When it spoke Tim didn’t understand the language, it sounded a little like Navajo but there was far too much that had no familiarity. The thing lifted him off the ground and he groaned with the strain on his back.
‘Átahsaia.’ A sound of chanting filled his mind, he had a splash of vision of fireside dancers and medicine doctors shaking their sticks. ‘Átahsaia.’ Filled his mind as the thing pulled him close and the hair on its chest, as sharp as porcupine quills stuck through his shirt and into his skin. He cried out and the thing threw him aside. The beast’s skin was a mottle of black and white, like the scales of a snake and it lumbered forward, its long, strong legs thumping into the ground like two large hammers.’Átahsaia.’
A blast of gun fire erupted and the beast was knocked down, sprays of blood escaping wounds over its body. The crump of a shotgun shattered the sound and Tim tried desperately to get to his feet. On the porch were the men from the saloon, Gustav, Clarry and Faber all held big barreled shot guns. They were reloading as the others fired from hand guns. Martha ran from the porch, he wanted to scream at her to go back but he couldn’t catch his breath. The thing staggered closer until three sets of shotgun shells slammed into its spiny chest, knocking it over. Martha reached him and helped him up, he lost sight of the thing as she steered him toward the saloon. More gun fire and a roar unlike anything he had heard before. He turned to look at the creature, big and ugly and frightening. In the middle of the street where he had lain was his gun and the silver amulet, the blue and red stones bright in the early sunlight, it had fallen out of his pocket when the beast had thrown him.
Slowly, ignoring the bullet impacts as if they were mosquitos, the beast who could have been a man, could have been the man they’d seen heading for the door, knelt before the amulet and gently picked it up. The shooting stopped, either for reloading or because of what everyone was seeing. The beast turned its coal black eyes towards them, it chattered its teeth and vanished, a gust of hot wind slapping about the gathering.
Not far from a messa in the desert is a deserted town, no one visits and no one remembers the road it used to be on, even a copper mine nearby has fallen into disrepair and no one has ever come to lay claim to its rich deposits. Some old Indians, some of the oldest in the region it is claimed speak of the Cannibal demon Átahsaia and its encounter with the sisters, but mention the town that no longer has a name and they all turn away and shake their heads.
THE END.
EYES OPEN by Baylea Hart
Mama says I'm not to go outside.
She says it's too dark and that it is “too dangerous at this time of night, Alex.” But I can still see the bright, bright red post box on the green by the house, and it's only seven. I always could go outside at seven.
It's not fair.
I'm sitting at the window, looking outside and dangling my legs back and forth. It's boring when you aren't allowed outside. I kick the wall while my legs swing, looking at Mama in the window's reflection. She doesn't seem to mind that I'm bored or that I'm kicking. I huff; a big breath as loud as I can make it, but she still doesn't seem to mind. This isn't fair.
“Mama, it's not that dark. It's only seven. I'm always allowed out at seven.”
“Not tonight, Alex. The nights are getting darker, it's almost winter. You'll have to come inside earlier from now on.”
“From now on? But that's even worse!”
Mama sighs and says she is sorry, but she's not really sorry because she doesn't look at me when she says it. I bunch closer to the window in case it somehow disappears and then I can run away quick. I guess it is kind of dark outside now. Everything looks grey, like someone put the sun behind some curtains and only little bits of light could get through. It's not dark enough to stay inside though. I can see the front garden and I can see the green where me and Matty were playing earlier and –
I groan.
“Mama, I've left my ball outside.”
Mama sighs again.
“Alex, you need to start remembering your things.”
“I'm sorry. I will. Can I go get my ball? I'll be real quick.”
Mama frowns and I spot the little angry lines on her forehead which mean I'm in trouble now.
“No, Alex. I've told you that you have to stay inside.”
“But someone might steal it!”
“Well, that will be your punishment for forgetting to take your things inside, won't it?”
This isn't fair! This isn't fair at all. Mama would go outside if she had forgotten something and she's always forgetting things. Last week she forgot the milk at shopping, and yesterday when I asked her to record my program she didn't. She was watching a stupid cooking show instead. It wouldn't take me seconds, I could be out and back before she even knew I was gone. Before she even blinked!
She'd never even have to know.
I slide down from the window and put on a pretty smile.
“If I can't play outside, can I play upstairs? I'll be quiet.”
“As long as you're quiet, Alex.”
I nod and then run to give her a kiss. Mama smiles and pats my head and then I leave the room and close the door behind me.
I wait one, two, three...thirty seconds. I sneak up to the front door and go up on my toes to unlock the latch. It's nice and quiet and I open the door wide enough to slip through. I kinda want to keep the door open. Sometimes it doesn't open properly from the outside and you gotta give it a kick which would make a bunch of noise. But if Mama starts to feel cold, she might come and check for that “damn draughty door” again. Then I'd be in big trouble.
It's really cold out here, I can see my breath in little clouds as I take a look around. I'm only wearing a T-shirt but it's fine because I won't be out here long. If I run I could get to the ball in twenty seconds.
