Children of the Dark

by Jonathan Janz

  She lowered her eyes to where her hands were wrestling with each other. “I hid under the blankets.”

  “That was smart.”

  She glanced up at me, and I saw tears shimmering in her eyes. “I didn’t even look over to check on you.”

  I realized with horror that she actually felt guilty about this. My sweet, innocent, six-year-old sister felt guilty that she hadn’t tried to protect me.

  A lump formed in my throat, which I only partially managed to choke back. “You did the right thing,” I said. I took her by the shoulders. “You know how I tell you to never answer the door?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, that goes double now. In fact,” I said, taking a deep breath, “from now on, I don’t want you playing outside when I’m not with you.”

  She drew back. “Not even during the day?”

  “Never,” I said. “Unless I’m with you, you’re to stay inside and keep the doors locked.”

  She searched my eyes. “Will…what scared Mommy?”

  I paused, wondering how to proceed. Peach is an incredibly sharp kid, and I knew she’d ask the question eventually. But that didn’t make it any easier to answer it once it was out. I considered lying to her, but a believable lie eluded me. “A bad man escaped from jail tonight,” I said.

  Peach’s voice was very small. “Who?”

  “You don’t know him, but what matters now is—”

  “What’s wrong with you?” a voice hissed from the hallway. Peach and I both jumped at the sound.

  Mom stared at us from the shadows.

  I swallowed. “How long have you been standing there?”

  She stalked forward. “Long enough to know how much you’re scaring her. Jesus, Will.”

  My mouth went dry. I felt a nauseating mixture of anger and regret. Part of me was outraged with my mom’s self-righteousness, but though it made me sick to admit it, she was probably right. I shouldn’t have told Peach about the Moonlight Killer.

  Mom strode nearer, her veiny forearms folded over her chest. “I’ve notified Dale’s and Chris’s parents too, so you three might as well tell us the truth about where you were tonight.”

  I stared at my mom and hated her then. I hated her frizzy brown hair, which she frequently spent money on to have dyed and styled. I hated her bloodshot eyes, her perforated earlobes, in which she often wore four or five pairs of earrings because she thought they made her look younger. I hated her stupid fuzzy pink bathrobe, the one she’d bought at Victoria’s Secret for over a hundred dollars even though Peach and I rarely got new clothes.

  But most of all I hated her accusing stare. Her assumed superiority. Her baseless belief that she could still treat me like a child, could still exercise power over me despite the fact that she no longer fulfilled any of the requirements of a parent. She cooked for us, what, once a week? At most? When was the last time my mom bathed Peach or did anything for her? Peach’s teeth would’ve rotted out if not for me. Hell, her skin might have rotted off if not for me.

  But it wouldn’t do to say that now. Not in front of my sister.

  I said, “I went swimming with some friends.”

  A look of mock delight spread over my mom’s face. “Oh you did, did you? Swimming with friends! Isn’t that just lovely? And am I to assume these were all male friends?”

  I did my best to keep my voice steady. “There were girls and guys.”

  I didn’t want to mention Mia or Rebecca yet. Not if I could help it.

  Mom must have picked up on my apprehension. She smiled nastily. “And did these girls have names?”

  I noted with misgiving that her eyes were clearer than they’d been in weeks. And her words weren’t slurry at all.

  She picked a hell of a night to be sober, I thought.

  I knew it would make things worse, but I said it anyway. “I’m not telling you their names.”

  Her smile disappeared, her look cold and steely. “Yes you will. I’ll call their parents and tell them where their precious daughters have been.”

  That did it. I thought of Mia, the way she’d touched me. There had been a powerful attraction between us, sure. And yes, we’d almost kissed. But that didn’t begin to describe everything I’d felt in that moment—and what I hoped Mia had felt—and there was no way my mom would understand it, or for that matter even listen to my explanation. All my mom would see is a couple of teenagers getting cozy in the water, one of them shirtless and the other in her bra.

  I’d die before I’d tell her.

  So I got up and helped Peach to her feet. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you back to bed.”

  I could feel my mom’s disbelieving glare on the side of my face. Man, like a white-hot sun baking me through a car window. “You will tell me their names, and you’ll tell me them right now.”

  Peach was trembling. Mom and I didn’t fight often, but when we did it was never pretty. This was shaping up to be a real hurricane of an argument, and Peach sensed it.

  Unless I did something to head it off.

