The Presence

by Shady Grim

  Tim watched in confusion as Herbert circled the drunkard’s campsite. Finally, Herbert sprung from behind the man and drew his hunting knife across the poor fellow’s throat. Tim watched in horror as the man gasped and gurgled trying to breathe. Herbert ordered Tim to come closer, but he refused. He couldn’t bring himself to approach the dying man, and he also refused to help Herbert dispose of the body. He felt the sting of Lizbet’s stick across his back when he arrived home. Even the smallest disobedience prompted a severe reprimand in the Fitzgerald home. Tim was met with queer looks for weeks after the event, and several times he caught Herbert and Lizbet sitting closely together engaged in a hushed conversation.

  Suddenly everything went black, and Tim felt himself being pulled in another direction. When he was able to open his eyes again, he found himself in the old abandoned house that was once owned by his family. He was once again lying on the floor in one of the rooms, and once again he saw his long-deceased mother kneeling before him, fondly stroking his hair. She spoke softly to him, and he found her voice to be soothing. “It’s time, Timothy. You need to come home now.” He was jolted awake exactly as he’d been when he was a child. He thought perhaps it was a new version of a nightmare coming to haunt him, but the strong smell of lilacs in the room convinced him otherwise. He immediately got out of bed, packed up the few things he owned, and went to visit his adoptive family one last time. He didn’t tell these wonderful people who loved him so much that he was returning to Twilight Falls, and would probably not survive the visit. From home, he would travel the eight-hundred miles back to Twilight Falls. He bought a used dual-purpose motorcycle as they were common in and around Twilight Falls and would attract less attention. A full-faced helmet would hopefully prevent any of the residents from recognizing him. Small town folks tend to have long memories.

  He rode slowly down the town’s main street with the intention of stopping for a meal. He hoped that, with all the tourists in town, no one would recognize him. It was a gamble Tim was willing to take until he saw two young men walking on the sidewalk, going in the opposite direction of himself. He felt a sudden but familiar twinge of disquiet as they were both the very image of Herbert Fitzgerald. It was clear that these men were the now fully grown Byron and Gerald. Byron was wearing his familiar sullen expression, and Gerald was wearing an irritating smirk. They appeared to be bickering. Tim decided to go to the nearby town of Clement for his meals and any other necessities.

  Tim couldn’t get that old house out of his mind. He wasn’t able to quiet his thoughts even while eating. He had no idea what he was going to do here. He didn’t want to see any of the Fitzgeralds ever again, let alone speak to them. All he could think of was that house, so that’s where he went. He parked his bike some distance from the house and proceeded on foot. He was surprised to find that there was a family living in it. He nearly walked out of the woods and into the clearing before he realized that someone was there. He could hear hammering and then someone, definitely a man, shouting a creative stream of epithets. It became quiet for a moment, and then a huge dog appeared out of nowhere. It wasn’t vicious, but he didn’t want it to draw attention to him. Tim ducked behind some thick bushes, but the dog followed him. “Shoo! Go away,” he whispered, but the dog wouldn’t leave. Then he saw a very attractive and somehow familiar-looking woman presumably coming to fetch her dog. Now he was really panicking. He feared the woman would think him a pervert if he made his presence known to her. He shook the bushes he was hiding in to startle her, and then bolted back to his motorbike when the woman wasn’t looking.

  Tim chose not to stay in any of the boarding houses in the area. Instead, he camped near the old Victorian. He felt compelled to stay close to the old house, but he didn’t want to make himself known to the occupants. He’d been back in town for nearly a week and, so far, The Presence hadn’t found him. He keenly remembered his perilous run through the woods and meeting Jack on the other side. He knew there were spirits lingering here. He heard howling and hushed voices in the distance. He saw lights and movement in the brush, but he found that his youthful fortitude was still intact. He wasn’t afraid to be alone, or to sleep unprotected in his lean-to. Deep sleep came effortlessly to him; he no longer needed an herbal sleep aid. Tim’s dreams changed, and he suspected that the house’s proximity was the cause. He not only dreamed of events from his own past, but also from other people’s pasts.

  ROYAL SAT BABY GERALD on his hip, took five-year-old Byron by the hand, and walked toward the candy shop. On the corner opposite the candy shop, stood three teenaged boys who were a little older and much larger than Royal. The boys perked up when they saw Royal approaching.

  “Hey, freak!” shouted the largest boy as he crossed the street. Royal stopped and faced the boy, who was flanked by his somewhat smaller companions, but didn’t answer him.

  “Whatcha doin’, freak?”

  Royal looked coolly into the boy’s eyes, but remained silent. He could see that the boy was getting angry, and kept shooting annoyed looks at his friends. Royal turned to hand the baby to Byron. As he turned back, the boy punched Royal in the face as hard as he could. Royal’s head tipped back slightly, and he took a half-step backwards. It was not the force of the blow that moved him so much as the shock of being hit without having had the chance to shoo the little ones out of the way. The larger boy was stunned to find that his bigger and seemingly more athletic body couldn’t do more damage to such a scrawny runt as Royal Fitzgerald.

