was still in sweats and a rock band t-shirt from way before her time, another of her dad’s influences over her.

  “Where’s Dad?” Isabelle asked her mom as they crowded around the table, where far too much food sat waiting for them.

  Beth was stunning, her hair straight, a nice blouse and jeans on. “Dad’s working today. In his illustrious words…” She waved a hand to her daughter.

  “A road crew never sleeps. I know, I know.” Isabelle took a seat, and so did Taylor and Brent.

  They ate with Beth hovering over them, asking questions about their school, some already answered the night before. Her aunt had a nervous energy around her, as if she was waiting to talk to Taylor about something but didn’t know how to broach the subject. Taylor loved the smell of her kitchen. It had the scent yo
u could only find in an older house, one with lots of home-cooked meals and poor ventilation.

  “What are you up to today, Auntie?” Taylor asked.

  “The search party’s out again today. I thought about going, but…” Beth looked over at Brent, then Taylor.

  “He knows about it. All about it,” Taylor said, as if this explained everything.

  “Good. Good. How’s your dad, Taylor?” Beth asked out of the blue.

  Taylor poked at some scrambled eggs. “Don’t you talk to him, like, every week?”

  Her aunt smiled. “I do. I’m just feeling uneasy this morning, having you here. Don’t you remember what your grandma told your father at Greenbriar that day?”

  “What did she say?” Brent asked as he reached for the last piece of bacon.

  “She said she couldn’t protect Taylor. That was why Paul wasn’t supposed to come back to the Creek,” Beth said.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Brent blurted out.

  “We aren’t sure, but with Brittany missing, we have to be careful. Whatever you three are up to, do not let Taylor out of your sight.” Beth stared from Brent to Isabelle. “And I want you to take your uncle’s rifle with you in the trunk.”

  Taylor wasn’t a fan of guns – another thing she got from her dad – but Brent looked only too happy for the protection. “Good idea.”

  “If this thing is still here in a nest…” Taylor frowned at her cousin. “Do you think shooting it’s going to do any good? Plus, didn’t Uncle Darrel shoot his friend when he tried to hit it?”

  Brent’s mouth dropped. “I need to hear this story.”

  Aunt Beth stood up, grabbing her purse. “Just take it. Isabelle knows how to use it.”

  The girl gave a thin smile and pushed her plate aside.

  After reading the journal last night, Taylor couldn’t argue with her aunt. It was dangerous for her to be there, but it was just as dangerous for anyone in their bloodline to be near the creature. For a second, she considered telling Brent they were leaving. She could make the drive to Manhattan, spend the week with her family, and forget all about Red Creek. But something in her gut told her to stay put.