  “Mom,” I said, facing her with an effort. I was a good deal taller than she was, but at that moment it felt like her fury was towering over me. “I’m sorry about sneaking out. It was a rotten thing to do. But I’m really tired, and I need to get Peach to bed.” I hefted my little sister up on my hip. She clung to me, but she was watching Mom closely for her reaction.

  It wasn’t good.

  “Don’t you walk away from me!” she snapped as I did exactly that. Trailing us down the hallway like a malevolent shadow, Mom said, “I asked you a question, and dammit, I want an answer. Now, Will Burgess!”

  How dare you yell at me? I thought, gritting my teeth. The hallway was very dark back here by the only two bedrooms in the house, and I tried to concentrate on not tripping over one of Peach’s toys and sending us both to the hospital with broken necks. But it was difficult to see, and it was even harder not to tell my mom to go to hell. To call her the lazy, worthless sack of garbage she was.

  But if I did that, I’d only be making things harder on my sister.

  Mom followed us into our bedroom. “Their names, Will.”

  “I don’t remember,” I said and lowered Peach onto her bed. There were about two-dozen stuffed animals in the way, so I had to raise her up for a moment to clear away the miniature zoo before laying her down again. I kissed her on the forehead and told her I’d be right back.

  She watched me with huge eyes as I moved past Mom into the hallway.

  Mom came with me, her voice rising. “You’re lying!”

  I closed the bedroom door, faced my mom. “Of course I’m lying. Can’t you lay off for once?”

  “For once?” She barked out a scornful laugh. “I hardly ever yell at you.”

  I felt my temple twitch. “You hardly ever talk to me either.”

  Her expression was appalled. “What are you—”

  I stepped closer, my jaw clenched. “You hardly ever cook, you never clean. When’s the last time you did laundry? We ran out of detergent weeks ago. Who do you think bought us a new bottle?”

  Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’ve been busy with—”

  “Swallowing pills,” I said. “Ruining yourself. And I’m the one who looks after Peach. I’m the one who makes sure she’s fed. A parent should never be too busy to look after her child.”

  “How dare you talk to me like that? I’m your mother, Will.”

  “You’re nothing,” I growled, my voice fraying at the edges. “You’re a lazy burnout who stopped being a mother years ago, so stop acting like you care!”

  I shouldered past her and left her gape-mouthed in the hallway. I barely made it out the back door before the tears came. I didn’t want mom to see me breaking down, so I stumbled into the yard, made it to the back of the shed, where I sank to the grass and sobbed. The Hollow bordered our backyard, so I didn’t have to worry about anybody seeing me. I didn’t think I’d have to worry about my mom following me either. The words I’d spo
ken had cut her deeply, maybe deeper than she deserved. But I didn’t regret them. The only thing I regretted was how alone my sister was in our bedroom. I told myself I had to get back there to help Peach fall asleep.

  But I was selfish. I didn’t want Mom to know I’d been crying, so I lingered outside for another hour until my cheeks were dry and all the lights in the house were off.

  And when I came back into the bedroom, Peach was indeed asleep. She was clutching her Glo-worm doll. By the meager starlight filtering through the windows, I noticed her cheeks were still moist.

  A flood of self-loathing washed over me as I slumped down on my bed.

  You failed her, I told myself. You’re the only thing she has, and you failed her.

  I gazed at Peach’s slumbering form in the dark and hated myself for not being a better brother. It was nearly dawn when I finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

  ¨

  The next morning there was food on the table when Peach and I entered the kitchen. Mom was standing at the sink, washing dishes. She smiled briefly at Peach and nodded at the scrambled eggs on the table, but she didn’t even glance in my direction.

  Which was fine by me.

  Peach and I ate in uneasy silence—eggs, bacon strips, and orange juice—until I could stand it no longer.

  I said to Peach, “You wanna play with Juliet Wallace today?”

  Peach’s face, for the first time that morning, showed something other than nervous dread.

  “It’s Saturday,” I explained. “So I’m sure her parents aren’t at work.”

  I could tell Mom was listening to us from the sink, where she was pretending to dry dishes.

  Peach glanced up at her. “Can I, Mom?”

  I chewed my bacon and waited for Mom’s scathing retort: What, my opinion matters now? Since when did you care about my permission?

  But Mom remained on her best behavior. “I’ll call the Wallaces in a few minutes, Honey. If it’s okay with them, it’s fine with me.”

  Genuine joy spread over Peach’s face. She actually bounced in her seat. How long had it been, I wondered, since she’d looked that giddy?

  Too damned long, I decided.

  I stood and nodded toward the hall. “Come on, Peach. Let’s get you ready.”

  “I can do that,” Mom said.

