Darker Than Night

by Goingback, Owl

  Pinky might also have stepped in a trap. He might be out there in the woods somewhere, slowly starving to death. Maybe he was stuck in a trap and couldn't get away, helpless to protect himself if any mean dogs came along. His father should be out looking for him, or his mother, but they weren't.

  They didn't care about Pinky, not really, not the way Tommy cared. All they were interested in was fixing up the house. Tommy didn't care about the house. He cared about Pinky, cared about him so much it hurt. And if his parents wouldn’t go looking for the cat, then he would.

  Entering the house through the front door, he called out a greeting to his mother. He then walked into the kitchen to grab a couple of cookies out of the jar sitting on the counter, taking care not to step on any of the spooky faces staring up at him from the floor. His mother never minded if he took a couple of cookies when he got home from school, as long as he only took a couple. He wasn't very hungry at the moment, but he might get hungry before dinner, especially if he was out looking for his cat. He had just put the lid back on the cookie jar when his mother entered the kitchen.

  "Hello, dear. How was school?"

  Tommy turned around. "It was okay, Mom. We watched a film for science class."

  "What about?"

  About spiders and how they spin their webs."

  "Spiders. Yuck."

  Tommy smiled. "It was really cool, especially the part that showed the spiders eating flies and moths."

  "Double yuck," Holly said, making a face.

  "Mom, is it okay if I go out in the backyard to look for spiders?"

  "As long as you don't try to pet any. Some of the spiders around here are poisonous, you know."

  "I'm not that dumb," Tommy replied. "I just want to watch them. Maybe I'll get to see one eat a fly or something."

  "Well, I don't care. Just don't bring any spiders home for dinner."

  "I won't Mom. I promise."

  "Change your clothes first. I don't want you ruining your school clothes in your quest to study spiders."

  "Okay, Mom. I will."

  He crossed the kitchen, again stepping over the faces, gave her a big hug, then went down the hallway and up the stairs. Entering his room, he tossed his book bag on his bed and then grabbed his play clothes which he kept folded on the cedar chest in front of the windows. He changed into them, and then pulled on his oldest tennis shoes. Slipping the chocolate chip cookies into the front pocket of his pants, he left the room.

  Tommy wasn't really planning on looking for spiders; he had seen quite enough arachnids in the film at school to last him for the day. Instead he was going to search for Pinky.

  His mother was in the living room when Tommy came back downstairs. He didn't stop to talk with her, because he was afraid she would become suspicious and not allow him out of the house. Tiptoeing past the living room, he entered the kitchen and then hurried to the back door. He felt guilty that he had lied to his mother, but not guilty enough to stop him from what he was doing. Once he was outside, that guilt quickly vanished.

  There were few hiding places in the backyard, or in the front yard, so he knew Pinky couldn’t be hiding anywhere close to the house. That left the barn, the orchard, and the forest as possible hiding places. Since the barn was the closest of the three, he decided to start his search there.

  The old barn had been painted red, but there was little of the original color left. The barn's paint had faded and flaked off over the years, leaving behind a mostly brown building. The roof was in better shape than the rest of the building, and he could still see portions of the large letters that had once been painted there. His dad told him that the letters had once spelled out the slogan "SEEROCKCITY," but now all that was left was "SE OCK C TY." Tommy didn't know what RockCity was, nor did he know if it was really worth seeing, but he had seen several similar signs on barns in the area, so a few people must think it was worth looking at.

  Circling around to the side of the barn, he moved slowly through the tall weeds to the double doors. As he plowed a path through the weeds, he was on the lookout for snakes, fearful of stepping on one. His father had warned him to stay away for the barn because there might be snakes, but so far Tommy hadn't seen any.

