by Adam Dark
I pulled on the chain and waited. Nothing happened. I yanked on the chain a second time even harder. Still nothing. If there was a dog, it was either asleep or dead. I dropped the chain from my shaky hands and shuffled toward the doghouse. I fell to my hands and knees and peeked inside.
The wind picked up and knocked me on my side. That's when I saw him. He was hunched over in a ball in the back of the doghouse. His arms were cradled around his knees with them pulled up to his chest. An old burlap potato sack was spread across his back. I couldn't tell if he was alive.
"Trevor? Is that you?" I asked.
The body wrapped in the brown sack did not move. It was too dark to see if his eyes were open or not. Too dark to see if it was even a person. The coldness in my extremities was working its way to my core. I wouldn't be able to stay out here much longer or I'd turn into an icicle. I crawled inside the doghouse.
The wooden beams all along the side of the doghouse blocked out most of the cold wind. Puffs of white smoke left my lips with each exhale. I scooted along on my hands and knees, keeping my head low. The doghouse was barely big enough for me to fit in. I only managed to get half my body inside. The lower half remained out in the cold.
I reached out my hand and pulled the sack away. It was definitely number three. I touched my hand to his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. His body was freezing. His face was pale. I shook harder.
"Trevor?" I asked.
He didn't respond right away to my calls. On the third shake, he opened his eyes and looked at me. He gazed at me as if looking through me. As if I were some invisible phantom in the night come to steal his soul as he slept.
"You're alive!" I said.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "You shouldn't be here."
His voice was weak and his lips quivered as he spoke. They were so purple!
"I came to find you," I said.
Trevor's eyes grew heavy. He leaned his head back on the ground.
"We need to get you out of here before you freeze to death," I said.
I picked up the chain and followed it to his ankle. It was secured to his left foot. I tried to yank it free but the latch was too tight and my fingers were too numb.
"It's no use," Trevor said. "I've already tried."
I pulled with all my might but the latch wouldn't budge. Fear swept over me. The lock must have been frozen from the cold. If I couldn't get it open, Trevor would freeze to death out here.
I left the doghouse and circled around to the barn front entrance. I searched all of the rafters and shelves for something to smash the lock open. I ran back with a wrench.
"I'm going to try to smash it off," I said.
I didn't wait for Trevor to say it was okay before I slammed the blunt edge of the wrench against the metal lock. I smashed it three more times before it flung out of my frozen hands. I rubbed my fingers to try and stimulate the blood flow.
Each strike felt like someone smashing my fingers with rocks. The wrench had done little than place a few scrapes in the chain lock. There was a small, red indentation on Trevor's leg where the wrench had slipped and made contact with the soft tissue above the ankle. He hadn't even acknowledged the blow.
"I told you it was no use," Trevor said.
"I need to get you out of here," I said.
It was then I noticed his toes were turning an odd color. Black.
I racked my head with ideas of how I could break Trevor free, but my brain wouldn't work. It was way too cold. My body was already shutting down. If I stayed here much longer, I'd become a snowman myself.
I patted Trevor on the shoulder.
"I'll be back," I said.
Trevor groaned and squeezed his face inside the potato sack. It only covered half his body. I scooted out of the doghouse and back into the cold. I ran toward the house. Each step in the snow was like stepping on shards of glass. I knew about hypothermia and frostbite. I had heard about climbers trying to go up Mount Everest and getting stranded in the snowstorms. Many never returned. And those who did often had pieces of their feet or hands or nose removed due to frostbite.
My mind chased back to the blackness creeping up Trevor's foot.
I tried not to think of such things as I ran through the snow. I scaled the porch steps and yanked the back door open. I was welcomed with a gush of warmth. My body immediately reacted. Every part of my body burned as if someone had poured hot boiling water over me.
I blocked out the pain and gritted my teeth. The house was dark and quiet. Everyone was asleep. I waited by the back door to ensure that no one had woken up and that Simon was still asleep. The door to his bedroom was still closed. He was the only one that slept downstairs. I scanned the living room before I made my way to the kitchen.
I opened up the pantry and searched the shelves. Simon didn't keep much food in the house. He said it was wasteful to have a stockpile of food in the cabinets and the refrigerator. We kept only what we needed for the week. It was only Wednesday and already we were almost out of food.
I grabbed the loaf of bread off the top shelf. I removed three slices and stuffed them in my pocket. I was placing the bread back on the shelf and reaching for one of the cans of beans when I thought I heard something. I froze. Someone was downstairs.
I reached out and closed the pantry doors just as Simon entered the kitchen. I tried to slow my heart rate and hold my breath from inside the food closet. I peered through the crack in the two adjoining doors, but I couldn't see anything. I heard Simon open the refrigerator followed by the uncapping of the milk carton.
My heart pulsed so loud in my ears that I thought he would hear it. One of the cabinets across from me, to the left of the oven, opened. Next came the sliding sound of one the drawers. I saw movement in the crack between my hiding place. I crouched to my knees and squeezed underneath the base of the shelves just as the pantry doors opened.
