9 Tales Told in the Dark 10

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  With a huff his hand was removed from the brass knob and swung swiftly down the hallway at the side of his rushing body, but when he got to his son's door, he slowed, changing his demeanor in the fullest.

  "Hey buddy," he whispered with strong compassion and slowly entered the room. Ever since Johnny had started losing his sight a year ago every new sound had to be introduce with caution.

  "Daddy," his son cried.

  "What is it, another nightmare?" He said kneeling at the edge of the bed, putting him and his son face to face.

  "They're not nightmares." Johnny had his hands over his ears, his father gently pulled them away. "And they won't stop," Johnny quickly brought them back up.

  "Hey, hey," Tad pulled them down again and held his son's head against his chest, covering the exposed ear with his hand. "Listen to my voice." His son's breathing began to regulate as he continued humming low soft tones, all the while wondering how long he should medicate these fears before forcing his son to cope with the fact that, even though it was scary, he was blind.

  Johnny let out a shaking sigh and his father pulled him away, holding his small face in his hands. He kissed his forehead then watched his son's wandering grey blue eyes search for anything and everything. It crushed him.

  "There's so many now."

  "I can't hear them, John," he said compassionately.

  "They go away when you come in." His son was pleading for belief.

  "Well then you're welcome," Tad smiled, then realized it was in vein and it fell from his face with slow agony. "I have an idea." Tad exited the room and his son listened to his feet trail away. The steps stopped and he sat up quickly, the first of the voices returning to him, the strongest one, the loudest. Then some of the others joined the chorus, first whispering Johnny's name, then telling him things he doesn't want to know and can't fully understand. He could feel himself about to scream when his father's footsteps returned thumping quietly at first then louder as he got to the room. By the time he reentered, they were gone.

  Tad stopped and looked at his son attempt to see in his infinite darkness. He was terrified all over again, sweating, truly believing that when his father left, they came back.

  "Here," Tad said and moved to the corner of his son's bedroom and found an outlet under the window. Johnny's useless eyes found Tad's approximate location and he waited, listened to his father click a button, and smiled faintly as a swell of white noise entered the room.

  "A fan?" Johnny asked.

  "That's right. Now you won't be able to hear all that, only the fan." His son's smile widened and he laid back down, eyes open to the ceiling. Tad walked over and pulled the covers back up under his son's chin, giving his damp forehead another kiss. "I have to go to work now buddy, but just think of this fan as me, keeping all the bad stuff away." Johnny closed his eyes and Tad thought that just maybe, he'd achieved a small victory tonight. "I love you, I'll be back soon." Tad brushed his son's hair with his fingers for a moment then stood and walked to the door, when he looked back, Johnny was asleep.

  "Problem solved?" Jeanette said as her husband walked proudly towards her. He gave her a hard kiss then went to the door.

  "I love you," he said as his smile gave her the answer.

  "Love you too."

  Tad looked at the digital clock as he started his car.

  Shit. Five minutes to drive the six miles to work.

  He pulled out of his driveway, not caring that the back end scraped savagely against the street, and squealed out towards the police station.

  A frustration surfaced towards his son suddenly.

  They go away when you come in.

  How long would it take for him to outgrow this?

  But then it began to ease as he saw his son's blind eyes wildly trying to find a semblance of sight.

  Johnny had begun going blind three years ago at four and lost his sight completely just a year ago, right after his sixth birthday.

  Tad was drowning. Ever since Johnny went blind that's what it's felt like. Dealing with being a rookie cop was enough, the paperwork, the subtle but persistent hazing, and the lack of respect from everyone else. On top of all that there was this new found bank balance that had accrued due to the resignation of medical attempts to keep Johnny's sight. This should have given him comfort, but instead was perverted by its reason for being there, making each meal taste bitter and every night out a luxury that he didn't deserve. A stable financial state traded for his son's eyes.

  There's so many now.