  The side doors had once been closed, but one of the doors had fallen to the ground and rotted away years ago. Approaching the opening, Tommy stopped dead in his tracks when a very large grasshopper suddenly took flight in front of him. It wasn't the grasshopper that startled him so much as it was the sound it had made. Kind of a rattling, hissing sound, like the sound a rattlesnake makes. He knew what a rattlesnake sounded like, because he had seen a television show about snakes. Several other grasshoppers jumped out of his way before he reached the barn doors.

  Tommy's dad had told him that grasshoppers made good fishing bait. That might be true, but he could not imagine trying to put a grasshopper — especially one of the big ones — on a fishing hook. Not only were they hard to catch, and probably even harder to put on a fish hook, but they had the nasty habit of spitting a brown juice that looked like chewed tobacco. He didn't know if grasshoppers could bite, but they looked tough enough to take a chunk out of just about anyone's finger. Nope. As far as fishing went, he would stick to worms and leave the grasshoppers to someone else.

  Reaching the open doorway, he stopped and poked his head inside. The interior of the barn was layered in shadows, but he could still see everything. Old farm machinery sat just inside the doorway. Beyond that the building was divided into several small rooms. He suspected the rooms were to keep horses, or maybe cows, but there were no animals there now and probably hadn't been any for a long time.

  "Pinky?" he called out, stepping through the doorway. The inside of the barn smelled of old straw and dust. There were probably plenty of spiders inside the barn, maybe even a few snakes or lizards, but he wasn't interested in any of them. "Pinky, are you in here?"

  Tommy wanted to turn around and leave because the barn was kind of spooky, even in the daytime, but then he wouldn’t be doing a very good search. Instead he took a deep breath and stepped farther into the gloomy interior.

  Pinky wasn't under the farm machinery, nor was he hiding in any of the smaller rooms. That left only the hayloft upstairs. Testing to make sure the wooden ladder would hold his weight, he slowly climbed up into the hayloft.

  It was hot in the hayloft, and dark because the light spilling in from the open doorway didn't reach all of the way to the back of the barn. Crossing the loft, he had to move slowly, careful not to step in a hole or run something sharp through the bottom of his foot. Sweat trickled down his face as he searched the upstairs, the smell of old hay making him want to sneeze.

  "Pinky? Are you up here, boy?"

  He called twice more, but only the silence greeted him. The silence spoke of ancient things and forgotten times, as if the hayloft, and the barn itself, were inhabited by ghosts of the past. It was an eerie feeling standing there in the old barn; a building that had once been shiny and new, filled with hay bales to feed horses and cows. The horses and cows were long gone, as were the hay bales. Only the memories remained.

  Tommy crossed from one end of the loft to the other, and then crossed it again. He called Pinky's name several times, but the big cat did not answer him.

  He had just crossed the hayloft a second time, and was about to start back down the ladder, when he thought he saw movement in the darkness near the back wall of the loft. He stopped, one foot on the ladder, staring into the darkness to see what had moved. A minute slowly passed. Two.

  "Pinky?"

  Had the cat been hiding somewhere, only now coming out to answer his call? He called again, focusing his attention on the darkness at the back of the loft. Nothing moved. No cat came from the blackness to greet him with meows and a swishing of tail. But Tommy could have sworn he saw something abut the same size as his beloved housecat.

  Not knowing what he had seen, Tommy decided it might be a good idea to leave the barn as quickly as possible
. He didn't want to have a run-in with an animal, especially one that might be mad that its afternoon nap had been disturbed. Hurrying down the ladder, he left the barn and its spooky shadows by the same way he had entered, and ran into the apple orchard. There were a lot of trees in the orchard, any one of which Pinky could be hiding behind or up in the branches of.

  Moving between the rows, Tommy made sure to look to the top of each tree for the missing cat. Pinky was city-raised and had never been exposed to trees before. Tommy wasn't sure if the cat knew how to climb a tree and get back down. He had heard of cats getting stuck in the tops of trees, had even seen it happen on one of the news shows his father liked to watch on television.

  Scanning the trees for Pinky, calling his name out loud, it wasn't long before he reached the end of the orchard. He could no longer see his house, because it was hidden by the rows of apple trees. Not being able to see his house made him a little uncomfortable.

