The Darkening (A Coming of Age Horror Novel) (The Great Rift Book 1)

by Christopher Motz

  Once they arrived at Danny’s, they spun a story about Charlie’s fictional bike accident. His mother didn’t bother questioning them; she called up Charlie’s mom and repeated the lie. It might come back on him at some point, but for now, he was just happy to have his mother taking control of the situation.

  Once Charlie had been taken to the hospital, they sat in Danny’s yard reflecting on what had just happened. Eric was the first to break the silence.

  “I don’t want to talk about this right now, but we’ll have to at some point.” He stood and exited through the rear gate. Brent followed, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts and the monster’s voice still reverberating in his head.

  Chapter 4

  Eric sat on his cluttered living room floor watching a rerun of Knight Rider. He’d just gotten off the phone with Charlie who’d confirmed what they’d already known - his ankle was broken, but not as seriously as they’d thought. With any luck, he’d be out of his cast just in time to enjoy what remained of his summer vacation.

  Jacky had gone out somewhere, allowing Eric a little time to come out of his bedroom. Unfortunately, Joan was still there. She shambled in from the kitchen wearing a dirty housecoat and carrying a glass of clear liquid that Eric would bet wasn’t water. She plopped down on the couch, careful not to spill her drink, and grabbed the remote from the coffee table. There was no point bitching about it. He acquiesced and scooted out of her way.

  “You don’t need to watch that shit right now.” Her speech was already slurred and her eyes foggy from the alcohol. “The news is on. Try to learn something for once.”

  She changed the channel to the six o’clock news as the anchorman cut to a developing story. Eric didn’t remember the guy’s name and he didn’t particularly like him. His hair was always a little too perfect, his teeth a little too white, his fingernails manicured as if he was auditioning to be a hand model. Another department store mannequin in an expensive suit.

  The screen went dark as the station cut from the newsroom to a live feed on the street.

  The camera focused on an attractive young reporter, her blond hair hanging down over the shoulders of a white blouse. “Thanks, Gene. We’re live at the site of a fully involved structure fire here in Elmview. Local fire and rescue crews are on the scene, but the flames are proving difficult for the responders.”

  There’s always a fire somewhere, Eric thought. It’s one of man’s first discoveries, it isn’t news. What’s the big fucking deal?

  Eric was about to stand and leave the room when the camera panned slowly to the fire. Eric’s eyes widened as he saw the Market Street School being devoured by thirty-foot flames. “Holy Christ.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth,” Joan shouted. “You don’t talk like that in this house.” She made a special effort to lean over and smack him in the back of the head, but he hardly noticed. His eyes were glued to the television.

  The reporter continued as the camera zoomed even closer to the blaze. “I’ve spoken with Fire Chief Brian White and he has assured me that everything is being done to keep the fire from spreading to the surrounding houses, but it appears those efforts may be in vain.” The screen now showed a three-story house next to the school, the roof and upper floor burning fiercely. “All we can hope is that everyone has gotten out safely.”

  Without warning, the school’s roof collapsed with a thunderous crack; a massive fireball rocketed into the darkening sky. Bystanders scattered like ants as a firefighter sprinted toward the camera, pushing people out of his way, shouting for everyone to keep a safe distance. The once calm and collected reporter shouted harshly at her crew to keep filming. Seconds later, most of the front wall broke free and toppled into the street, sending sparks, burning wood, and searing heat into the crowd of onlookers. Thick black smoke rolled toward the camera like a tidal wave.

  The reporter reappeared on screen, now with her hair disheveled and her face smudged with soot and ash. “Part of the structure has collapsed. It doesn’t appear that anyone has been hurt, Gene, but the heat is unbelievable.” The screen split to show Gene back in the newsroom. The anchor looked at the camera with large glazed eyes, like he’d blown a load in his pants. Ratings were going to be through the roof.

  “Nicole, you are the first on the scene to bring us this amazing video. Please stay safe out there.” Fake motherfucker.

