Other Voices, Other Tombs

by Joe Sullivan

  Dad yelled. It quickly changed to a scream, and Mom did the same. There were thumps moving about the ceiling over Penny’s head. The screams were not like the ones Mom let out when her parents were fighting, and the thuds were not like the regular bump-bump-bump that Penny sometimes heard coming from their bedroom. No, her parents were afraid.

  A part of Penny smiled at the clamor above while the rest wanted to crawl into the refrigerator, shut the door, and hide. She felt a momentary sense of satisfaction, though the feeling fled as soon as she heard a third, shrieking voice. Being naughty ceased to be a delight and was now purely … naughty. She no longer wanted to scare them, and as she began to panic at the strange turn of events, she wondered why she ever had wanted to. Only a crack … she had left their door open only a crack, not too much, but that had been enough for … him. The wickedness of what she had been convinced to do now set in. Penny wanted to run upstairs, to hug her parents tightly, but her feet were frozen to the floor, and it wasn’t due to the wintry draft spilling out of the fridge.

  Dad screamed, “Get it off!” He thundered across the ceiling, toward the closet or bedroom door, but then there was a horrible crash of furniture and breaking glass. The vase? A heavy thud resounded from the ceiling over the oven. Dad’s mouth must have been right against the floor because his screams seemed to be clawing at the boards, trying to open a way of escape.

  The only thing louder than him, or Mom, was the shrill, excited, ear-shattering shriek of the thing in the room with them.

  What had she done? That question raked claws on the inside of Penny’s skull and severed all other thoughts. Urine flowed down her leg and pooled on the floor beneath her silky pajama bottoms.

  What had she done?

  Mrs. Gladfelter’s face was there in the dark, just outside the refrigerator’s blinding light. Horrible alpkatze child.

  Dad’s cries were getting quieter and wetter. His thumps were smaller and closer together. It sounded like he was wrestling now. Mom’s unmistakable feet pounded across the ceiling, her tearful screams the most horrible sound that could possibly exist. Her movements seemed promising, and Penny heard the hopeful twist of a doorknob, but that hope ended as a lunging hiss merged with Mom’s pleas of “Someone help me!”

  Penny had thought she was a helper, but she was a horrible, naughty girl. A monster.

  Her parents’ bedroom door was slammed shut again, and Mom’s screams collapsed deeper into the bedroom. Mommy? Her yells for Penny to run, and her crying, and her shouts of pain were all swinging side to side. Penny knew Mom was fighting the creature in their room, or at least trying to fight it.

  The screaming soon ceased. The flailing against the floor ended after that. Penny was frozen in place by the horrifying silence. The tears gushing down her cheeks were chilled by the humming refrigerator.

  Something shuffled on the floor above.

  The open refrigerator chimed. Penny’s fingers found the courage to let go of the handle.

  A growling purr leaked through the ceiling.

  Penny stepped out of the urine puddle, out of the refrigerator light, and moved like a sleepwalker to the back door. She opened it, ready to run away as Mom had begged her to do before going silent; but then Penny looked back through her home’s dark interior. She was struggling to think of anything besides the tumult still echoing painfully in her ears. She had no idea why, or what she hoped to achieve, but she was vaguely aware that she was climbing the stairs. Her earlier concerns about being stealthy were gone, and the steps groaned under the weight of her effort to face what she had done.

  The white, rectangular door stood closed, pretending there were no existential nightmares on the other side of its pristine panels. But Penny was terrified of what she could hear shuffling around in the room, and even more terrified of what it had done, but terror was just one of many emotions punching her head and chest. Her need to know, to know what had happened, to know if everything could be okay, was the strongest urge of all. It was the only keen thought in her haze of confusion.

  She was not Mommy’s little girl or Daddy’s little girl anymore. She was not a good, little girl at all.

  Penny opened the door as slowly as was humanly possible. The first thing she saw were two large, coppery eyes staring back at her. For the first time she could remember, they blinked, and then a shape—that was all it was, a shape—dashed through the gap. Penny fell backwards to the floor in the hall, crying out, hiding behind forearms and shins, but the shape flew past her. Its paws skittering down the stairs.

  She sobbed.

  When Penny regained her wits about her, she crawled on all fours to the door. She pushed it open far enough to find larger, unmoving shapes in bedroom. They reminded her of Christmases with Mom and Dad, specifically the discarded boxes from presents she had frantically stripped and tore open in her excitement. The parents who had shared those memories with Penny were now lifeless husks on the floor.

  There would be no more Christmas presents. Penny was the naughtiest girl who had ever lived.

  Mom’s mouth and eyes were open as wide as could be. Dad’s mouth and eyes were open even wider because the skin around them had been torn.

  Penny was surprised that blood could still look so red in the blue, crystalline moonlight.

  C.W. Briar is the author of the dark fantasy novel Whispers From The Depths. He writes stories with a focus on monsters, suspense, and consequences. He resides in Upstate New York with his wife, kids, and their pack of corgis.