  In the city he never went anywhere without his parents, or his sister, except maybe to school. And even then there had been people with him that were responsible for his safety. It was a strange feeling to be alone now, one he was not at all familiar with. A strange and exciting feeling.

  Tommy licked his lips.

  He should go back. His mother would be mad if she knew he was out exploring by himself. His father would be mad too, especially since he had given Tommy strict orders not to wander off by himself. But he wasn't wandering, not really. He was searching for his cat, and that was important. Beside, how could they get mad at him if he never left the backyard? His father had told him that the orchard and part of the forest now belonged to them, so technically it was part of their backyard. It was a very big backyard, true, but that wasn't his fault.

  He turned his attention to the forest before him. The forest was dense and mysterious, thick with foliage and shadows. It was exciting and scary all at the same time, a place that was probably not safe for an eight-year-old boy to explore by himself. But then again it also wasn't a safe place for a city-raised housecat to explore. If Pinky had gone into the forest, then he was probably lost.

  "I'll only go a little ways in," Tommy said, his voice sounding oddly strained. "Just a little ways and no more. Just far enough to look for Pinky."

  His mind made up, Tommy entered the forest, plunging into a world unlike any he had ever experienced before. Central Park had trees, and his father had once taken him to a state park in upstate New York, but in those forests there were concrete paths, water fountains, even public rest rooms. There were also lots of other people around. Here he was alone, completely by himself, with no sidewalks, bicycle racks, or public facilities. Here the forest grew wild and untamed, touched only by nature.

  Looking around, he found a path, but it was narrow and winding, not at all like the paths he used to follow in Central Park. This path had been made by animals, perhaps rabbits, not by city workers in blue jumpsuits. Still it was a path, a trail to help him navigate the deep foliage of the forest in his pursuit of Pinky.

  Tommy had been following the path for several minutes when he heard sounds of movement coming from the underbrush to his left. He stopped to listen to the sounds, but they stopped when he did.

  A slight quiver of fear passed through him. He wondered what had made the noise, conjuring up images of great big furry things: bears, wolves, even lions. He didn't think there were any lions in Missouri; as far as he knew all the lions lived in Africa, except maybe for the ones in zoos. He was quite certain his father would have told him if there were lions walking around, but that didn't stop his imagination from thinking about them.

  What he had heard was probably a rabbit and nothing more. Or a mouse. Even a tiny field mouse could sound pretty darn big when moving through the underbrush, although the noise he had heard hadn't sounded like the rustling of leaves. Instead it had sounded like whispering, as if someone were murmuring secrets behind his back.

  Tommy strained his ears to hear the sound again, but all was quiet. Too quiet. Slowly he became aware that an uncanny silence surrounded him, as if a great hush had suddenly fallen over the forest.

  Why is everything so quiet?

  Despite being a city boy, he knew there should be sounds. Lots of sounds. The air should have been filled with the melodies of songbirds, the barking of squirrels, even the buzzing bees and flies. Yet he heard none of these sounds. There was only the silence.

  Looking up, he studied the branches above him, searching for wildlife. He found none. The branches were empty, the trees deserted. The forest surrounding him, at least what he could see of it, was completely barren of birds and animals.

  Where had they gone? Had the birds and animals been chased away by hunters? Maybe there had been a fire, like in the Disney movie Bambi, and the creatures of the forest had fled in terror. He looked around, but didn't see any signs that there had ever been a forest fire. The foliage around him was green and vibrant, not black and burnt like a forest touched by flames.

  Maybe he had scared away the forest creatures. Perhaps they had seen him coming and were hiding, waiting for him to leave again. Maybe they were frightened of him, even though he didn't have a gun and wouldn't shoot anything if he did. The pigeons and squirrels in Central Park weren't frightened of people, but country animals might be different. You might have to leave food for them before they'd let a person see them. Tommy made a mental note to bring bread with him the next time he came into the forest. He wondered if birds preferred white or whole wheat.

