by Adam Dark
I clamored to my feet and rummaged through the drawer. There were manila folders with each of our names on the bill. I passed over mine and was briefly tempted to look through it. But the voices told me to keep digging. I found the gold key at the bottom, underneath and buried below the folders, papers, passports, and legal filings. I was surprised by its weight.
“Hurry...he’s coming…”
I snagged the key and slid across the floor. I inserted the metal frame into the lock and went to turn. The latch clicked. It was free. I hesitated with my hands in the air, hovering over the chest. My body felt like I had just run up the mountain three times.
“Open it...see for yourself...you deserve to know…”
I did deserve to know what lay inside. I reached for the lid with both hands and lifted. I let the lid fall with a snap when I heard the familiar tap next door. Simon was in our room.
The floorboards creaked as someone hopped out of bed in the room next door. The boards vibrated as they approached my location.
I had only a moment of action before the door swung open and Simon walked in, a sheepish Bobby in tow. I dove under the cot just as the door clicked shut.
14
The voices stopped immediately and the full range of my senses rushed in on overload. My heart was beating so loudly there was no way Simon would not hear it. I held my breath, afraid to breathe, lest he hear me exhale.
The mattress sank as someone sat on it. I lay flat on my stomach, Simon’s boots mere inches from my face. He didn’t move. They didn’t speak. For ten minutes no one did anything or said a word.
Then Simon spoke.
“Simon says lie down.”
The indentation in the cot spread out lengthwise.
“Simon says take off your clothes.”
More movement on the bed. Bobby dropped his shirt and pants on the floor.
“If you scream, I’ll make it worse. Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you,” Simon said.
I didn’t know what to expect. This was it. The moment I had wondered about since coming to the orphanage. Simon’s belt hit the floor with a loud smack. I jumped and hit my head on the bedsprings. I managed to stifle my groan. His pants and shirt soon followed. I held my breath. Was this really going to happen? The boys were right.
But Simon never approached the bed. Instead, I watched his feet go to the armoire, fling open the doors, and crouch down to the chest. I could see his bare bottom from my vantage point. He had scars all along his back and legs. They were deep and red as if they were fresh. My heart froze remembering the key in the chest. I hadn’t had time to remove it and stash it back in the drawer.
Simon’s calves flexed. He stood and circled around.
“We have a visitor,” Simon said.
His voice sounded different. It made my skin crawl. I flinched as Simon approached the bed.
“What should we do with him?” Simon asked in that demonic voice. “Indoctrinate him,” came the response as if more than one person was having a conversation. Bobby hadn’t spoken this entire time. It was probably better not to speak.
Suddenly Simon’s face appeared on the floor, three inches from my face.
“There you are!” he said with a clown’s smile and wild eyes. He grabbed me by the arms and tugged me out. I screamed and kicked my legs but he held me firm and plopped me down next to Bobby. Bobby’s eyes were glazed over into the back of his head. He rocked from side-to-side, humming to himself.
“What did you do to him?” I asked.
Simon hissed and his head whipped to the side. It remained bent at a crooked angle. He was talking to himself again in that strange voice. He seemed to not see me. The tension in the room grew the longer I remained on the bed. The walls appeared to be converging on me like a dark fog.
Simon paced the room, scratching his head and slapping his hand. He’d yelp like a wild dog with each strike.
“You’re scaring Bobby,” I said.
I’m not sure why I said it. Bobby looked just about as demented and gone as Simon did. Scared wasn’t quite the right word. The voices that had once been inside my head crawled along the walls and the ceiling. They dripped and hung like spider webs. They echoed and overlapped with one another until it was a chorus of multiple voices speaking at once, growing in volume as if each one were trying to speak over the other.
Amidst this, Simon continued to claw his face and twitch. His hands were bent and his back was hunched over as though it were broken. Suddenly, he yelled and his head shot back. His eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. His body tensed like someone had pierced him with a spear.
It lasted only a moment before he collapsed to the ground, panting. He no longer spoke an unknown language and the psychotic antics had vanished. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. He lifted his head slowly and looked right at me.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said.
He jumped to his feet and rushed me before I had a chance to run. His hands lifted me off of the bed and carried me to the far corner of the room. He dropped me and the floor met my fall. Pain coursed through my lower back. I tried to stand but the pain was too great.
Simon went to the armoire and yanked the doors ajar, nearly ripping the one off of its hinges. He jerked the chest into the center of the room as though it were a bag of paper. I had barely been able to make it budge and he spun it around as if it were nothing.
This terrified me.
Simon’s eyes weren’t the same. They were darker. His face was sharp and drawn. The circles under his eyes were heavier. He flipped the lid open and reached inside. My mouth dropped when he lifted Trevor’s lifeless body from the chest. His arms and legs had been chopped off and his eyes removed.
I backed away but the wall kept me from retreating. Simon placed Trevor on the floor and positioned his body in an upside down triangle. He went back to the chest and brought out a bucket. The stench was more than I could handle. I vomited. It only grew worse when he stuck his hand in the blood and smeared it along the floorboards.
