Piercing the Darkness: A Charity Horror Anthology for the Children's Literacy Initiative

by Joe R. Lansdale

  He wouldn’t meet her stare.

  “Look at me, Daniel.”

  He did, but only for an instant.

  “How much did you drink?”

  “Nothing,” he said, only it came out nutting.

  “Look me in the eyes.”

  He did.

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “It wouldn’t come out,” he said. “I couldn’t get the blue water out.”

  “Oh Christ,” she said and squeezed him to her. God, she thought. She loved him so much, but why did being a mom have to be so hard?

  “Why did you put me in the sink?” he said, sobbing harder. She breathed in the scent of his hair, which had gotten oily. She hadn’t given him a bath in how many days? Could it be four now?

  She brushed away the thought, told herself to focus on the issue at hand. “Because you did a bad thing,” she said. “You should never, ever get in that closet.”

  She felt his little body tense.

  Sarah took a breath. “Do you know why?”

  “Because of the monsters?” The plea in his voice tore at her, but her heart was still hammering.

  “That’s right.”

  “Which monster is it?”

  She considered a moment. “The Closet Monster. He’s the worst of all.”

  His brown eyes filled with dread. He seemed to shrink from the house.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll keep the door shut so he can’t get out.”

  “But what if he does?”

  She stroked his hair.

  “He won’t get out, Daniel. And if he did, he’d go for me first.” She smiled. “I’m bigger, right?”

  They went to the store that afternoon and bought new child locks and doorknob covers.

  ««—»»

  That night Eric tried to kill her.

  He showed up just before midnight, a fifth of Jim Beam in his hand. He didn’t have money for child support, but he always had whiskey. He’d awakened her from the bar, the sound of some woman giggling into the phone like she was right there next to him.

  “Don’t call me again,” she said. And hung up.

  His Harley rumbled up the road soon after, as she knew it would.

  She met him in the yard.

  “You’ve got five seconds,” she said. “Then I call the cops.”

  He grinned at the cell phone in her hand. “You won’t call shit.”

  He brought the whiskey bottle to his lips. Sarah dialed 911.

  Before she hit Call, he smacked the phone out of her hand. It sailed through the darkness and disappeared into the immense Yew bush beside the porch.

  Her hand felt as if it had been scalded. She stared at him in shock.

  Eric smirked, proud of himself.

  Without thinking, Sarah slapped him hard across the bridge of the nose. He staggered back, the whiskey bottle shattering on the sidewalk. They both stared at it in stunned silence. He fingered the cut on his nose and inspected the blood on his fingertips. He glowered at her, teeth bared.

  With a cry she stumbled toward the porch, but he reached the front door first. She spun, meaning to evade him, but he grasped her around the waist and heaved her off the porch. Though the grass was soft where she landed, she didn’t land well. When she got up and sprinted for the backdoor, her right ankle wouldn’t work. Limping, she heard Eric leap off the porch and hustle after her. She didn’t get far before he hauled her down from behind. She writhed his his grip, elbowed him in the throat, but he flipped her onto her back and belted her across the face. A billion white stars filled her vision. He grasped a handful of her long hair and dragged her toward the forest bordering the yard. Sarah howled, the roots of her hair ripping like yanked weeds. She did her best to gain traction, to move with Eric so he wouldn’t tear her scalp off, but his steps were so rapid she could only hold onto his hand and blunder along.

  Sarah threw a terrified glance at the approaching woods.

  Never had she felt so isolated, so alone. She loved the privacy of living on the outside of town, and until now, she’d believed the seclusion would somehow protect them from harm.

  But their nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. If she screamed for help it would only wake her son. Then he’d be in as much danger as she was.

  The woods were upon them. Three feet away was the drop-off that led to a nasty deadfall of branches, the place where Sarah discarded her yard waste.