  The truth of the matter is that it's getting worse. First the curiosity of a small child asking who that man's voice is, then saying that his dad can't hear it because he never speaks when dad is around. At the beginning, though Tad is ashamed to admit it, he came this close to asking Jeanette if she was having an affair. But, lucky for the family unit and Tad's paranoia, Johnny began complaining about the man's voice when Tad was home.

  Then it became 'people', which, was odd but was easily attributed to an imaginary friend or just an overactive imagination. But Johnny was so sure, and more importantly they scared him. An imaginary friend is normally conjured as just that, a friend, but imaginary bullies are a bit more rare.

  Now it seemed that every night Johnny was having trouble getting to sleep, acting as if he was trying to catch z's in an airport.

  A few times Tad had attempted to inquire about the topics of conversation but every time Johnny would just call them 'ugly words' and if he tried to pry further Johnny would give in to the fear and go into hysterics, marking the end of that discussion. Jeanette had tried on her own as well but to even less avail.

  His thoughts of misfortune were suddenly broken by the scene unfolding at the entrance to the police station.

  "What the hell?" Tad said under his breath, peering ahead. The clock told him he was four minutes late. "Great," he told the windshield. A woman, of give or take fifty, was ranting and raving about something, while what Tad assumed was her husband stood absently by, donating small words to try and calm her down. Tad put the car in park and stepped out.

  "But there were so many!" She screamed. "You have to go to our house!" He looked closer at them. The woman was not out of the ordinary, but the man wore black sunglasses even though the sun had fallen while wielding a walking stick. And as the man used it to tap and feel his way into the station, Tad now found him quite ordinary as well.

  At the end of the line of people going into the station was the Chief of Police. He held the glass door open and just before he entered, the sound of Tad's car door shutting caught his attention. The Chief froze for a second and then took a harsh and visible sigh. To Tad he was a bull with smoke billowing out of each nostril. Tad swallowed hard as his boss began walking toward him, then did the same.

  "You're second late arrival this week," the Chief said once they met.

  "Sorry Chief. What's all the commotion about?" He figured spitting excuses at an angry bull wasn't the best strategy. The large uniformed man sighed with pocketed hands and looked off at a distance to Tad's left.

  "This lady claims that men, a whole group of 'em, were in her house."

  "Broke in?"

  "Not according to her," he looked back at Tad. "Says she left the room to get her husband something to drink and when she came back they were all in there with him. But when she called she claimed they'd already left." The Chief began walking back towards the station, Tad followed. "We've got to talk to her." The men passed the desk where the blind husband now sat and turned toward the hallway leading to the interrogation rooms. The Chief abruptly stopped and turned around, halting Tad with a strong palm to his chest. "Not you," he said as if Tad should've known better. "You're babysitting tonight, rookie." He cocked his chin over at the man waiting patiently with his sunglasses on. "Try not to fuck anything up." Tad's face flushed warmly as The Chief turned and walked back the way he was going before he began ripping into his subordinate. Tad could hear the woman pleading with them through drywall and
while the Chief opened the door to the interrogation room her cries came pouring out.

  "Please. They’ve been harassing us for-" and then the door closed and she was once again muffled beyond articulation.

  As Tad turned around to look at the man he could just make out the tones of relaxation his fellow officers used when attempting to relax a person in hysterics. Tad began walking toward the man and as his feet fell it caught the man's ear and he looked seemingly right at him.

  "Hello sir, I'm Officer Beaumont," Tad said pulling out the chair that was tucked into the desk and sat in it.

  "I'm Samuel Ulsaker," the man said and extended his hand across the desk. Tad shook it and thought about how much trust this simple act contained for a blind man.

  "Would you mind telling me what happened tonight Mr. Ulsaker?"

  "Well sure," the man said in a quietly bright tone. He was give or take 70 and his wrinkled hands began wringing the grip of his walking stick. "My wife went to get me a glass of water an' when she came back she screamed and dropped it." He moved his head as if he wasn't sure where to direct his face. "Then she picked up the phone and called you guys." He finished his statement with a small polite smile that showed no teeth. Tad waited for more and then said,

  "Aaand said there were men in the house?"