  Alone in the Dark

  J.D. McGregor

  Casey McEnnis had committed a number of mistakes before opening her car door with a blood alcohol level of 0.192. The first was deciding to drink in the first place at her friend’s place after she told her parents she wouldn't. The second was ignoring the heavy snowfall (predicted by the forecast she had watched before leaving) that started around ten and continuing to drink while it kept coming down.

  Her biggest mistake was convincing herself it was okay to drive home instead of staying the night. She'd been offered second-class accommodation by her friend Emily, who said she could curl up on the spring-heavy pull out mattress in the basement. Casey could have slept a few hours then gotten up early when the daylight returned and perhaps even the snowplows were on their second run of snow removal.

  For whatever reason inside her mind, that plan simply wouldn't suffice. The warming comfort of returning to her bed the same night and not having to get up early and rush around the next morning was all the convincing she needed to attempt the voyage home.

  It wasn't her first rodeo. She'd long since abandoned feeling guilty for driving with whatever illegal substance inside her system.

  Perhaps her timing was off, as she chose that particular night to test her limits. The storm wasn’t supposed to subside until the early morning.

  Everyone in Western New York knows you don't drive at night when the snow is coming down like that—impaired or not.

  It isn't rational thinking.

  Casey slammed the door behind her. She checked her phone and couldn't help but chuckle. Even with her vision spinning and blurry lines all over the screen, she could make the number out in the top right corner. Only two percent battery. Another consequence of playing DJ all night and using the stupid YouTube App that doesn’t let you close the screen and continue playing.

  It wasn't a deal-breaker. She knew the three different route options home back to her parent's place in Ellicotville. She wouldn't even risk taking 219 South. She'd take Maples Road instead. No one would be on the road at that hour. Plus, given the conditions, the country roads and main highways would be equally snowed over. A couple of miles driving on either one would prove an equally difficult task.

  What was truly crucial was that the car still had at least a quarter-tank like she remembered before she started drowning her brain cells. She pushed her cold key into the ignition and started the engine.

  Everything was going to be fine. It was only
a little buzz. People get away with this shit all the time.

  She sat upright, keeping her spine rigid and perfectly straight. She adjusted the rearview mirror to make sure it was aligned with the back window from her elevated position. Slow and steady would win this race. All that mattered was getting home. And home wasn't so far away.

  She quickly discovered an unexpected side benefit of her increased focus on driving. It became clear when she pulled the car in reverse and looked over her shoulder.

  Keeping her mind on the road meant the negativity wouldn't be able to seep in like it usually would whenever she found herself alone after a night of drinking.

  She wouldn't have to think about how she was still working in the front end and rotating between cashes one through four at Dartmouth's Grocery back in town. She wouldn't wonder why she hadn't moved up to somewhere in front end management like she told herself she would almost two years ago. Above all, she wouldn't have traced it all the way back to dropping out of college in the second semester of her freshman year, which had ultimately laid the foundation of her current career path all those years ago.

  Casey backed all the way to the edge of the driveway and double checked both directions twice before pulling out and straightening the car in the middle of the road.

  Slowly, she accelerated. She started safe, barely touching the gas and rolling at ten. Once she found that speed comfortable, she pushed up to fifteen, then twenty. The weight of the snow seemed to grow against her windshield with each acceleration, though it was nothing that her wipers couldn’t clear away. She tried the high beams and discovered that they actually made her vision worse. The bright light reflected against the falling snow and shot it back towards her.

  These minor obstacles were expected. Everything was still under her control. That sentiment remained and did not waver inside Casey's mind for the first part of her journey.

  The road started to decline beneath her. That signalled she had reached the first of two downhill portions of her trip. She knew this hill was steep enough that she could toboggan the whole way down and cover a quarter-mile gliding along the stretch of flat resting at the bottom.

  She kept her eyes glued forward. Not that it helped her see any farther. She could barely make out the shapes of the leafless trees on either side of her. It was all about feeling the road beneath her wheels. She reduced her speed back down to fifteen and got ready to slide.

  She was proud of herself when she finally felt it. She was proud that despite already acting so grossly irresponsible, that she was actually in control when her tires start to slip from below the car.

  She pumped the brakes. The back tires lost traction, slid to either side, and then regained their course. Casey continued to hold the brakes until her speed lowered to eight. She remained at that speed, occasionally letting go of the brake when she felt comfortable enough. She didn't touch the gas again until she was safely at the bottom.

  She clenched her hand into a fist and shook it above wheel when her car was safely on flat ground again. She was so excited, she stopped the car so she could enjoy a few moments of celebration.

  The party didn’t last long.

  Something stood out of place on the farthest perimeters of her vision. Had she not been stopped, she may have not even noticed it at all.

  It was black. Not that any object wouldn't be from where it was positioned in relation to her. It stood at the edge of the road, maybe a little into the ditch. The semblance of an unshoveled driveway, barely distinguishable from the snow-covered lawn, save for the deep footprints leading up to a house, was right behind it.

