Twice as Dark: Two Novels of Horror

by Glen Krisch

  He straightened the photo, found some modicum of stability seeing their stolid faces. For a split second, the glass fronting the frame reflected the space behind Cooper. A space far from empty.

  An ice cold breeze lapped at his cheek, and he realized it wasn't a breeze at all.

  Pressure, cold and bracing.

  When he turned, he was face to face with Eunice Blankenship.

  "I-I'm so sorry," he said before he could think.

  Her cold fingers left his cheek. Her facial features shifted with her movement: one moment a lithe young woman, the next, a haggard, toothless crone, her motions feeble with age.

  You saw.

  "Yes. I know everything."

  Then you know.

  "What do you mean?"

  It's not over. We need your help. You need to finish what we couldn't.

  6.

  Picking fruit was a common chore for Jacob. If he wasn't picking peaches or strawberries or persimmons from his own property, he was off at neighbor farms picking fruit for three cents a bushel. As long as he could remember, his mom had taught him about the value of even a single penny. She would often say that if you gathered enough pennies and stacked them together, you could eventually stand atop your copper pile and reach out to touch the moon. He had taken on the habit of collecting his pennies and rushing home to stack them as high as he could. They never came close to reaching even a foot high before toppling. By the time he realized he would never build a tower high enough to allow him to touch the moon, he still enjoyed the sight of the copper pieces growing before him.

  "She acts like she believes Sheriff Bergman." Ellie stood on a stool to reach the nearest branches.

  The creek trickled ten feet from the last row of trees. The bent-grass trail left by his brother skirted the peach orchard. Jacob and his mom had followed it when they began their search, losing it soon after crossing the creek. The trail was gone now, fresher grass growing over his brother's footsteps.

  "It's easier for her. There's no convincing her otherwise. It'll just start an argument. Once you start an argument with my mom, you might as well just admit you were wrong. She's stubborn."

  "Sounds like someone else I know." Ellie picked an overripe peach and tossed it at him.

  It splattered against his shirt, but he didn't do anything more than glower at Ellie's smiling face. "Well, even if she believed us, someone still has to pick these peaches before they rot. We need to build up our stores."

  They filled the baskets to brimming, finding the fruit to be both bountiful and at the peak of ripeness. Before they started back, Jacob sized up the remaining fruit hanging from the trees. They could come back two more mornings and fill more baskets and still not get all of it.

  "Ready?" He took one handle of Ellie's basket while she lifted the other. They would trek back to the house, then return for the other basket.

  "Let's go."

  They worked their way back to the house, Jacob slowing his pace to account for Ellie's shorter strides.

  "I was wondering about Cooper," Jacob said, trailing off.

  "I knew he had nothing to do with it from the moment I met him."

  "I'm just not as trusting a person as you."

  "I suppose."

  "But still, if he had nothing to do with it, then he at least has something to do with finding Jimmy."

  "What's cooking in your brain, Jacob?"

  "I think I ought'a follow Cooper around, see if he knows more than he lets on."

  "Your mom would pitch a fit if she knew you went off like that. Besides, Greta said he doesn't know anything."

  "Maybe if I follow him around, I'll see something Cooper doesn't. Maybe I can help find out where my brother is before Cooper's supposed to."

  "I don't know, Jacob. Greta would'a said you had something to do with finding Jimmy if you're supposed to."

  They were silent as they closed in on the house. Jacob was trying to figure out how he could get away, at least for a little while, when Ellie dropped her basket handle without warning, spilling bruised fruit in a semi-circle.

  "Ellie, why didn't you tell me you were going to drop it!"

  Jacob glared at her, but she seemed unconcerned about the plight of the peaches. Her eyes were trained on the road, at a solitary figure walking toward the driveway.

  "I… I think that's my dad."

  7.

