Darker Than Night

by Goingback, Owl

  "Jeez, you're enough to give a guy nightmares." He turned the statue to see it better in the dim light. "Yeah. Pretty scary, all right. Let's say we give you a new home upstairs."

  He dusted off the statue and walked back across the basement. He hadn't found a leak, which meant the stains in the floor above were probably the result of defective tiles. He would give the contractors a call. They wouldn't be happy about coming out to repair the floor, but that was tough shit. He had paid for a new kitchen floor, without defects, and that's exactly what he was going to have.

  Transferring the bear kachina to his left hand, Mike grabbed the handrail and started up the steps. Had he turned around just then and looked behind him, he would have seen a small shadow gliding along the bottom of the wall nearest the stairs. Not the shadow of a possum, skunk, or of any living creature. Just a shadow and nothing more.

  10

  Mike carried the bear kachina into the kitchen and set it on the table. He wanted to call the contractors about the stains on the floor, but knew he would not be able to get hold of anyone on Saturday. Instead he went into the library and began sorting through all the old books on the shelves.

  The volumes on folklore, magic, and the paranormal his grandmother had collected were a welcome addition to his collection of reference books. Unfortunately he now had so many books only a fraction of them would fit on the shelves. Keeping the most desirable volumes on the shelves, he packed away the rest of the books into boxes until he could build more bookcases.

  As he sorted and packed, he came across a rather nice book on kachina dolls. Curious, he opened the book and flipped through the pages, delighted at the numerous full-color photos the book contained. He paused when he found a picture of a bear kachina similar to the statue he had just retrieved from the basement. Reading what was written under the photo, he leaned that the Hopi believed bears were the advisors, doctors, and assistants of their people. Through their assistance the Hopi had overcome monsters and witches, and cured strange diseases. It was believed the greatest doctor of the animals was the badger, but the bear also shared in this ability, knowing about the curing property of all the roots and how to administer them. The bear was also a warrior and knew the ways of danger, and could aid men in becoming more bearlike.

  According to the book, all animals could remove their skin at will and hang it up like an article of clothing. With their skin removed, they appeared exactly as men, sitting around in their kivas, smoking and discussing serious matters. If they needed to become animals again, it was just a simple matter of slipping back into their skins.

  "I'll be damned," Mike said, smiling. "You learn something new every day." Fascinated by the bit of Hopi tribal lore he had just read, and wanting to learn more about his grandmother's collection of kachina dolls, he placed the book back on the shelf, in a spot where he would be able to find it again easily. He wanted to read more, but resisted the temptation, knowing that if he started seriously reading the book he would never finish the cleaning.

  Finished with sorting the books, he grabbed a chair from the kitchen and climbed up to dust off the collection of kachina dolls adorning the solitary shelf that ran along the walls near the ceiling. Oddly enough, in addition to the dust and cobwebs covering the statues had been sprinkled with tiny reddish wood shavings and sawdust. Curious as to what kind of wood the shavings were, he lifted a pinch from one of the statues and sniffed it. The odor was very faint, but he could still detect the sweet scent of cedar.

  He wondered why his grandmother had sprinkled cedar over the kachina statues, but then he remembered reading that many Native American tribes considered cedar to be sacred. It was often used in ceremonies, either burned in a fire to give off a purifying smoke or sprinkled over a person or object to be blessed. Eagle feathers and medicine pipes were often stored in boxes made from cedar to ward off negative energies. The aromatic wood was also great at keeping away moths, which is why long ago many people stored their most beloved clothing in cedar chests.

  Apparently his grandmother felt the kachina dolls contained special properties and was trying to protect them from any negative energies that might exist in the house. Perhaps the dolls had once been used in Indian ceremonies to heal the sick or injured. Or maybe she was using the cedar to keep away moths and other unwanted bugs. Maybe she ran out of bug spray and cedar was all she had left.

  Whatever the reason for the sprinkling of cedar shavings and sawdust, Mike did not share the same beliefs as his grandmother and felt there was no reason to retain the cedar and remove the dust and cobwebs; therefore, it all had to go. Blowing and wiping, he carefully cleaned each and every one of the kachinas.

  As he wiped off the statues, he turned them around so they no longer faced the wall. He wondered why his grandmother had chosen to display her collection backward, but only for a moment. She was an odd woman, her mind functioning quite differently from those of rational people. To her there had probably been a logical reason for displaying the wooden statues backward. To her and her only. Mike's grandmother was a cuckoo. It was as simple as that.

  Later that afternoon Holly and Mike decided it would be a good idea for them to attend the dance being held at the VFW Hall in Braddock. Actually it was Holly who decided. He was a little reluctant, but she convinced him it might be just the thing to make new friends. And since the paper had done an article about him, it was almost expected that he be there.

  The kids were less than thrilled to learn they would be staying home on a Saturday night while their parents went out. When Holly mentioned she had made arrangements to have a baby-sitter come over, they were downright upset.

  "A baby-sitter? For us?" Megan asked, disbelief in her voice. "I'm fifteen, much too old for a baby-sitter. What are you trying to do, ruin my reputation in this town before I have a chance to even get one?"