  Desperately, Sarah sank her nails into Eric’s hand. He seized her by the throat, lifted her in the air. She battered his arms, but it had no effect. He pivoted and hurled her toward the deadfall. She pinwheeled her arms as she fell backward through space. Sarah opened her mouth to scream, but she hit the snarl of branches and the air was driven out of her. Pain seared her lower back. Something had savaged the nape of her neck.

  The rest of her body was numb.

  After a time, Sarah opened her eyes. The sky above her was a black, moonless pool. No sound broke the stillness of the woods. She strained to sit up, but her legs were higher than her shoulders, and she hadn’t the strength to move. She expected to hear Eric gloating or perhaps even climbing down the decline to finish her off, but if he was still there he was keeping it a secret.

  After several moments had passed, Sarah rolled over and saw that safe ground was only a few feet behind her. Carefully, she crawled over the jagged branches and lowered to the earth. She kept expecting to see Eric’s leering face appear over the rim of the drop-off, but each time she looked up she saw only the inky sky. As she clawed her way upward she became aware of an icy pounding in her right thigh, a dull throb in her chest. She made it to the edge of the yard and collapsed on her back. Eric was nowhere in sight.

  She was safe.

  Sarah gasped and sat upright.

  Daniel.

  Despite the pain in her ankle, Sarah reached the house in seconds. She scrambled down the hall and sucked in breath when she beheld Daniel’s door open. She burst through the door and saw him sitting up in bed. She wrapped him up and asked him what was wrong.

  “I saw him,” Daniel said.

  She squeezed her son, thankful he couldn’t see her face.

  “Saw who, Honey?”

  “The Throwing Monster,” Daniel wailed. “He smelled bad, Mommy. He breathed on me. He laughed at me.”

  She couldn’t speak.

  “He was in my room, Mommy! You were right, he’s gonna get me!”

  She rocked her son and mentally vowed to call the police.

  ««—»»

  She called Tom instead.

  It was late, but Tom was a light sleeper. As it rang, she gripped the phone tighter and willed her hand to cease trembling. She sat alone in the kitchen, in the dark. Please Tom, she urged. Please pick up.

  He answered, his voice open and friendly as always.

  “Hey, Tom. It’s Sarah.”

  A pregnant silence. She could almost feel the rage baking out of the phone.

  “It’s one in the morning,” he said.

  “I know. Sorry for waking you up.”

  Another lengthy silence, Tom waiting for her to state her business.

  “Is your mom doing alright?” she asked and immediately regretted it. The woman had been closer to Sarah than her own mother before the bombshell dropped. She hadn’t seen Tom’s mother since.

  “She misses Daniel,” he said.

  She swallowed. Jesus, her wounds had begun to ache. “How are things at the plant?”

  “What can I do for you, Sarah?” he asked, and though she knew she deserved his iciness, his tone still made her wince.

  “I don’t know,” she said. She bit her lip. “I really don’t think there’s much you can do to help.”

  Tom’s voice went tight. “Nothing’s wrong with Daniel is it?”

  His concern for her son was unbearable. He’d been the perfect father before he discovered he wasn’t a father. At least not by blood. Sarah closed her eyes. Why had she been so awful to him?


  “He’s okay,” she said, her voice suddenly thick. “He misses you though.”

  No response.

  “I miss you, too,” she added.

  He was quiet a long time before saying, “I think about Daniel a lot. I love that kid.”

  She could have killed herself at the way Tom’s voice broke.

  “Daniel really misses you,” she said. “Maybe you can take him out for ice cream soon.”

  “Maybe,” he said. A shuddering sigh. “I really have to get some sleep. I’m due at the plant by six.”

  “Please don’t go.”

  “Sarah—”

  She shut her eyes. “It’s Eric. He was here last night.”

  Tom’s voice hardened. “Did he hurt Daniel?”

  She considered lying. It would get him here in a heartbeat.

  Sarah exhaled. “No,” she said. “He didn’t hurt Daniel.”

  Tom was quiet a moment. Then he said, “I’ve got to go.”

  He hung up.

  Sarah set the phone on the table and pushed to her feet. Her robe hung open, and though the cool night air chilled her naked body, she didn’t have the strength to cover up.