  Royal licked his split lip and tasted blood. As the boy lifted his fist to deliver a second blow, Royal responded with catlike agility and threw a left so powerful that the boy lay sprawled on the sidewalk half-conscious. The other two boys ran to pick him up. The boy’s nose was flattened and was bleeding profusely as the other boys dragged him away. Royal stood just as coolly as before and studied them. He didn’t view them as young boys, or young men, or peers, or even as people. They were just such curious things. The sobbing infant drew his attention away from his observations, and he took baby Gerald into his arms again. “Oh, there, there...” After some bouncing, patting, and cajoling, Gerald’s cries turned to snuffles, and then to a cat-nap on his brother’s shoulder. Royal dropped his hand for Byron to take and proceeded to the candy store. Little Byron skipped and sang at his big brother’s side with the merriment that only the truly victorious know.

  TIM SMILED IN HIS SLEEP at what was, for him, a pleasant memory. He rolled over and settled again into a deep sleep as another dream began.

  HERBERT GUIDED LIZBET out of his truck. Their hands were affectionately clasped together as they approached the Victorian. They were much younger than Tim remembered. Tim’s dream-self walked along with them. The Presence was also with them. Tim couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. The Presence stopped some distance away from the house that sat benevolently in a large clearly looking out over the still water of the lake. The Fitzgeralds climbed the steps of the front porch. The front door had a large pane of clear glass that made the stained-glass panel in the foyer door visible from the outside. Lizbet cringed at the sight of the four angels guarding the entrance. The door and its surround were made of birch, a wood that was sometimes used in magical communities to repel evil. The oak that was used to make parts of the front and back porches was designed to protect the inner birch, something like a suit of armor. Lizbet scoffed at the idea. Herbert was oblivious. Lizbet had fasted, prayed, and took herbal tonics for three days before visiting her patient so as to prepare herself to enter the house. The Lord promised her protection, so she was confident that no harm could come to either herself or to Herbert. Despite the Lord’s protection, it was very difficult to stay in the house for very long and she was always violently ill when she left. The only reason she could enter the house was because the owner, Neil Robbins and his wife, Fleur, welcomed her in. Lizbet was normally only there for a few minutes, just long enough to check on her patient and give her the tonics she’d prepared. This evening would be much
more difficult because she had to attend a birth and would likely be in the house for hours. The baby was coming earlier than planned, and it was the Lord who told Lizbet of the baby’s early arrival.

  “Sacrifice and servitude,” whispered Lizbet as Neil Robbins opened the door.

  “Hello, Lizbet,” said Neil as he took Lizbet’s hand and nodded to Herbert. “I’m so glad you’re here. Fleur’s having a difficult time.” Neil Robbins was a small slender man with an anxious disposition and prematurely greying hair. His health was known to be frail; and he was afflicted with a nervous agitation that steadily increased as his beloved wife’s due date neared.

  “Relax, Neil,” said Lizbet, “babies do come early sometimes. The tonics I’ve been giving Fleur have made her strong. She’ll be fine.”

  In reality, the herbal preparations that Lizbet had been giving Fleur were designed to further weaken her heart. They were also intended to cause Fleur to miscarry. Lizbet was stunned that the baby would be born nearly full-term as she’d made every concoction she knew that would cause a fetus to be aborted without causing obvious harm to the mother. A simple poison would’ve killed them both, but it also would’ve been too obvious. She hoped the child would either be stillborn, or be weak enough to die shortly after its birth as it would make her task much easier. Lizbet performed her part well. She comforted Fleur and minimized her pain during the birth. She cleaned both the baby and his mother, and left her sleeping peacefully in her bed. The baby was next to her in a bassinet. A short time later, as Lizbet and Herbert sipped coffee in the kitchen waiting for Fleur to die, they heard Neil come bounding down the stairs crying that his wife had stopped breathing. Lizbet feigned concern, ran up the stairs, and told Herbert to phone the police. Lizbet went through the motions knowing full well that no amount of resuscitation would restart Fleur’s heart. Neil went mad screaming his wife’s name and ripping out clumps of his own hair. Herbert was forced to hold him down on the bed next to Fleur’s lifeless body to prevent him from hurting Lizbet. Neil was still pinned under Herbert’s heavy body and was screaming gibberish when a young Sherman Zee arrived, followed only minutes later by the elderly town physician, Cameron Albright. Fleur was pronounced dead, and Neil was sedated for transport to the nearest psychiatric hospital. He never recovered.

  The Lord wanted the child dead, but Lizbet couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was one thing to kill a child that was still in the womb, but it was much more difficult to kill a healthy child after she’d held him in her arms. As she looked down at the healthy newborn baby boy, she felt with increasing conviction that he was the special child the Lord had promised her. How could he not be? He survived the slow poisoning of his mother, and was born two weeks early on June twenty-first, the Summer Solstice, just before the sun crested the sky. Lizbet was permitted to take the baby home. She and Herbert felt weak and ill, and their minds were muddled. The Lord wasn’t there when they exited the vile house.