He was drawing something. Meanwhile, Bobby was oblivious to what was happening. He continued to rock with the whites of his eyes transfixed on the floor. Simon returned his attention to me.
“You wanted to see, now you see,” he said.
I didn’t know what he meant by that. He pushed me into one of the adjoining triangles that circled the larger one where Trevor’s body lay. Bobby’s rocking turned to thrashing. His head flopped back, his eyes to the ceiling.
Simon smeared the blood along his bare body before kneeling in the center of a second sphere he had drawn on the floor. Simon leaned over and began chanting. Symbols began to burn blue all over the room. Some were etched into the walls or floorboards, while others seemed to float in the air. They were alive.
The room smelled like sweat and human feces. I gagged but was unable to relieve the nausea in my stomach. Bobby shot past me and pulled out a whip from the chest. His eyes were no longer white orbs. They were black pits of hell.
His teeth were razor blades as he smiled at me.
“You’re next,” Bobby said. His voice was deep and demonic.
Bobby's body bulged with bumps that moved underneath his skin. The symbols continued to swirl and gravitate toward Bobby until they merged with him. They seared themselves to his flesh like burnt tattoos. He glowed like hot coals.
Simon jerked when the first strike fell. Droplets of blood splashed my face and body. Bobby reared back the whip a second time and let it fall. More blood flew through the air. The strikes got stronger and more rapid. Pieces of flesh, bone, and blood soaked the room. I was dripping with fragments of Simon.
And all the while Simon groaned with a sadistic smile on his face. Bobby stopped once there was nothing left of Simon’s back. The floorboards were drenched in a thick coat of blood. It had to be bleeding through the cracks to the downstairs.
I hadn’t noticed I was screaming. My yells were trapped within a bubble. My throat ached from crying
for help. Simon’s body heaved and began thrashing on the ground as though he were possessed. Bobby kneeled and looked straight ahead, the same placid expression on his face, white orbs returned.
A large bump rose from Simon’s stomach and clawed its way up his chest and through his esophagus. His mouth ope ned twice the normal capacity, his jaw hanging dislocated to his chest. Out of his mouth he spewed black smoke. It twirled and mingled with the magical symbols in the air. They converged on the corpse. The black smoke slithered into Trevor’s nostrils, empty eye sockets, and ears.
Enough smoke to fill the room rushed out of Simon and into Trevor’s dead body. I couldn’t pry my eyes away. Simon was not a sexual predator—he was something much worse. The boys had no idea what they were talking about. When Trevor’s chest rose and he lunged off the ground, I bolted to the door.
I slammed my fists and kicked my feet against the door.
“Help! Somebody help me!” I screamed.
Trevor’s lifeless body rose off of the ground like a zombie coming back to life. It hovered in the air. The black smoke continued to pour out of Simon’s mouth and envelop Trevor’s body. The smoke pulsated like it was alive. I realized what was happening. It was consuming Trevor.
Trevor’s body was devoured right before my eyes. The black smoke returned back to Simon’s mouth. I twisted around and pulled on the doorknob. It wouldn’t twist. I was trapped. I searched the room for something to use as a weapon.
I spotted the hammer. It was lying on the floor under the desk, but I’d need to pass Simon to get to it. For now he was immobile. Once the mysterious smoke filled his lungs again, I’d be out of time. I bolted for the hammer.
I slipped on the blood and smashed my head into the side of the desk. Dots spun in my vision but I blocked out the pain and clamored for the weapon. My wet fingers slid along its handle. I jerked back and backpedaled to the door on my butt.
I turned and pummeled the door with the hammer. Chunks of wood split and flew past my face. I glanced over my shoulder. The smoke was nearly gone. I hammered frantically until a hole formed above the doorknob.
I reached my hand through. The hole wasn’t big enough. The jagged flakes of wood cut into my skin as I twisted my wrist for a holding. My fingers found the latch and pulled. The bolt released. I ripped my hand free, along with bits of flesh, and yanked the door open.
I went to run but tripped. Something caught my ankle. I went flying face first onto the floor. My nose shattered a second time on impact and warm blood gushed from my nostrils.
“You can’t escape,” came a voice from behind me.
It was Simon’s body but it wasn’t Simon speaking. He had become something else. His eyes burned red like fire. Bobby was still kneeling on the floor of the room with a blank stare..
“Leave me alone!” I yelled.
I crawled toward the stairs. The room to the bedroom was closed. Why weren’t the boys coming to my aid? I screamed for them but no one came. I felt sharp fingernails in my calf. I flipped onto my back and kicked with my free leg. My foot caught Simon’s jaw, which broke and drooped to one side..
He only smiled even more with a crooked snarl.
“You can’t hurt me,” he said. “Come with me and see the power I can offer you.”
I twisted and spun, trying to break free. Simon’s grip was too strong. He began to drag me back to the Black Room, toward the voices and death. I grabbed onto one of the banisters and held on for dear life.