  She paused between the basement and the pantry.

  Both doors were open.

  Sarah squinted into the gloom and saw that, yes, both white doorknob covers were still in place, the ones that were supposed to be childproof.

  Had Daniel figured out a way to open the doors anyway?

  Angry at the way her hands shook, she reached out and shut first the closet door, then the basement door. There. She probably forgot to close them earlier, though she hadn’t been in the basement for days. Lord, but she hated going down there. Yeah, she was behind on the laundry, but wearing dirty clothes was better than spending five minutes in that tomb with only the one window, too small to climb through and scarcely big enough to let in any light. Yes, being in the basement was very much like being in a tomb. The stench was getting worse, too. Even with the door closed the scent of rot was inescapable. She was sure now there was something dead down there.

  Sarah cinched her robe against the chill. She’d ask Daniel about the doors when he awoke.

  ««—»»

  Her son said very little throughout the day. He didn’t cause her any problems, but he didn’t smile or laugh the way he normally did either. When she asked him what was wrong, he said nutting, but deep down she knew what he was thinking about. A dark figure standing in the doorway of his room. Maybe even looming over his bed.

  Had Eric touched her son? Threatened him?

  Sarah stood at the kitchen sink and turned on the water just to hear something other than silence. Jesus, what a difference being single made. When she and Tom moved out here, when Daniel was just an infant, Sarah only saw the positives. More solitude, no barking dogs left out all night by irresponsible neighbors. The beauty. Some of her best memories were of evening walks with Tom and Daniel down Country Road 450, the asphalt under the stroller cracking a little but smooth enough. They used to walk after dinner, when Daniel was the crankiest, and the country air, redolent with lilacs, pine needles, and the faintest tinge of cow manure from a farm miles away, never failed to mollify her son’s cries.

  But now she was alone. Well, nearly alone. When she reflected on it, she realized that in many ways being out here with a small child was worse than being all by herself. Not only was there fear for her own safety, there was Daniel to think about.

  Sarah shut off the water, leaned over the sink. No twenty-five year-old should have so much responsibility. If only Tom were still here. If only she hadn’t given in to Eric, mortgaged a good life and security for a few fleeting moments of passion.

  Who was she kidding?

  Eric was Daniel’s father. He was as inextricably linked with her and Daniel as Tom was. In many ways, moreso. And last night he had almost killed her.

  And she stood here and did nothing.

  Take control, she told herself. Right now.

  She was preparing to call the sheriff’s office when Daniel screamed.

  For a moment she was paralyzed with confusion. It was nearing sunset and Daniel never left the house after supper, but the scream had come from outside. She’d been sure Daniel was playing quietly in the living room, but apparently he’d gone out the front door and made his way around to the back yard.

  Mother of the Year, she thought. Christ. It’s a wonder the kid’s still alive.

  Sarah burst through the backdoor and scanned the yard for her son.

  Movement near the woods caught her eye. Peering through the gloom she could just make out a red shirt, a pair of khaki shorts. She approached and saw him standing close to the drop-off. He was biting a fingernail. Behind him the cicadas were droning out their idiots’ chorus.

  She did her best to keep her tone level. “What are you doing out here?”

  When he didn’t answer, she said, “You know you’re not allowed out after supper.”

  “I saw him.”

  A whisper of fear on the nape of her neck.

  “Saw who?”

  “The Throwing Monster,” he said. “The one from my room.”

  “Daniel…”

  “I saw him,” he said. “He was looking through the window.”

  The buzzing of the cicadas seemed to grow louder.

  Sarah’s heart began to thud. “What window?”

  “The window over the TV,” Daniel said.

  “Honey, I’ve got to tell you something about the monsters.”

  She peered into Daniel’s eyes, ready to tell him everything, to confess how terrible she’d been, how she wasn’t the mother he deserved, but that she really did love him. More than anything—

  Sarah paused, a question burning through her guilt. “When did you see him, Daniel? When did you see the Throwing Monster?”