  "Now, now," Holly said. "Don't think of Tammy as your baby-sitter; instead think of her as a housekeeper."

  "It's the same thing," Megan retorted. "And whatever you want to call it, I won't see her because I will be in my room all evening." With that she went upstairs to her room and slammed the door.

  The baby-sitter arrived promptly at seven o'clock. She was a tall, skinny girl with a pleasant smile, probably in her late teens or early twenties. Giving her a list of instructions, Holly left her in charge of Tommy. Megan still had not come down from her room and wasn't likely to do so before the night was through.

  * * * * *

  The parking lot at the VFW Hall was full, forcing Mike to park the van in the empty lot across the street. From the looks of things half the town of Braddock had showed up for the dance. He wondered if the dance always drew such a crowd, or if some of them were actually there just to see their newest celebrity resident. The thought that he and Holly were about to be put on public display for the locals made him more than just a little uncomfortable.

  The inside of the VFW was just as crowded as the outside. Small wooden tables encircled a rectangular dance floor where couples danced to a four-piece band. The music was mostly country, but a few jazz tunes were also thrown in now and then for variety. Aware of the eyes upon them as they entered, they slowly made their was across the room to the bar.

  Getting the bartender's attention, Mike ordered a Budweiser for himself and a rum and Coke for Holly. Having paid for the drinks, he turned in search of an empty table. Unfortunately all the tables were full.

  "Looks like we're going to gave to sit at the bar," he said, handing Holly her drink.

  "Looks that way," she said and nodded, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.

  "I guess we should have gotten here earlier."

  She smiled. "What? And miss the chance of making an entrance?"

  Mike laughed and took a sip of his beer. He noticed a tall, dark-haired man crossing the dance floor toward the bar and had a feeling the man was coming over to talk to him. He was.

  "Mr. Anthony. I'm Jim Cowen. I'm the editor of the Braddock Tr
ibune." He stuck out his hand. "I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."

  Mike set his beer down and shook hands. "This is my wife, Holly."

  "It's a pleasure," Jim said, shaking hands with her. "Listen, these stools are awful uncomfortable. My wife and I have a table in the corner. We'd love to have you join us. It's also a lot quieter over there than it is here. Not quite so close to the speakers."

  "Intelligent company and the preservation of our eardrums?" Mike smiled. "You have yourself a deal."

  Grabbing their drinks, they followed Jim Cowen across the room. Again it seemed as if all eyes were upon them. Mike received so many looks he wondered if his fly was open, but resisted the urge to reach down to check it.

  Jim led them to a small round table in the back corner of the room, far enough away from the band to make conversation possible, and far enough from the dance floor to keep from being elbowed or bumped by those in the throes of country music delight. A strikingly beautiful woman sat at the table. She was thin and athletic looking, with blue eyes and thick blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her dress was bright red and loose fitting; a maternity dress. Mrs. Cowen was obviously pregnant, but she was probably only in her first few months.

  "Mike, Holly, this is my wife, Karen," Jim said, making the introductions.

  Karen flashed them a warm smile and shook hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I was afraid you wouldn’t want anything to do with us after that article Jim wrote about you. I told him to wait until later to publish it, but you know how newspapermen are."

  Jim hung his head sheepishly. "A writer moving into town is big news around here. I hope you weren't offended by what I wrote."

  Holly laughed. "No. No. Not at all. Although I did wonder why everyone was staring at us."

  Setting their drinks down, Mike and Holly joined the Cowens at their table. The women paired off in conversation, their talk soon turning to children and childbirth. It was Karen's first pregnancy and she was very excited about the prospect of becoming a mother. Soon both women were swapping stories and laughing in delight.

  Mike and Jim's conversation centered more around community and events and local politics. Jim also discussed his job as an editor of the town's only newspaper, a position he had been in for less than two years.

  It was about an hour later, and Mike had gone off to use the rest room, when Holly suddenly remembered the crazy old Indian who had confronted her in the supermarket parking lot. "Jim, you're the editor of the newspaper, so you must know most of the people in town."

  "Most of them," Jim smiled. "It's not hard in a town this small."

  "Do you know an old man named Sam Tochi?"

  Jim's smile faded, and he exchanged a quick glance with his wife. "Yeah, I know Sam. I wish I didn't, but I do. He's the official town oddball. An old Hopi Indian that should have gone back to the reservation long time ago. He's a real pain in the butt, but harmless. I guess every town has such a character; Braddock is no exception. I take it you've already met him?"

  Holly nodded. "He approached me outside the Kroger store, and started ranting abut ‘boogers.’ He said I have their house, whatever that means. It's pretty funny now, but at the time it was rather upsetting. Any idea what he could have been talking about?"

  Again Jim and his wife exchanged a quick glance. "You have to understand that Sam Tochi has been around this area for a long time. He knows a lot of the old stories and legends, and was once considered to be a local authority on them, but that was back when he still had all of his mental faculties. Now he just goes around muttering bits and pieces of local folklore, mixing it up with Indian legends, and scaring the hell out of the kids. The town has tried to have him locked up for his own good, but the old cuss somehow keeps convincing the doctors that he's sane enough to take care of himself."