  It kept coming in and out of focus. Partly from the never-ending drops of snow, partly from the fact that her drunken vision had worsened from when she left. It was lanky. Shaped like a man, but just too big and out of proportion, she thought.

  It wasn’t moving. If it were a man, surely they would have waved or done something to make sure she saw it. Maybe they would have even approached her to see if she was alright? That's what any sane rational person would do.

  Then again, what sane and rational person could find any reason to be out for a casual evening stroll in winter conditions like that? Only by some corrupted or impaired decision making would someone have left their home in that storm. Only someone so irresponsible and so careless to drive under the influence after downing seven-too-many drinks would dare go out that evening.

  Casey nudged the gas pedal. The figure appeared to take a giant step towards her. That was all it took to trigger the self-protective instinct inside her head. She pressed on the gas with all her weight and felt her tires spin, slinging snow to either side before finally making traction with the asphalt.

  She turned her wheel hard to the left. She went as far around the figure as she could without risking slipping off the other side of the road. She hoped she might scare it and it appeared to be successful as it retreated into the ditch.

  She continued accelerating, no longer worrying about traction or oncoming traffic. All that mattered was putting distance between her and that thing.

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Who knows what it was doing out there or what it was going to/already did to the poor people living in that house. She needed it to be gone the next time she dared glance over her shoulder.

  The reality was she probably couldn't see more than a couple feet through her back window through the squall regardless. It wasn't until Casey noticed the dial of her speedometer pushing past the forty that she figured it was time for a quick safety check.

  Nothing. Only darkness beyond the snow and red glow of her taillights.

  Still, something about that abyss unsettled her and made her start to wish she’d just stayed the night at Em’s.

  That feeling served enough for a momentary lapse in focus. She pressed the brakes harder than she should have to try and slow down. She lost control of the vehicle immediately.

  Casey realized the hopelessness of the situation on the car's first quarter-turn. Her vision, which was already getting worse on its own, meshed all the shapes around her into long horizontal streaks. The car spun two or three times. Her shoulder slammed into the driver window on the final turn. She heard it pop and crack and shrieked in pain thinking she may have dislocated it for the third time in her life.

  She gripped the wheel and steered as hard as she could in the opposite direction. The car's movement slowed until it finally stopped no more than half a foot away from the ditch.

  It took a little while for Casey to regain her wits. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t crashed.

  Casey exhaled. She looked all around her and was relieved to not see any dark figure in the immediate vicinity. Not that there was any reason for there to be. She'd put more enough distance between them.

  As far as she was concerned, she was alone in the dark. That’s just the way she wanted it to be.

  Casey checked her phone. The battery had drained to one percent. She quickly turned the screen off, thinking that perhaps it would be necessary to call emergency services at some point if she lost control of the car or encountered that thing again.

  Neither of those things needed to happen.

  She wondered if perhaps the figure had been a figment of her imagination, although she knew hallucinations weren’t a side effect of alcohol consumption. Three weekends earlier, she’d put a little strip Emily had given her under her tongue and stared at a tree for two hours while it morphed and changed shape. That was real hallucination. She knew what the difference was.

  All things considered, she was close to the halfway point of her journey home. Only one more climb and subsequent descent of another hill and she would be there. She needed to focus for another ten minutes, tops. Then, she could put the night behind her without any consequence.

  She blasted the heat on both the front and rear windows. Slowly, the snow which had piled up since she stopped started to slide and break off in little chunks. She turned the radio onto some generic Top-Forty crap
and adjusted the volume halfway. Not too loud that it would distract her, but not so quiet she'd lose any sense of urgency.

  Casey moved her foot from the brake to the gas pedal. The car started to move again.

  Much like when she left, the second stage of the journey started uneventfully. She kept in the center of the road, knowing the chances of another car approaching in the oncoming lane were almost zero. She was alert and focused the entire time. Her eyes darted to either side of her, carefully surveying to see if she could spot anything that shouldn’t be.

  She eventually noticed the tracks of some other lonely soul who’d decided to take the same death-defying drive as she had that night. She was grateful for that person and used their tire tracks to keep herself aligned. She hoped they were safe wherever they were farther down the line.

  She kept waiting for that last hill, the last physical obstacle before reaching the stretch of houses where her parent's house was built.

  Everything was going so well. How unfortunate it was that just as she finally saw the desired incline in the road ahead of her, something else founds its way into the same scene. It was a strange mix of emotion. If only that goddamn figure wasn't standing in the way.

  It was on the side of the road again. Like before, it was on the farthest limits of where she could see. It was moving this time—right alongside the car when she reached it. It was as if it were trying to match her speed. Its steps were long and jagged. Its knees lifted way out of the snow, which must have been over two or three feet by that point in time. It held its arm out as if it were commanding to do something.

  Casey couldn't comprehend what she was looking at. She was too faded, too fucked up. It looked like a series of black sticks put together. All she knew for certain was that whatever it was, she didn't like it. She wanted to be as far away from it as she possibly could.