  "Yes." They sat silently. Tad's pen hovered over a legal pad, waiting to take notes.

  "And you didn't hear anything?" The man considered this.

  "Nothing out of the ordinary."

  "How did they get in?" Tad was fiercely wondering why this guy was being so ambiguous. Then Sam reached up and took of his sunglasses, exposing eyes with bright blue centers. Tad saw it as a look into his son's future.

  "Been blind for nearly sixty years.’Fraid I'll be no help to you." Sam said in his calm, nearly optimistic voice and hid his eyes once again behind the sunglasses.

  "There's nothing more you can tell me?"

  "Son there's really not all too much to tell," another polite smile, this time accompanied by a sigh. Tad looked up at the wall and shook his head in the freedom that this man wouldn't see, then said,

  "You're wife said they've been harassing you for a while?"

  "Yea, that's what she keeps telling me too."

  "And you haven't," he paused, searching for the word, "experienced them?"

  "I'm sorry she called you guys in a huff like that," he said adjusting in his seat. "If you could just let me take her home, I'm sure she'll be fine." Someone opened the interrogation room door and Tad could hear her crying, begging them to go to her house. Officer Chadwick emerged from the hallway and walked toward the desk where Tad and Mr. Ulsaker sat, then passed it.

  "I'm going to check out the residence," he said and pushed his way out the door.

  "I don't think you're wife wants to go home," Tad began again. "Why don't you just tell me-"

  "He's not going to find anybody there."

  "Could find some evidence." Tad refuted. Outside, through the glass front wall, he watched someone walk along the sidewalk in darkness.

  "From the intruders," Sam said smiling bigger this time, as if it was a joke. The woman's horrible fear was eerily paralleled by her husband's odd content.

  "Mr. Ulsaker I'm not sure why this is so amusing to you but-"

  "She's my third you know," Sam tapped his wedding ring with a pointer finger bent by arthritis. "They always get to just about this point and then find a reason to leave." Another person walked past the windows, a woman this time, an odd amount of people for this time at night.

  "I'm sorry to hear that." Tad waited and watched across the desk as Sam thought to himself. Then another person opened the door to the interrogation room and Sam's wife said exhaustedly,

  "No, I told you they didn't say anything-" then the door shut again and Officer Ranahan came out and poured a cup of coffee. The wet flow was the only sound occupying the office.

  "Keep up the good work, Rookie," he said and walked back content with his comment and coffee.

  "I always explain to them to just leave it be, don't mess with it and things will be okay. They never hurt us of course. If they did I guess I'd get it but I-"

  "Who, sir?"

  Sam sighed, a long inhale, exhale, then said,

  "You probably don't remember Officer Barlow? Worked here about 20 years back? I told him this exact same story then when Judy, my last wife, called you guys. We became the local kooks for a few weeks then it went away, and so did she." Tad waited with his pen scribbling randomly on the pad of paper.

  "I lost my sight at five," Johnny's face flashed in Tad's mind, "and that's pretty much when it began. My parents told me it was my imagination and I believed them for the most part."

  "What was?" Tad's pen hovered.

  "The voices." Johnny's face flashed more brilliantly this time and Tad's throat dried up. "You see after spending enough time around me, people- and for this I have to admit I'm slightly jealous- they can see them." Tad swallowed with a click. His hand didn't know what to do with the pen and he looked nervously down at it. When he looked back up a man was standing outside looking in, turning and walking away after making eye contact with Tad.

  "Who- are they?"

  "I don't know," Sam replied, "they talk to me as if I've know them their entire lives, did even when I was a kid. They're always in the middle of conversations, too much back story left out to know what they're talking about. But it's normally said in anger. Sometimes terrible things."

  Ugly words

  He didn't know what to say, meanwhile his hand had given up and lay limp on the pad.