  "Janie, you gotta believe me. I'm a changed man. I come for Elizabeth, now, and we ought to get home. We got work to do at the farm that ain't gonna get done on its own. Besides, we got fences between us need mending." Mr. Banyon had a fresh shave and wore a clean set of clothes, but his eyes were bleary red, as if he hadn't slept much lately. While always a thin man, he had a mangy, raw appearance. When he entered their house, Jacob had sniffed the air for any sign of alcohol. To his surprise, he didn't find the slightest trace.

  Jacob looked from his mom to Mr. Banyon, then back again. Ellie peeked out from behind his mom as if she were a brick wall strong enough to turn away a tornado's wrath. His mom furrowed her brow, and she stared at Mr. Banyon, stared and didn't say a word for a long time.

  Ellie's dad seemed to realize he still wore his hat. He took it off, pushed back his hair from his eyes and held the hat in front of him. His hands were shaking. He tried to hide it, but couldn't quite get a handle on it.

  "I appreciate you looking after Elizabeth like you done. It was a kind and Christian thing for a neighbor to do, but we must be on. Come on Elizabeth," Banyon said, his voice strengthening. He extended his hand, trying to coax Ellie out from behind his mom. The girl didn't move.

  "Your kind and Christian neighbors buried your son, and where were you?" Jacob said.

  "Jacob, hush now."

  "Janie, I can't explain how or why, but I seen the light. I know now how awful a father I been. I know this and I'm never going to walk that path again. I swear. I swear on Mabel's soul I ain't traveling that road again."

  "When was your last drink, Charles? Is that why your hands are shaking? You need a drink? Want me to fix you a whiskey? Will that make everything better?"

  "No more, Janie, I promise. I swear it."

  "What happens when you can't stop the shaking, when your rage returns from deep inside and you need to let off steam? If you're not drinking, will Ellie take the brunt of your anger?"

  "Three days, Janie, I'm sorry to say it's been three days since my last drink. God, I wish it could be ten years, or that I never took up the bottle in the first place. So much would be different. But I can't change any of that. It's all been lived. All that time is gone now. My wife is gone, my boy. All I got left is my Elizabeth standing there behind you. I need her, and I think she needs me, even though she's tough as shoe leather, that girl needs her Pa."

  Mr. Banyon was weeping openly, tears falling freely down his cheeks. Jacob could see his mom's will bending. Her face softened, her eyes falling to Ellie. The girl looked so sad, as if she didn't ever want to leave. Maybe Jacob was reading his own feelings into her expression; he couldn't be sure either way.

  "Elizabeth, girl, I'm sorry for letting you down." Banyon extended his hand to Ellie, and she took it cautiously, but didn't leave the security his mother provided. He hunched over until he stood eye to eye with her. "You've been so strong for so long. I promise you I won't let you down. I can't change what's past. All I can do is make sure it never happens. Tomorrow or ever again."

  Banyon couldn't help it any longer. He covered his eyes with his still-shaking hands, blubbering like a child.

  Jacob never thought he would see the day when Charles Banyon showed a hint of weakness, or even that he possessed the slightest bit of kindness within his soul. And here he was doing just that. He was feeling all emotional himself, as if he too would start crying. He bit his lip until the feeling subsided.

  Ellie left his mother's side, and while small even for her nine years, her inner strength made her seem much older. She offered a quickly-fading smile, then once again took ho
ld of her father's hand. Mr. Banyon hugged Ellie, hugged her as if she had just saved his life. The man sniffled away his tears and after wiping his cheeks with his shirtsleeve, seemed ready to get on with living.

  "Thank you, Miss Fowler. Jacob, take care," Ellie said. She left the house, still holding her father's hand as if he were a child. Mr. Banyon didn't say another word, just followed Ellie as if she lent him the strength to take his next step.

  "Are we just going to let her go with him?"

  His mom closed the door, shutting out the afternoon heat. "I don't think we've got a choice. Charles has promised to dry out before, and has always ended up backsliding. With the dry laws, he sobered for a while. But temperance was never his strong suit. Not since Mabel died. A loss like that is hard to recover from. But somehow, looking into his eyes just now, I think I want to believe him."