  TIM’S DREAM SHIFTED. He was now following a young Herbert as he poured kerosene around the Victorian. He and Lizbet attempted several times to light the kerosene, but it wouldn’t burn. Herbert poured a small amount of gasoline and lit it. The ground ignited with a deafening boom. The flames were so tall that only the top of the house remained visible. An unexpected spring shower rained down on them and revealed a pristine undamaged house. The scene shifted again, and Tim found himself watching a somewhat older Herbert chopping away at the front porch with an axe. He was just about to smash through the stained glass door when he heard voices coming from the lake. Herbert feared that boaters might see him and ran to his truck and left. He returned the next morning to find the front of the house completely restored.

  TIM’S SOMNOLESCENT vision dissolved and was quickly replaced by another. This time he was running alongside Herbert, chasing a small group of children. Herbert was sweating profusely and he smelled awful. Two reddish-blonde children, a boy and a girl who looked very much alike, were talking quietly with each other, while a black-haired girl tried to start a fire with a pair of sticks in her hands. Herbert’s eyes were locked on the black-haired girl. Tim felt The Presence was near, and he heard it speak to Herbert.

  “Collect the black-haired one; kill the others.”

  Herbert moved forward with his usual grace. The loud sound of a twig snapping alerted the children to his presence. Herbert stopped and crouched behind the thick shrubbery. He looked down at his boots, but he hadn’t stepped on anything. Someone else had made the noise. Herbert looked around, then skirted the area, but saw no one. His attention turned back to the children. Separating the two fair-haired ones would give him the best chance of dispatching them quietly. The fair-haired girl kept looking in his direction, and it made Herbert nervous. He disliked that girl, and he very much wanted to cut open her belly. The boy moved away from the girls and came very near to Herbert’s hiding place. Another few steps and he could reach out and grab the boy. The boy stooped down unexpectedly, picked up a branch, and bolted back to the girls.

  Tim wanted to help the children, but it was a dream and he was powerless. He smelled the light sweet fragrance of lilacs and knew that his mother was near. He felt hopeful. Accompanying the lilac fragrance was the distinct scent of cedar. Tim sensed that The Presence was becoming agitated.

  “They’ve come.”

  Herbert looked around in a near panic trying to see the people the Lord spoke of, but he didn’t see anything. Tim heard chanting. Herbert didn’t hear anything. What Tim heard was nothing like the multi-voiced murmurings he’d heard as a child. This was the solitary voice of a man chanting in a language Tim had never heard before. The man sounded commanding and determined, and something in his voice made Tim feel safe.

  The children were moving away. If Herbert didn’t act soon, he’d miss his chance. He followed along behind them. The children ran, and so did he. He was sure he’d be able to grab the fair-haired girl. He really wanted her. He heard more twigs snapping, and he knew that he hadn’t stepped on any. Herbert was confused, but pressed on. The boy heard the snapping twigs too and ran faster, dragging away Herbert’s prize. The Presence attempted to help Herbert by grabbing hold of the two fair-haired children. As it reached out its shadow-like hands, an elderly man with long white hair dressed in buckskin appeared. The two children, unaware of the apparition, ran straight through him, but The Presence was unable to pass him. It howled in fury, but the old man was immovable. Herbert snatched the third child and covered her mouth with his hand as the other two sprinted across the clearing and up to that wicked house.

  TIM AWOKE AT DAWN DRENCHED in sweat. Those were the worst dreams he’d ever had. He bent forward out of his lean-to and vomited next to the fire pit. He was so exhausted that he spent most of the day lounging around his camp.

  Chapter Eight

  Herbert deposited the unconscious Rachel on Royal’s old bed. His hand was wrapped in a handkerchief. The little brat had bitten him, and his hand was bleeding profusely. One side of Rachel’s face was bruised and swollen. Her nose and lips were bleeding. Herbert had punched her and knocked her out. It was the only way to get her home without a fuss. Lizbet tended to the child first. The girl roused a little and Lizbet fed her a sedative to make her sleep. She then turned her attention to Herbert’s injured hand.

  “A girl,” said Lizbet with a tad more excitement than was proper for a woman of her status. “I should’ve known that the special child would be a girl.” The Lord’s chosen one being a girl gave Lizbet a sense of validation. She was filled with pride knowing that she’d be the one to train the child. Herbert was happy because Lizbet was happy. The Lord had told them the special child was coming, and they’d made provisions to keep the child secret until the time was right to show her to the community. The dim-witted Byron and the annoying and meddlesome Gerald were sent off to boarding school immediately after Royal’s disappearance. The Fitzgeralds claimed it was for the boys’ own protection, and no one doubted them. It didn’t matter that Byr
on and Gerald wouldn’t have the same amount of training and nurturing as Royal had. Their purpose was servile. They would be the equivalent of cannon fodder in the coming spiritual war, and Lizbet and Herbert knew it before the boys were even in the womb. They were gifts from the Lord. Herbert had neither the interest nor the necessary functionality to father a child, so the Lord took his place and blessed Lizbet with offspring. Only a small amount of preparation was needed for the holy events. Lizbet prepared a light sedative for Herbert to help him relax. Once he was asleep, the Lord took possession of his body. Lizbet and Herbert were proud to offer their bodies to the Lord, their God of Shadow, and he graced them with two miracles in the form of sons.