  “I’ll be sure to do that, Gene. This is Nicole Emery, live at the site of a fully involved structure fire at the Market Street Elementary School in the Dutch Hill section of Elmview. We’ll be bringing you further reports and updates as this story unfolds. Now back to Gene in the newsroom.” The anchorman filled the screen once again, showing even more evidence that Gene would need a Kleenex during the commercial break.

  “Thanks, Nicole for that riveting live footage. As she said, we will bring you continuing updates throughout the night and give you a full report right here on Channel 8 at Ten.

  “In other news, do you know who’s touching your food? When we come back, we’ll bring you a special investigative report that may have you considering where you take your family to dine. We’ll be back in just a moment.” Gene’s plastic face was replaced by ShopRite’s dancing Can-Can girls.

  Joan drained her glass and stood on wobbly legs. “It’s about time somebody burned that place down.” She disappeared into the kitchen to refill her drink, groaning as she stepped over a pile of dirty clothes.

  Eric stood and walked to the front door. He smelled smoke in the air and was pretty sure if he went down to the corner he’d be able to see the fire up on the hill.

  The school had stood overlooking the downtown since 1898. It was evidence of a much simpler time when small schoolhouses stood in every section of town, children walking from their homes to their own familiar classroom. Like most of those buildings, the Market Street School closed in 1980 when the rambling, prison-like monstrosity was built in the west end. Consolidation killed the learning experience of yesteryear and the old schoolhouses were left to rot like dinosaurs from a past age. Now the fire had erased the landmark in a matter of minutes, leaving nothing more than a pile of rubble and debris.

  Eric was saddened by the loss of one of his childhood hangouts, but also felt a sense of relief after what had happened just a few hours earlier. It was no coincidence. Something had stalked them through those crumbling halls, and now he was sure that the same something had erased the evidence of its passing.

  Before Joan returned, Eric quietly crept outside and walked to the end of the block where he could get a good view of the school. Flames shot into the air, painting the surrounding sky a sinister orange hue. Red and blue lights pulsed and danced in the trees. He couldn’t look away. A gray fog hung over the entire section of Dutch Hill, swirling and twisting in the heat of the blaze. The smoke clouds thickened, tightened, surged together, creating an image.

  That of a malevolent face peering out over Elmview, smiling through a mouthful of oily black teeth.

  Eric heard laughter on the wind.

  ***

  Brent had a small color television in his bedroom with a built-in VCR. He sat on the floor cross-legged waiting to record the news at ten o’clock. When it came on, the fire was the number one story. Brent pushed the record button on the remote control and sat back.

  “The blaze at the abandoned Market Street School in Elmview is finally under control, but not before spreading to a nearby home and taking the lives of an elderly couple. With a full report on this tragic fire is Jarrod Martino, live on the scene.”

  The reporter spoke off-camera as the shot panned over the fire-blackened debris. A half-dozen firefighters decked out in bright yellow were holding large fire hoses on the glowing rubble. Most of the building had collapsed into the foundation, creating a large pile of smoldering wood and brick. Spectators stood in a line around the edge of the caution tape.

  Brent stared at the screen, whistling through his teeth as the camera zoomed in on what remained of the adjacen
t house. It was little more than an unrecognizable black heap of smoking debris.

  “As you can see here, the neighboring home, owned by Ed and Janet Warren, has been completely destroyed by the raging flames. The elderly couple was said to have been home at the time, but the full extent of the tragedy will not be known until recovery efforts get underway.”

  Brent didn’t want to see anymore. He stopped the VCR and changed the channel. People died, people that were a part of this town. Snuffed out by something they had no control over. What was going on around here? What had happened to them earlier?

  He wished it was morning. He needed desperately to talk to his friends and find a way to wrap his head around what’d happened. He turned off the television and the light and hopped into bed, listening to a Bon Jovi record before falling asleep.