  "Mom, he won't ever change." Jacob could understand his mom's weakness for Charles Banyon. She of all people would understand the loss of a spouse. But how long could someone use an excuse? Can an excuse forgive being a sour spirited and altogether malicious person?

  "I'll keep an eye on Ellie. We won't let him go bad on her. I won't let it happen."

  His mom turned away from their discussion and parted the curtains of the front window. He joined her, watching Ellie and her dad walk home.

  A door opened from one of the back bedrooms, and Louise walked out, her hand gingerly rubbing her stomach. Jacob gave her a glance, and when he looked back to the road, the Banyons had gone around the bend beyond their driveway, out of sight.

  "I never felt so miserable in all my life," Louise said. When they didn't respond, she came closer, speaking up, "Where's Ellie?"

  8.

  Ethan Cartwright never aged, never felt the erosive power of the passing years. He wore his purple scar proudly, the lone physical imperfection the Underground had failed to remedy. It was a sigil representing his strength, his ability to outlive a wound that would surely kill most men. But, like all the others living here, the Underground's curative powers never reached his mind. There, in a mire of hatred, paranoia and egomaniacal self-reverence, his dreams ran rampant, inflicting damage that could never heal. And there, in his dreams, he saw one night played out methodically, one second after another unchanged from the night of its tolling. One night unembellished, a night of his reckoning, a night that informed his every waking thought.

  Ethan woke with a start, the image of blood splashed across his son's cheek stained into his wakened vision. He pushed the blanket away and ran his fingers over his sweat-soaked chest. His scar burned. His fingers lingered there, as if they could smooth away the damage.

  He blinked in the trembling candlelight. The image wouldn't leave him:

  Jasper's cheek streaked with blood from his jaw to the fine blond hair over his ear, his eyes filled with sheer terror. Of all the details of that night, he could never remember whose blood tainted the pure white surface of his son's skin. It could've been any of the runaways. They'd all bled plenty. Or it could've been Joss Parkins, the slaves' owner. It could've been his own.

  Ethan had been wounded deeply across the meat of his forearm, hacked straight to the bone. The younger runaway, Benjamin, had gotten hold of Vic's machete, and empowered and desperate, wildly swung the weapon. The first strike cut into his master's shoulder, the next struck Ethan's arm. Sinking to his knees while cradling his arm, Ethan's vision found Jasper. The boy, blood-splashed and unhinged, was cowering away, cowering not just from the rampaging runaway, but his own father, too.

  "Ethan?" Thea touched his shoulder, and he was fully awake. "You can talk to me. Tell me what happened."

  A minute lapsed. He finally turned to look into her eyes, but she didn't look away, even though she was obviously frightened.

  He'd never spoken about that night, not even upon reflection with Arthur Scully, but now he found himself opening up. "We didn't know what would happen. After everything that happened, every one of us was exhausted and bleeding badly. We didn't go to the surface, not right away. We were too weak. Too ashamed of nearly losing everything to three slaves, a group including a skinny girl and old man. We learned enough the following morning, when we dragged Parkins to the surface. We'd thought he'd died, everyone did. How can you not die when your head's nearly cut off? But then, as we moved through the tunnels, he started moving. Turns out he did die, just not forever."

  Ethan paused, seeing the scene plain as day. The details never eroded.

  "It's okay. It's over."

  "But it's not. Jasper's dying."

  He saw in her eyes that she didn't know what to say. But she brought him to her, pressing his cheek against her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair.

  He continued: "Parkins had died, sure enough, but he was rising. We thought we should get him to daylight, see if we might find a doctor for him. How else would we get the second half of our payment if he was dead? When we got to the surface, the sunlight seemed to melt his skin. He rotted before our eyes. We didn't know what to do. When he collapsed in front of us, dead now for sure, we went back below ground."

  "That's when you saw the slaves?"

  "We'd killed them. I saw it with my own eyes. Their blood was dry under my nails. I could smell it in my nostrils. But when we got back to where we'd left them, all we found were blood trails leading deeper into the ground."