Simon grabbed one of the boxes of cereal four shelves up. I listened to the circular pebbles pour into the bowl. He scooped up the bowl and milk and walked to the dining table. From my crouched position, my body flinched with every crunch of the Cherrioats.
I don't know how long it was before Simon finished with his late-night snack and finally placed the bowl in the sink. It felt like an eternity. One of us would have to clean it in the morning before he had breakfast.
I waited until I heard his bedroom door close again before I allowed myself to let out the breath I had been holding and climbed out from underneath the shelves. I decided against the can of beans. It would be too much of a hassle to get the can opener out of the drawer without making a sound. Instead, I filled a small bowl with water from the sink and braved the cold again.
I grabbed a blanket from the sofa in the living room before returning to the barn. Trevor wasn't moving and had his eyes closed when I crawled inside. I dropped the three slices of bread by his face along with the bowl of water.
"You'll want to drink this before it freezes," I said, and added, "It was all I could manage."
Trevor's right eye peeked open. He went from me to the food on the cold floor. He reached a quivering hand out from underneath the potato sack and picked up one of the slices of bread. He placed it against his lips and chewed slowly.
I unraveled the tattered blanket I'd found in the living room and draped it over his shoulders.
"It's not much but hopefully it'll keep you from freezing tonight," I said.
I pulled the potato sack over his feet.
"Thanks, Tripp," Trevor said.
He had never called me by my real name. He always called me thirteen just like Simon did. His eyes caught my attention.
"Sorry about your nose," Trevor said.
I touched my nose instinctively. The pain had stopped long ago but it was still crooked.
"It's fine," I said.
We didn't talk much after that. He nibbled on the bread and managed to chase down a few gulps of water before collapsing. I stay with him until he had finished, then picked up the bowl. I conte
mplated whether I should take the blanket, but decided to leave it.
Punishment from Simon was better than letting a boy die in the cold.
"I'll come back tomorrow," I said.
Trevor's eyes were closed. He was already asleep. I returned to the house and replaced the bowl in the cabinet before sneaking back up the stairs to my room. I opened the door to our room just enough for me to squeeze through so that the hinges wouldn't squeak.
The rest of the boys were still sleeping. I could hear their snoring as I slid beneath the bed sheets. I let out a sigh as I laid there thinking of Trevor stuck out in the cold. I had tried everything I could within my means to keep him alive, but would it be enough?
I told myself that Trevor would be okay, but if the temperature dropped drastically like it was prone to in these parts, I knew there was no way he would make it. I just had to pray that the storm wouldn't get worse before the happened.
3
I returned to the doghouse every night for the next four nights. Each night I brought Trevor food and something to drink. At dinnertime, I'd sneak food into my pocket when no one was looking. This proved to be more difficult than I thought.
Simon was always watching us boys, ensuring that our table etiquette was flawless. If one of our elbows touched the table, we'd feel the sting of his switch along our arm. Needless to say, it didn't take too many of those swats before you remembered not to put your arms on the table, to use the correct fork and spoon, as well as proper posture at the table.
It was now the fifth night since I had been going to see Trevor. Each night he seemed to be growing in spirits and each night it became more and more difficult to leave him. There were times that I had contemplated staying the night with him, but I knew that wasn't possible. There was barely enough room for him inside the doghouse let alone me. And if for whatever reason Simon were to wake up and check our bunks, he would see that I was missing. That would be bad news for both of us if that happened.
So instead, I brought him food and some water each night and stayed with him as long as I could before returning to my bed. I even brought him an old pair of socks of mine on the second day. I had a smile on my face as I returned to the house through the soft snow this fifth night. This time I had worn a jacket and shoes.
The cold sting only burned my nose and ears. They’d warm the moment I got back inside. My feet hit the first steps leading to the porch when my heart froze in my chest.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
It was Simon. He was sitting in the rocking chair in the dark. What was he doing awake? Did he see me at the doghouse? What would he do with me?
Fear swept over me as my mind played and replayed all of the terrible scenarios in my head. But Simon did not budge. He did not say another word. He only stared at me with those black orbs in the crooked inlet on the wraparound porch.
The rocking chair creaked as he stood and walked toward me. I was stuck like a gargoyle when the sun comes up. My body was shivering and not because of the cold. My teeth chattered as he hovered over me like a giant, black wraith.
He glowered at me without a word. It felt like an eternity before those dark pits lifted from my face and looked out across the backyard. I slowly exhaled the breath I had been holding but did not speak. My only prayer was that I was dreaming and this was only a nightmare. But I knew that wasn’t true. This was real. I had gotten out of bed of my own volition.
I knew what he was thinking. Why had I been behind the barn? What was I doing out of bed after curfew? He did not look at me when he spoke next.
“You were at the barn?” he said. It wasn’t a question as much as a statement.
I didn’t respond. I bowed my head.
“Simon asked you a question,” he said.
“Yes,” I muttered.
This was it. He would haul me to the post in the middle of the yard and whip me. My cries of agony would wake the other boys but none would dare peek out the window for fear. They wouldn’t even mention it the following day when I had a limp for fear their own curiosity would warrant a similar punishment.