  Margaret McCallister checked on her son shortly after midnight, removing the headphones from his ears and placing them on the nightstand. As she turned to leave, she stopped and gasped as her eyes caught the shape of a man standing in the corner by Brent’s bed. She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but saw nothing more than the shadow of a tree branch from the back yard. She exhaled shakily and laughed at herself for being foolish.

  “You’re too old for ghosts, Margaret,” she said.

  She left the room, closing the door behind her.

  ***

  Danny, Brent, and Eric watched silently as firefighters sifted through the smoking ruins. Eric covered his face as acrid smoke burned his eyes. It poured from the crater, rising above the rooftops and dimming the bright morning sun. It reeked of charred wood and something even more unpleasant and corrupt underneath. Around the perimeter of the foundation were piles of blackened bricks and shattered glass that glinted in the sun. Danny pointed out the charred remains of what appeared to be a pigeon.

  Brent looked away and turned to his friends, his face one of concern. “Do you think anyone saw us?”

  “If someone saw us we’d already have cops at our houses. Besides, we didn’t do anything wrong.” Danny wasn’t ready for Brent’s apparent paranoia.

  “We were the last ones in there. What if it was our fault?”

  “It wasn’t our fault,” Eric said. “Don’t you think maybe something else is to blame here? Are we even going to talk about it or just pretend it didn’t happen?”

  “There’s nothing to pretend,” Brent said. “We were scared off by some stupid shadows and noises and we probably looked like idiots.”

  “You don’t actually believe that do you?” Danny asked.

  Brent nodded and crossed his arms. There was nothing else to be said on the matter. They didn’t stay much longer. It was depressing. Scary. They walked with their heads down, talking only occasionally. Once they arrived at Brent’s house they parted ways. The mood was somber. The loss of their hangout, the death of those poor people, the supernatural creature that had chased them out one last time. It felt like a dream. A nightmare. Was it possible the old legends and ghost stories about that place were true? How else could what happened be explained?

  When Danny got home, his mother was just setting the table for dinner. His nose wrinkled at the pungent stink of sauerkraut. She looked at him and smiled.

  “Don’t worry, I made you burgers and fries instead.”

  “Thank god. Anything that smells that bad shouldn’t be fit for human consumption.” Danny sat at the table with his head in his hands.

  “You don’t seem yourself today. Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know. First Mr. Jones and now the Market Street School. It’s been a crappy few days I guess.”

  “I know, Daniel, but that old place has been empty for years, a breeding ground for rats and vandals and God knows what. It’s sad that old couple died, but good riddance to that eyesore.”

  “I went in there a few times with Brent and Eric and Charlie. We used to make up ghost stories. It was just a cool place to hang out.”

  “Jesus, Daniel! You could have been hurt.”

  Danny shrugged. He never understood why his mother was so disconnected from everything cool. She wasn’t old enough to act so crotchety. Didn’t she ever have a place where she liked hanging out with her friends? Didn’t she ever sneak a smoke behind her parent’s back? As if reading his thoughts, she spoke to him while spooning sauerkraut into a large white bowl.

  “When I was your age, my father would have taken the belt to me if he thought I was hanging out in some abandoned building. We used to go to the diner when we were your age, drink ice cream floats, go out to the movies. I guess boys are different. The more dangerous something is, the more they like it. That’ll never change.” She patted his arm lightly and went back to finishing dinner.

  Danny smiled at her and grabbed a soda from the refrigerator. He plopped down on the chair in the living room with a sigh. His father sat on the couch, shoes off, reading the newspaper. His wallet sat on the coffee table next to a bottle of Yuengling Lager he’d placed on the stupid apple-shaped coasters his mother had picked up at Jamesway.

  He lowered the paper and looked over at his son without speaking. David Harper was a man of few words, and more often than not, a man of none. Danny and his father didn’t have the kind of relationship he saw on television. They didn’t go fishing and hunting together, they didn’t sit around the dinner table and play board games. It just wasn’t the way things worked in the Harper residence.

  The most fun Danny had ever had with his father was when he was younger, and his dad taught him the fine points of Texas Hold ‘Em. They would play for quarters that his father kept in his change jar. Win or lose, Danny often ended up with the quarters, which he happily spent at the arcade the following day.