  "But what are the boogers?" Holly asked. "And what does he mean that I have their house?"

  "The people who originally settled this area came from northern Europe. They were a very superstitious lot, bringing with them a lot of their fears and phobias. When anything went wrong — a cow dying, a horse taking sick — they used to blame it on the boogeyman, boogers, or hobgoblins. It became such a common practice in the old days that some people thought the woods were filled with mischievous little creatures."

  "What woods?" Holly asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.

  Jim smiled. "The woods that are now part of the property you own. But it's only legend and superstitions, tall tales told by backwoods hillbillies and crazy old Indians."

  Mike returned from the rest room, taking a seat beside Holly. "Did I miss anything?"

  "Not really," Jim said. "I was just telling your wife about Sam Tochi."

  "Who?" Mike asked.

  "The town's official nutcase."

  "The old Indian I told you about," Holly added. "The one who approached me the other day."

  "Oh, that one," Mike nodded. "Is he dangerous?"

  "No. He's perfectly harmless," Jim said. "The only danger is having your ear talked off."

  "Not much danger in that," Mike laughed, "because I'm not going to give him the chance to get that close."

  The Cowens proved to be charming company, but they had to depart early in the evening, leaving Mike and Holly alone at the back table. They weren't alone for long, however, for during the night several people approached their table to introduce themselves and say hello.

  Most of the people they met that night were warm and friendly, but some were rather offputting. A few even made a point of saying something negative about Mike's books, which was shrugged off by the author as nothing more than a bad case of jealousy.

  A little after midnight Mike got into a heated argument with one of the local drunks. The man had staggered up to their table, looked Mike in the eyes, and begun criticizing his grandmother.

  "You must get all of your stories from her. She was a real mental case, all the time seeing things that weren't there. What a loon; it must run in the family."

  Mike wanted to punch the drunken bastard, by Holly held his arm. Deciding it was time to leave, they slipped on their jackets and headed for the door. They were still angry when they arrived home, but that anger quickly faded as they crossed the front yard to the porch.

  Having paid the baby-sitter, they waited for her to drive off before locking up for the evening. Mike had just gone into the living room to turn off the television when Holly called him from the kitchen.

  "Mike!" she yelled. "Come in here!"

  Hurrying into the kitchen, he saw what his wife was so upset about. There were now six oval stains on the floor. Three under the table, two by the counter and another one near the door. They were all similar in size and shape, although the first two that had appeared were much darker than the rest.

  Mike felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise as he stepped forward to take a closer look at the two original stains. Because they were darker, there was no mistaking what they were. They were tiny faces, magically drawn on the tiles. Faces with open eyes that stared at them unblinking from the kitchen floor. They were faces all right, no doubt about it, but they were not human.

  11

  Mike would have slept longer, but a dull ache in the hollow of his back caused him to wake a little after 7:00 a.m.. Try as he might he could not get back to sleep. Worse yet, his tossing and turning woke Holly. Since sleeping late on Sunday was now out of the question, they decided to get up and prepare a breakfast of pancakes and sausages.

  Entering the kitchen, he flipped on the light and took a close look at the six oval stains on the floor. They looked no different in the daylight than they had last night. The stains looked like faces, as if someone had drawn them on the tile floor with charcoal or some other dark pigment. Of course they couldn't be faces; that was absurd. There had to be a logical explanation for it, but damned if he could think of what that would be.

  Holly was just as puzzled about the stains as
he was. The floor didn't feel wet, or sticky, and there was no noticeable smell of mildew to the room. She even got down on her hands and knees and sniffed, hoping for a clue as to what was causing the stains. But there was no odor. Nada. Zero. Zip. The stains remained a mystery.

  Trying to keep his mind off of why his perfectly good floor was getting ruined, Mike helped Holly prepare breakfast. But as he beat the pancake batter in a mixing bowl, his gaze kept returning to the stains on the floor. He would call the contractors first thing in the morning. Three was probably a simple explanation to the problem.

  After mixing the pancake batter, he set the table and then went upstairs to wake the kids. He thought Megan might still be upset about having a baby-sitter in the house last night, and refuse to come downstairs and eat, but when he knocked on the door his daughter yelled that she would be down in a minute. He guessed the fragrance of sausages cooking, which could clearly be smelled upstairs, was enough to coax anyone out of his or her room.

  Megan and Tommy were both downstairs by the time the pancakes and sausages were served. Sunday breakfasts were sort of sacred at the Anthony house, with whatever problems and arguments currently taking place set aside until later. Rather than risk hard feelings, Holly steered clear of any discussion about the baby-sitter or last night's dance.

  "Mom, can I eat my breakfast in the living room?" Tommy asked, stopping in the kitchen doorway.

  Holly set the last of the plates on the table and turned to her son. "Tommy, you know we always have Sunday breakfast together. It's a family tradition. And if I let you eat your pancakes in the living room, you might get syrup on the carpet."

  "Please, Mom. I'll be careful."