I run and my feet clap against the garden path. It's a bit too loud, but I guess if Mama hears me now it won't matter – I'm already outside and close to the ball. I get to the green and I pant and I laugh. Sneaking around is so much fun and I think I might try it more often. I bend over and pick up the ball which is already wet from the night grass.
“Hello.”
I jump and my heart starts thumping all the way up into my throat. There had been no-one outside, I know it. I checked.
“Hello,” they say again.
The voice is behind me and it's weird. Like a man trying to speak like a child all high and squeaky. It's a pretend voice and I don't like it. It makes me all cold and shivery. What do I do now? Do I run? It might be a neighbor or someone Mama talks to, but I can't turn around to check. I don't want to look.
“Don't you want to talk?”
I shake my head and squeeze the ball. The person behind me makes a sad sound, like I just disappointed them. I hear footsteps; they sound over the top like the person is pretending to march. But adults don't play like that.
It scares me.
I hear the footsteps go around me and I quickly look at the ball so that it's all I see. It's important not to look, but I don't know why.
The person moves in front of me and I can see a pair of bright shiny black shoes.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
They say the words like they're singing, but the sounds are flat and not nice at all. My eyes start to sting and my heart is loud in my throat and why didn't I listen to Mama. I rub my eyes and the person makes an ooooooh sound.
“Don't cry. Don't cry.”
“Please go away!”
Oh no. Oh no, oh no I shouldn't have said that, but I didn't think and the words came out oh please make the person go away now. Maybe they will go because I asked them to. Oh, but they aren't going away. The person takes a step closer and grabs my chin with their fingers. They press so hard it hurts bad and I can't stop the tears anymore. They lift my face up to make me look. I don't want to look, but I can't close my eyes so I keep staring at the ball until my eyes ache. I can see the person at the top of my vision, but if I don't focus it's fine.
The person leans towards me and into my face. My eyes hurt so bad.
“Shhhhhh,” whispers the person, but it's like a hiss and their breath smells awful like gone off fruit.
“Leave me alone.”
The hand on my face squeezes tighter.
“I just want to talk. I'm lonely. Why won't you look at me?”
There's a pattering sound on the ground and it's a bit like rain but it's not because it's heavier. Lots of little black shoes line up next to the person's. Something seems familiar, but I can't look no matter how much I want to.
“I can't.”
“But I'm not scary. You'll see.”
“Please go away.”
“You just need to look.”
“I need to go home. My mama's inside. I need to go home.”
“Just look at-”
“No!”
Everything goes quiet and the wind stops, like the second before a lightning bolt. The person moans, almost crying, I think the little feet are wriggling but I don't know why. I need to know why.
I flick my eye to the corner and I see Matty and I want to cry because his eyes are gone and I'm scared and the person is pale and wet looking but I can't look at its face.
I pull away from the hand and I run.
I run and I run.
There's shuffling behind me – the other kids, the line of feet, they all start chasing me, but I can't check because the person is behind me and it's fast and I don't want to see its face.
It starts calling after me.
“Look! Look!”
The words go over and over, round and round my head and make it throb and I'm almost at the door but it's stuck and I kick it and I scream and it's behind me I don't want to look it will make me look please Mama help me –
“Alex!”
The door opens and I fall into the house and I hold onto Mama and scream at her to run but she only bends down and looks at me.
She wipes my wet hair from my face and holds my cheeks. She looks worried, but I can't look at her in the eyes. Just in case.
“What happened? Alex, what happened?”
She won't believe me.
I can't tell her.
Mama tells me I'm going to see a doctor in the morning, just in case. She thinks I fell asleep and had a nightmare and walked outside. She asks me again and again what I saw, but I can't tell her and I won't look at her. I can't.
I don't manage to fall asleep. When I close my eyes I can see the feet and the wet, white skin and I can't stop my body from shaking. All I can do is stare at the dark ceiling and listen. It's so quiet that I can hear the leaves rustle outside, and a cat kick over a tin.
There's a quiet knock at my door and I shut my eyes and squeeze them until my head starts to ache. The door clicks open and I hear Mama sigh.
“Alex,” she says and I hear the door creak and close tight. I hear her tip tap footsteps on the wooden floor and I turn my face away from her. She makes a noise like she wants to cry and the noise makes me want to cry too. I don't want Mama to be sad. It's all my fault.
“Alex, please. I'm worried about you. I want to help you.”
She sits on the bed and the mattress squeaks. She puts a cold hand on my face and strokes my hair until tears leak from my scrunched up eyelids.
With a sniff, Mama says: “Oh Alex, why won't you talk to me?” but there's not just one voice, there's two and I know the other voice and all I want to do is hug my mama, but I can't because I told it, I told it my mama was inside and it's all my fault.
Mama rests her hand on my cheek, like she used to when the rain would pour and the boom of the thunder would make me jump. She used to hold me tight until the rain stopped and I fell asleep, rocking me in her arms.