  “What’d you do today, kid?” David asked.

  “Nothing much. Hung out with Brent and Eric. Checked out the fire on Market Street.”

  His father closed the paper and put it on the floor beside him. He smiled at his son and grabbed his beer from the coffee table.

  “Bad?”

  “There’s nothing left. Just a big, black hole in the ground.”

  “I went to school there. Nice place back in the day - shade trees, benches, swings, manicured hedges. They closed the place and sold it all for scrap when that kid got hurt playing there after dark. Some stupid brat can’t read the posted signs, busts his head wide open, his parents sue the school district, and everyone pays the price.”

  Danny smiled at his father, imagining a time when Elmview wasn’t such a wreck. Sometimes he felt he’d never get to enjoy the things his parents did. Time moved on and left Elmview in the dust, and all that remained were the crumbling facades of once popular hangouts. What would it be like in ten years? Thirty? Would it still be here at all?

  “That shyster from New York bought the place and just let it rot. He piled up back taxes for years, when if he’d really given a shit, he could have revitalized it… made apartments or something. Someone should take him out behind the woodshed and beat his ass.”

  Father and son shared a smile. David picked up his paper and continued reading without another word. It was the most his father had spoken to him in ages. Danny didn’t mind. His father was a good man even if no one was giving him a Father of the Year trophy anytime soon. It was how things had always been… David wasn’t ready for children when Danny was born. He just hoped his father didn’t blame him for taking away that part of his life.

  An hour later, after dinner had been eaten and the table cleared, David retired to the bedroom and his mother sat down to watch television. Danny went to his own room to listen to music and read about the creepy 1958 Plymouth Fury that drove around killing people.

  His sleep was undisturbed.

  ***

  What Danny didn’t know, was that as he slept, black shadows crept up his bedroom wall, coalescing into a solid figure in the shape of a man. Long, twisted fingers reached out for Danny but didn’t touch him. You’ll be mine, it thought. All of this will be mine. Its silver e
yes pinched shut in frustration.

  The entity had spent millennia in darkness while these vermin bred like rats and lived in the light.

  I can tear it all down, it thought.

  The form lost its shape and slipped through the open window like mist. It looked down from a great height, seeing Elmview as few had seen it before. Bright streetlights erased the worst of the shadows, porch lights were lit to make those living inside feel safe, headlights on vehicles cut swaths of yellow color through the darkness, night lights glowed in children’s bedrooms to vanquish the imagined boogeymen hiding in closets and beneath beds.

  They’re all so afraid of what they can’t see.

  Its laughter echoed over Elmview like distant thunder. The few who’d heard it turned on an extra light… not sure why, but knowing it had to be done.

  By dawn, they’d forgotten why they’d done it in the first place.

  ***

  David Harper awoke a little after three and gazed into the blackness of the bedroom. Apart from his wife’s quiet snoring, the house was silent. It was unusual for him to wake up during the night, he’d always been a sound sleeper.

  He’d been dreaming about something that was already beginning to fade, but some of the clearer images would likely stay with him for days after. He brushed a hand across his face and wiped thin sweat from his brow. It’d been years since he’d remembered one of his dreams. He’d read somewhere that everyone dreamed, but it became less frequent with age and often went forgotten. This one was powerful enough to wake him and set him on edge.

  Elmview was in ruins.

  Rusted cars lined the empty streets, burned-out buildings hunched over tangled lawns, streets were broken and crumbling, trees singed and leafless. He saw his son standing on the cracked road, motionless, pointing up Broad Street at something unseen. A dark cloud materialized in the middle of the street and shrieked with violent fury. It called Danny’s name.

  David shivered, stepped out of bed, and put on his slippers. The air-conditioner hummed quietly. His wife liked it chilly, and he knew after twenty year of marriage, there was no point arguing. In the midst of December snow, she still slept with a fan blowing directly on her side of the bed. Then she complained about sinus problems.