One second went by. Then two. Then ten. Nothing happened. Simon and I stood inches apart, silent and still, as if we were dancing partners and the music had stopped. Without another word, Simon shot past me. His dark frame whipped through the soft snow, his boots crunching as they went.
He disappeared behind the barn. I began sobbing when I heard Trevor scream. The boy was begging for Simon to let him ago, that he was sorry, and wouldn’t do it again. Simon dragged Trevor up the steps right past me and into the house.
Trevor’s pleading eyes loomed up at me. His face strained with distress and fear. One of the socks I had given him snagged on the upper lip of the stairs and ripped off. The nail of his big black toe scraped along the floorboards.
His whole foot was black now.
I did not know what else to do so I followed like a weary mouse in search of food. Simon and Trevor were already making their way up the stairs when I stepped through the back door. By this time, Trevor’s sobs and pleas would have woken the rest of the boys.
And though they wouldn’t dare come out of the room or leave the safety of their sheets, I knew every one of their eyes were popping out of their sockets with tremors—wondering if they were next to be hauled to the Black Room.
I paused at the base of the stairs. The door to the Black Room slammed with a loud pop. Trevor’s screams were immediately dulled but not drowned out. I crept up the stairs, one trembling foot at a time. I paused a second time at the top.
My eyes drifted to the scrapes along the edge of the doorframe. I wondered if they were from age or from something more sinister. How long had the Black Room been used? What went on in the Black Room was a mystery. Only one other boy had ever gone in—Bobby—and he never spoke. Now there were two and I doubted Trevor would speak much if he ever came out.
Shadows danced along the floorboards from beneath the door. The screams had stopped but I could hear the gentle sobbing as of a baby cradled in a cloth. I flinched when the bolt on the door latched in place. Then the whimpering stopped.
I veered to our room and cracked the door open. As it closed quietly behind me, I surveyed the room. No one moved, but I knew they were watching me, waiting to see if Simon would follow. He never did.
I shuffled to my bed near the front of the room numb with fear. Brimming with images of Simon’s black orbs staring at me, I couldn’t see straight. I bumped into number five’s bed before finally stumbling into mine. I crawled underneath the blankets, stared at the rafters, and watched as the spider spun its web in the hole. If only I could escape through it.
“What happened?” I heard the whisper to my right.
I rotated my head. Number five was lying on his side looking at me, fear and curiosity etched on his face.
“Simon came outside,” I said.
“While you were at the barn?” number five asked.
I nodded.
“He was waiting on the porch when I came back,” I said.
I could feel the tension rise in the room when a shrill shriek came from the room across the way. My heart flipped as that piercing cry ripped through any morsel of courage I had left. He’s killing him I thought. I killed Trevor!
“What do you think he’s doing to him?” came the question from across the room.
It was number nine. He was a puny kid, much like me, but with blues eyes as gray as the clouds outside and hair that grew in curly patches. Even his eyebrows mimicked bushy bunches of spikey clouds.
“Killing him,” I mumbled without knowing what I was saying.
That got the attention of the rest of the room. Every boy lurched up out of their bed, sheets flying. They rushed to the door and pressed their ears against the walls. The house was old. The walls didn’t have the new insulation that more modern homes had these days. We could hear everything. We could hear a pin drop if we held our breath long enough and stopped the pounding in our che
sts.
“How do you think he’s doing it?” number three asked.
I didn’t like number three. He reminded me of Trevor, but scrawny and a face covered in red bumps. We sometimes called him scar face because his face seemed to always be bleeding.
He kept his nails long for the sole purpose of peeling away his flesh. Even as I thought this, he reached with a bloodied nail to tear at a new volcanic hump on his cheek. Red, liquid pus oozed out of the open wound. I nearly vomited when number three stuck his finger in his mouth.
Disgusting.
I didn’t bother getting out of bed like the others. I already knew what Simon was doing to Trevor. Well, I didn’t know exactly what, but I had an idea. As much as an eleven-year-old boy could. If Simon was willing to chain Trevor to a doghouse in the middle of a winter freeze, who knew what else he was capable of behind closed doors?
I noticed Bobby was the only other one not standing. He was lying on his back in his bed. If anyone knew what went on behind that door, it would be him.
“He’s not killing him,” Bobby said.
His voice was a murmur like the purr of a cat. No one heard him but me.
“What is he doing then?” I asked.
Bobby remained on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“He’s not killing him,” Bobby repeated.
He refused to say any more after that. The other boys soon grew bored and returned to their beds. Half of them fell asleep within a few minutes but I laid awake. Number five rolled on his side again.
“Do you think you’re next?” number five asked me.
He must have been lying in his bed thinking about it for a while. The curiosity was killing him.
“He’ll probably do to me whatever he’s doing to Trevor,” I said.
I rolled on my left side, away from number five, and closed my eyes. If Simon was going to kill me, then there was nothing I’d be able to do to stop him.
4
I woke before the sun came up, even earlier than Simon. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, fully dressed, when he opened the door. I looked up when he entered. His eyes flashed across the room to the sleeping bodies and settled on me.