It snapped like a dry twig. My body lurched backward. My nails dug into the floorboards, leaving a trail of marks in the floor. I kicked, flailed, and screamed with all of my might. Half my body was in the room. I gripped the doorframe. My hands were covered in blood. They were slipping. Then my body fell. I was free.
I jumped to my feet to run. I made it to the stairs when Simon grabbed me by the hair. I yelled and strained to pull away. His hand broke free along with a chunk of my hair. I flew forward into the wall. The bedroom door rattled. I heard the boys scream inside.
I rolled on my back. My body was in agony. Blood and sweat blurred my vision as Simon lurched toward me.
“Last chance,” the demonic voice said. It was inside my head now.
Simon reached for me, then faltered. His eyes went wide and his body limp. The next blow sent his body tumbling down the stairs. His head caught the bottom stair and snapped. His left leg lay bent backward, his arm also dislocated.
My eyes traced the stairs from Simon’s lifeless body to Bobby hovering near the top of the steps. He had the hammer gripped in his hands. Blood was pouring from his mouth, ears, and eyes. He looked to me.
He was Bobby again.
“I’m free,” he said.
The hammer fell from his hand. That was when I saw the blood gushing from his slit wrists. His skin grew pale and his eyes rolled in the back of his head again. He collapsed on his knees and toppled over.
I rushed to him and took his hand in mine.
“Someone call the police!” I shouted.
The door to the bedroom cracked open. The boys poked their heads out.
“Call the police!" I shouted at number three's anxious face.
He ran past me and descended the stairs like a gust of wind. The front door slammed a moment later as he ran down the street for help.
“Stay with me,” I pleaded with Bobby. “You’re going home with a family tomorrow. Hang on!”
He tried to speak but he choked on the blood. He died in my hands, a smile on his face. The ambulance arrived three minutes later.
15
One week later.
The police questioned each of us about what had happened. None of the other boys had much to say. They were in their room when they heard the screams. They came out to find Simon dead at the bottom of the stairs and me holding Bobby in my arms.
There were only three of us who knew what had transpired that night. And two of them were dead. Child Protective Services were called and they provided me with legal counsel. I didn’t know why. I hadn’t killed Simon, but it seemed the police wanted to pin the blame on someone.
After an investigation was conducted, they determined the cause of death had been three blows to the head and a snapped neck. The strike angle didn’t match my height. They had come from someone else. Bobby.
Bobby’s death was ruled a suicide. His fingerprints were all over the knife they found in the Black Room. It only had his blood on it.
Trevor’s body was never found. The sniffers had discovered fragments of bones of children in the woods beyond the house. But none of them matched Trevor. Not that they could have identified him by the charred remains anyway.
Whoever it was, they were seared ash and bone now.
A detective from New York came down to investigate. Said there were missing child cases open that led back to Oakwood Valley. He seemed to believe Simon was somehow responsible, or maybe he just wanted to close the cases and tell the parents of lost children he had caught the culprit, even if he were already dead.
Double justice, as it were.
I listened to the report as the investigator quizzed me on Simon and our connection. Naturally, I knew nothing that could help their case. Well, not entirely, but no one would believe me if I told them anyway.
The voices would see to that.
One month later, the police dropped the case. A judge said there was not enough evidence to substantiate their claims and Simon's name was exonerated. The decision was bittersweet for the families involved.
The police had told them they found the killer. It seemed demented to me that this somehow made them feel better, but I guess that's what loss did to you.
The rest of the boys of Oakwood Valley Home for Boys were relocated to nearby orphanages. Four of them were adopted shortly after. The others remained in the foster system until they turned eighteen. I never saw any of them again after that night.
The hardest part wasn’t what had happened. It was going back. The lawyer from CPS info
rmed me that Simon was my uncle. And while I knew this to be true, it still hurt. Why would my uncle try to kill me? It wasn’t until years later that I realized what he had been doing. The symbols on the walls and floor were satanic symbols of a rite of passage and a ritual of sacrifice.
Simon had been sacrificing Trevor’s body to the demon that had possessed his body and I was next, I supposed. The CPS woman had me sign a bunch of papers, which signed over the ownership of the orphanage and the hundred and fifty surrounding acres to me.
Supposedly Simon had left it all to me, along with a sizable sum of money. He had saved his money over the years and lived as though he were poor. He did it so he could provide for the kids. According to her, the Oakwood Valley Home for Boys had helped find homes for nearly three hundred boys before this incident. Two decades of selfless service just to go out like this.
I didn’t know my uncle well but he didn’t deserve to be remembered for his final days as a murderer. Even if it were just rumors and hearsay. The coroners and psychiatrists ruled him a schizophrenic with obsessive compulsive disorder, characterized by manic episodes. Doctors like to label someone without diving deeper. Of course he had voices that weren’t his own, directing his life. Of course he had obsessive thoughts and couldn’t think straight. Anyone would go crazy if they had a demon living inside of them.
Scientists didn’t delve into the supernatural. Those were the beliefs of cults, they would say. But I knew what I had seen and witnessed, no matter what anyone tried to tell me. And I knew what the voices were telling me now.
I knew the truth and soon people would know it too. I’d make them.
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