She puts her forehead against mine and sighs. I ignore the smell of rotting fruit until it's so strong my eyes start to water and I can taste it whenever I breathe.
We sit in the dark together, and when Mama's hand starts to fall from my face I cling on to it and don't let go. Even when I feel her skin grow cold and sweaty. Slimy.
The smell starts to choke me, it stings like smoke. I know soon I'll need to open my eyes because it hurts so bad and I won't be able to stop myself. I cough and press Mama's cold hand closer to my skin.
“I'm sorry, Mama,” I say, but I can't say anything else because the smell is too much. All I can do is cry out a little as my eyes force themselves open and all the pain stops.
THE END.
A FATHER’S GUILTY PLEASURE by Shawn P. Madison
Jerry Bryce stared out the window of the slow moving locomotive and saw the wide open expanses flashing by in the early night. He glanced over at his father, who was operating the huge machine, and saw the deep lines of worry etched into his face. This is crazy, he thought. Twenty-five years of riding this track and never once had his father invited him to come along for the ride. Now, today, out of the blue and with more than a troubled look on his face, the old man had asked him if he wanted to come along. Not for the whole day, he had said. Just for the night run, the local run, the trip that took the train through the backwoods behind the old family house.
Jerry didn’t know what else to do, his father had never asked him to do something like this before, so he had said yes. Although he knew that something was up, he had no idea what it could be. But by the look of his father, it must be pretty important.
He had driven to the local train yard across town at about 7:30pm that night and had met his father just off of Track #22. The engine was only pulling a six-car load of various goods and didn’t look all that impressive. By 8:15pm the cars were fully loaded and the sun had dipped down below the horizon.
“Are you ready?” his father asked.
“Sure, Pop,” he had answered.
His father nodded once and motioned for him to climb aboard. With his father close behind, he climbed the black metal rungs and entered the driving compartment of the huge engine.
Paul Bryce performed a last minute check on the instruments and controls. Once satisfied, he huffed under his breath and started the massive engine. The huge machine roared to life and the big headlight out front burst into brilliance, illuminating the tracks in front of them. Without a word between them, the train started slowly forward and they were under way.
That was over fifteen minutes ago and now the sky was that dark blue just before going fully black, only the faint light of the half-moon high above still keeping the stars away. Every once in awhile he could see a house off in the distance, a few lights shining through the windows, or a car going down a lonely road. Otherwise, there wasn’t much to see.
“So...what’s this all about, Pop?” he asked over the roar of the engine.
His father glanced at him with a worried look and lowered his head to his chest. “I just wanted you to see something,” he replied.
“You want me to see something.” Jerry repeated and nodded his semi-understanding.
“What exactly would that be, Pop?”
“Don’t worry, son,” he rasped and Jerry could barely hear him. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where, Pop?”
“Don’t you worry...”
“Pop,” Jerry interrupted. “This isn’t a game. Why am I here?”
Paul Bryce took a deep breath and looked at his son for more than a full second, which caught Jerry by surprise. What was even more surprising were the tears clearly visible in his father’s eyes.
My God, he thought, my father is crying. Jerry knew that his jaw must have been hanging open but he could not force it to close. He had never seen the shiny wetness of tears in this man’s eyes before.
“Son,” Paul Bryce started. “Back when you were five years old...do you remember?”
The question hung between them for several seconds before Jerry answered. Of course he remembered. Only one major event had taken place within the family when he was five. How could he ever forget?
�
��Well,” his father said and cleared his throat before continuing. “It didn’t exactly happen the way we told you. You were very, very young and already traumatized. We thought it best at the time to tell you what we told you. As time went by, we just couldn’t bring ourselves to tell you the truth, son.”
Wait a minute, just wait a minute, Jerry said to himself as his mind raced. “When I was five you told me that Judy had gotten sick, Pop.”
“That’s right...”
“But, now you’re telling me that she wasn’t sick?”
“That’s right...”
“So what happened, Pop? What in the hell are you trying to tell me here?”
His father paused and lowered his eyes again, a tear dropped from his face to the thick metal floor below. “We’re almost there, son,” the old man said. “Then you’ll see.”
Jerry looked out the window again to try and find his bearings. What was his father talking about?
Then he suddenly realized that they were almost to the part of these tracks that ran behind the house he had grown up in, the house his parents still lived in.
“Any minute now, Jerry,” his father said.
“Any minute to what, Pop?” he asked.
“Here it comes now, we’re almost there.”
“POP!” Jerry shouted. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Paul Bryce was crying openly now, no longer holding back, an emotional display Jerry had never seen before. “When you were five, Judy was four.”
“I know that, Pop.”
“You two were so close, we were so proud of the both of you...”
“And?”
“You two did everything together, always together...except that night.”
“Pop, please...”
“You two had been playing in the living room, doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing,” his father continued. “I think you were throwing a beach ball from the pool around inside the house.”
9 Tales Told in the Dark 12 Page 12