  As he stood there looking up, he again heard a strange whispering noise. It was the same noise he had heard a few minutes earlier. Again the sound conjured up images of things best not seen in a lonely forest, sending a nervous shiver down his back. The shiver turned to fear when he realized the sound was getting rapidly closer.

  Tommy turned around, trying to see what was making the noise. He couldn't see anything, however, because there were too many bushes and trees in the way. Was it a rabbit he heard? It sounded like whispering, as if someone were speaking very softly and very fast. But if it was words he heard, then they were being spoken in a language he didn't understand. And whatever said the words had to be quite small, because the sound came from close to the ground.

  Another mental image flashed into the boy's mind: that of a strange-looking man crawling through the brush on his belly, whispering strange words as he went. A lizard man, all green and scaly, with a long, sticky tongue for eating ants between the roots of trees. The image would have been funny any other time, but coming to him while he was alone in the forest made it downright frightening.

  Whatever made the noise was approaching fast. Tommy's heart thudded loudly in his chest as he realized the whispering sound was coming toward him at a dead run. Something was racing at him, something he could not see. A person or animal that cast no footsteps, and caused no brush to rustle or twigs to snap. The only sound to be heard was the whispering. Just the whispering, and nothing more.

  Deciding it was a good time to call off his search for Pinky, Tommy turned around and fled from the whispering sound. A startled cry escaped his lips as he ran down the narrow path, desperate to get free of the forest.

  But the forest seemed an endless tunnel of green foliage and shadows. Overhead trees joined hands, interlocking their branches to make it even darker than it had been only moments before. Somewhere above the leafy canopy the sun still shone in a bright blue sky, but the rays of that sun no longer reached where he ran.

  He couldn't see what chased him, but he could hear it. Suddenly the whispering passed him on the left, and then on the right. There were at least two of them, maybe more, moving through the underbrush, passing him, racing ahead to...

  Racing ahead to what?

  He stopped, his heart pounding madly in his chest. His throat dry. Suddenly there was no more whispering. The noise had stopped when he did. But it hadn't gone away; Tommy was sure of that. Whatever had pursued him was now ahead of him, lying in wait for
him. Though he could not see anything, he could feel eyes watching him. Angry eyes. Hungry eyes.

  "Oh, no you don't."

  Tommy was not to be so easily fooled. He approached slowly for a few more yards, then turned and started running at a right angle. The sudden explosion of sounds told him he was right: something had been waiting for him. But he had not fallen for the trap and the chase was on again.

  Reaching the end of the forest, he raced out into the orchard. He turned, certain he would now be able to see whatever it was that chased him. But nothing was there.

  Stopping, his side hurting from running so hard, he watched the edge of the forest but saw nothing. A few tense seconds passed and then he spotted two very distinct shadows slip from the forest and glide along the ground.

  Not animals. Not raccoons, possums, rabbits, or even dogs. Nothing but a pair of shadows, almost invisible to the eyes. They darted out of the forest and raced to the first row of apple trees, disappearing behind the trees. Just shadows, but somehow Tommy knew they were something far more than what they seemed. Something evil and very, very dangerous.

  Turning once again, he ran full speed toward the house. He didn't look back, dared not look back. He only ran, arms and legs pumping, tennis shoes tearing up the ground. He didn't know if the shadows were still following him, but he didn't dare stop to take a look. He fled past the apple trees and the old brown barn, making a beeline for the back door.

  21

  Holly ran her fingers over the kitchen floor, feeling the texture of the tiles upon which were painted the mysterious faces. Painted? If the faces had been painted, she wanted to know what the artist had used. She had majored in art in college, had been a commercial artist for several years, and knew just about everything there was to know about pigments, oils, and acrylics. If the faces had been painted, she would have been able to feel it, yet she felt nothing. The tiles with the faces were as smooth as the rest of the floor.