  "I think they come to me because I'm blind which, has never made sense, but that's the only reason I can imagine. I've met other blind folk who can hear them too, though by the time we talk about it it's just a memory. They, at some point in their life, learned how to block them out," he smiled despite himself, "I was never so lucky and they end up finding my story just as crazy as everyone else." His head moved slightly and without direction again.

  "What do they say?" Tad was speaking softly, now fighting the belief that they weren't the only ones listening.

  "Never anything substantial, and always the same things. Like I said it's as if they think I know them."

  "I'm sorry this just isn't making a lot of sense," Tad said, but in a secret way, it was. The phone at dispatch rang twice, then stopped.

  "Doesn't to me either. They're just here and that's all I really know." His head cocked as if he was asked a question. "My father was the only one who could make them go away." Sam uttered a small laugh. "But that was a long, long time ago." Tad sat there breathing through his mouth to be quiet. "In fact, every person who tried to oppose them always made it worse... in some cases much worse. Like I said you have to just let it be."

  The door opened to the interrogation room and gentle sobs mixed with heavy quick footsteps came from the same direction.

  "And now Sue will leave me too..."

  "Beaumont," The Chief called.

  "..because she couldn't just leave it be."

  Tad looked back at him and saw Ranahan walking towards him with a look on his face of bad news.

  "Go with Ranahan to your house, I'll watch him," The Chief said gesturing again to Mr. Ulsaker via his chin. The aggression had cleared from his face and he held the same look as Ranahan.

  "Why?" Tad responded, standing up. He was still shocked from the conversation.

  "There's been a fire."

  They arrived to find the house still smoking, but no longer burning. Tad's heart leapt to his throat and then fell into his stomach when he saw that one corner of the house was blackened from a flame that broke the window and opened a section of roof, right at Johnny's room. He could see the fan standing in the charred opening, black and slightly melted.

  Tad opened the door and began getting out before Ranahan had stopped the car. He ran to the curb where his wife and son were sitting bundled in a blanket. Soot covered their faces in smears, h
is son's streaked with tears. Tad put his hands on their shoulders and kissed his wife's forehead then looked at his son, seeing him with more recognition than ever.

  "What happened?" He said to the fireman tending to them.

  "A fire broke out in your son's room, officer."

  "I had just left!" He looked back at his family, stroked his son's hair, who in return jumped out of the blanket and into his arms.

  "A fan started it, must've had a bad cord."

  Johnny cried in his dad's arms and in his son's burnt window, next to the melted fan, stood a man.

  THE END

  TRANSPLANT HORROR TO BEYOND SPACE! by Tim McDaniel

  “Human, are you there?” The voice rasped out from the darkness under the stairs. The aliens preferred the dark, and they were given what they preferred. Most of the lights in the room had been turned off, and the few that remained threw ominous shadows onto the tiled floor. Originally a light, mint green, the floor was now scuffed in some places, cracked in others.

  Dr. Biklian swallowed. “Yes, I’m here.” His voice sounded too loud in the empty morgue. Well, empty of life, at least, except for himself and the thing under the stairs. He tried to swallow. When still a child he had seen a documentary from the ‘50s about the “Blob” – that thing that had swallowed up every living thing in its path. Thank God a way had been found to freeze it. Unfortunately, the aliens that were here now, another threat from the stars, had no such weakness.

  “It is coming in two hours. What we desire.” While Dr. Biklian’s voice had echoed off the steel walls, the creature’s voice seemed to steal furtively out from its hidden source and then drop quietly into the floor.

  “Yes, yes. Everything will be ready.”

  “Do not thwart our desires.” An eye glinted out of the darkness, and Dr. Biklian could see a thin tentacle wrapped around a step. Holding onto another step was a meaty hand with three clawed fingers and two blunt thumbs. Two of the fingers were a light green and scaled like a bird’s foot, while the other digits were a muddy red, bristling with stiff hairs.