  “Just now,” he said. “That’s why I came out here.”

  She lifted him and hugged him tight. Carrying him away from the woods, she said, “Don’t say a word, honey. We’re going inside.”

  They hurried toward the house, and though she could sense the question in Daniel’s tense body, he didn’t try to squirm out of her arms. She remained watchful as they climbed the back porch steps, searching the left corner of the house, the tall evergreen bushes, for movement. If Eric was still around, he’d be lurking there. Clutching Daniel tight, she drew open the screen door with her free hand.

  Movement against her ankles made her cry out and nearly topple off the back porch with Daniel in her arms.

  Just the cat.

  H.P. had burst through the opening door as if attempting to outrun some carnivorous beast. The thought caused the lump of dread in her belly to expand. Heart hammering, Sarah stepped through the doorway, and eased the door shut behind them. Its pneumatic wheeze and metallic click made her wince, and knowing Eric might have heard the commotion back here too, she swung closed the heavy wooden backdoor, twisted the lock. Still holding her son despite the growing numbness in her shoulder, she snatched the cell phone from the table and crossed to the front door. She locked it and carried Daniel down the hall to his room.

  She set him on the floor, and got on her knees before him. “I need you to hide, Daniel.”

  “From the monster?”

  “He’s just a man, honey, but he’s not a good man like Tom.” She cupped his chin. “Mommy needs you to hide under the bed.”

  “Mommy, I—”

  “Right now.”

  “Are you hiding with me?”

  The plea in his voice made her eyes well up. “I can’t, baby. I have to call the police.”

  “Mommy—”

  “Now, honey,” she said and led him over to the bed. “Lay down on your back.”

  “But the monster—”

  “There’s no monster, Daniel. I promise you.”

  She got him under the bed and stood erect. Straining to hear Eric’s footfalls, his breathing, she crept out of Daniel’s room and made her way do
wn the hall. She dialed 911 and glanced at the front door. Still locked. Waiting for someone to pick up, she stared at the window above the television, the one Eric must have been peeping through when he scared the hell out of Daniel. Poor kid. Of all the fathers in the world he could have had—

  “What’s your emergency?” an older woman’s voice asked.

  Sarah jumped. Then, a hand on her chest, she willed herself to remain calm, to choose her words carefully. “Someone is trying to break into my house. He’s trying to kill us.”

  The woman asked questions and Sarah gave answers. She told the woman the name, age, and description of the perpetrator, the urgency of the situation. The woman told her someone would be right out, and to lock her and her son in a safe place. Sarah said she would.

  She hung up, acid boiling in the pit of her throat. She turned, meaning to find some weapon, something to protect herself, and discovered that the pantry and basement doors were ajar. Though panic threatened to overtake her, Sarah kept her head, marched over to the doors. So Daniel had figured out how to beat the child locks. So what? She pushed shut the closet door and froze, breath clotting in her throat.

  The kitchen window was open. Its ivory curtain fluttered in the early evening breeze.

  Eric was already inside.

  Sarah opened the pantry door and selected the largest knife she owned. A chopping knife, thick and sharp. At the cold feel of its handle, a wave of lightheadedness rolled through her. Breathe, she told herself. Breathe. Protect Daniel. You can make up for an awful lot of mistakes if you can do that.

  She stood in the shadow of the closet door and considered.

  Eric must have come in while she and Daniel were in the bedroom. He couldn’t have snuck past her as she called 911.

  But he still might be in the kitchen. Holding the knife before her with both hands, she moved along the half-wall and readied herself for an attack. If Eric was there, on the other side of the counter, he’d leap out at her with all his fury. She had to be ready to meet him.

  Sarah stepped around the half-wall.

  Nothing.

  Which meant Eric could only be in two places. She drew in a shallow breath, faintly hopeful that the first possibility was true, that Eric had, upon hearing her call to 911, escaped the way he had come, had slipped out through the kitchen window. She wanted to believe the danger had passed.