  "And you followed?"

  "Of course. We'd never let a slave escape our bonds. We weren't about to start. We found them soon enough. Never let them out of sight after that." He pulled away from her, turning his back to her. He thought she might come to him again, but she didn't. For some reason this made him respect her more than he already did. "My mother lived less than a hundred miles from here. I moved her in town to watch after Jasper while we organized things Underground. Thea, he's gonna die. It's certain. I haven't seen him in so long."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "It's fine. I sent for him."

  There was a knock on his door. Before he could reach the door, it opened.

  He was angered over the intrusion until he saw the look on Leo Borland's face.

  "What is it?"

  "He's gone, Ethan. We were too late."

  "What do you mean? He already… he was already…"

  "No. He's alive, well, as far as I know. But he left this." Leo handed Ethan a small scrap of paper.

  It contained three small words written in an arthritic script: You're too late.

  Ethan tore the paper and fed it to a candle's flame. "It's over…" He turned away from Leo and Thea. He paced the room several times, then squared his shoulders and faced Leo. "Get your brothers, Scully, and three other trusted men. When you see Scully, tell him we're gonna move on that list we put together."

  Leo didn't say he knew about the list, but his wide grin spoke more than words.

  9.

  Jimmy woke from a terrible dream. Woke from one nightmare right into another. He was trapped forever, a prisoner in his own town.

  His dreams were getting worse, and the horrible details lingered longer after waking. In his dreams, Louise was on the verge of losing her balance at the edge of a cliff. She'd reach for him, her fingers grasping the air, and then gravity would take her, pulling her away from him. Her frightened eyes never wavered as she fell. Her screams, so heartrending, breaking apart, resounding, reforming until the wail was that of a colicky baby.

  He blinked in the darkness, cold sweat slicking his face, his back. He thought he would be sick. Flat on his stomach against the cavern floor, the world spinning beneath him, bile seeped into the back of his throat, gagging him. She needed him. Louise needed him and he would do whatever it took to see her again.

  But if he went to her now, she would be frightened of him, even more frightened than what his nightmares could articulate. If he could ever escape this hell, his flesh would quickly decay. Harold had told him the gruesome repercussions for leaving the confines of the Underground. The old Negro believed
that God had seen such horrible sights in these caves that He had turned a blind eye on this little section of the world. Once He had made His decision, time dwelled on the second He left. Jimmy didn't know if he believed Harold. Jimmy wasn't raised religious, but there had to be some explanation.

  "You had that nasty dream again, Mr. Jimmy?"

  He didn't say anything to Harold. Didn't even acknowledge him. Since he learned he could never leave the Underground, Jimmy's thoughts had turned increasingly inward in an ever-tightening, darkening spiral. He no longer feared a beating from his captors, no longer feared the most agonizing pain. For the first time in his life--a life pursuing exhilaration and feats of daring--Jimmy no longer valued his own life.

  It made him think about how he had once fallen two stories from the roof of Magee's Barbershop after attempting to walk the precarious edge from one side to the other. A crowd had formed at street level, gasping at his nerve. As soon as he lost his balance on the crumbling brick, the sighs turned to sharp shrieks. He remembered thinking as he plummeted that the onlookers were so full of fear, even though he was the one falling to the hard-packed ground below. Once his mom knew he would be fine after his broken ankle healed, she tore in to him like she had never before or ever since. Inside Dr. Thompson's office, she had cried over Jimmy's battered body, alternating between tears and rage. She pleaded with him, demanding to know why he wanted to die so much, why he couldn't value the life she had given him.

  He remembered her reaction to his response more so than her words. She was appalled by his lack of remorse, shocked by his indifference, yet all he'd said was that he did value his life, and that was his reason for doing the things he did. He had told her that nothing made you value life more than risking it. She had stormed from Thompson's office, murmuring about how he was just like his father. It seemed like that was her response to everything he did, everything he said.