  I turned to look at her. She was still drying dishes, and her expression gave nothing away.

  “It’s okay, Will,” Mom said, dropping the hand towel onto the counter and moving over to begin clearing the table. “I’ll get her ready.”

  I hesitated awkwardly for another several seconds as the silence in the kitchen drew out. I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe a consequence for sneaking out last night. On some level I knew I deserved one, even though I was also sure I’d protest loudly if I received it. Or maybe I thought Mom would apologize for being such a lame-ass for so long.

  Mom helped Peach to her feet and led her through the kitchen doorway.

  Utterly bewildered, I went to my room to get dressed.

  By the time I got my clothes on and brushed my teeth, Mom and Peach were in Mom’s room preparing for Peach’s play date. I decided to leave well enough alone and exited the house hastily. Ordinarily, I’d have called Chris or Barley from our house phone—none of the three of us had cell phones—but like I said, I was anxious to escape the bizarre atmosphere inside my house.

  As I walked through our neighborhood, the feeling of wrongness intensified. It was just like The Twilight Zone. Most kids my age weren’t aware of the show, but every New Year’s Eve Chris, Barley, and I stayed up all night watching a Twilight Zone marathon on the Sci-Fi Network.

  And just like a Twilight Zone episode, it felt like my neighborhood was completely deserted. My house was on the edge of town, but the first street I turned onto—Walnut Street—wasn’t at all a lonesome place. Respectable two-story houses lined both sides of the road, the mature trees and meticulous landscaping making it all feel like an upscale park. Yet despite the fact that it was a sunny Saturday morning—the fifth day of June, I realized—there wasn’t a single dad out mowing the lawn, not a mom pushing a stroller or taking a jog. No kids riding bikes. As I neared a white house with green shutters, I realized why.

  People were glued to their TVs.

  Feeling a bit weird, but too curious to do otherwise, I crept up the unfamiliar sidewalk so I could better hear the television playing in the house’s front room:

  “…and aren’t sure where Padgett might have fled, though the stolen SUV was last spotted driving south on Highway 65,” a male newscaster was saying. “So far, the names of the slain prison guards have not been released.”

  I remembered one of Barley’s serial killer books and the grainy photograph of Carl Padgett it contained. Dark eyes. An arrogant smile that showed not a hint of remorse. A square jaw shadowed by black stubble.

  The newscaster’s jaunty voice returned. “…and at approximately eleven o’clock, a neighbor heard a scream from outside this local pharmacy.”

  A frantic man talking, the guy with a southern accent and a high, reedy voice: “I was walking out to my car, and at first I thought it was someone’s radio. There were shouts, then what sounded like a man pleading about something. But then I heard some other sounds, and I knew it wasn’t no radio.”

  “Could you describe the sounds?” a female reporter asked.

  “Oh, man…I don’t know how to…they was awful. Just awful. There was a loud grunt, then a bunch of thuds. And then I heard…”

  A pause.

  “What did you hear?” the reporter prompted.

  “Chewing,” the man said. He sounded like he was about to be sick.

  I couldn’t blame him.

  The newscaster returned. “Police suspect that Padgett might have abandoned the Black Chevy Tahoe somewhere in Northwest Indiana, but they aren’t sure when he…”

  But I was already moving away from the house. I’d seen a shadow pass in front of the window and had no interest in being shot as a trespasser. Plus, I had a sudden desire to talk it all over with someone.

  But who?

  Chris would normally have been the obvious choice, but I was on foot rather than my bike. It would take forever to walk there.

  I’d go to Barley’s.

  I turned from Walnut onto Monroe Street and spied Barley’s house up ahead. I realized with some disquiet that I hadn’t rehearsed what to say to the Marleys should Barley’s mom or dad answer the door. They were both really nice, but they’d probably be pissed off at their son, and by extension, me, for the hijinks we’d pulled last night. I reached out, rang the doorbell.

  While I stood there, a sparrow lit on the sidewalk below me, gave me a startled look, and fluttered away. I watched after it, thinking it was the first sign of wildlife I’d seen all day. As if even the animals were terrified of Carl Padgett

  The lock snicked behind me. I turned, praying it would be Barley who answered the door.

  It was. Thank God.

  He was wearing a black CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE t-shirt, a reference to the Friday the 13th movies, which Barley adored. He said, “You’re not grounded?”

  I gave him a you-can’t-be-serious look.

  Barley glanced over his shoulder, as though one of his parents was about to attack him with a carving knife. “I am. They told me I can’t go anywhere for a week.”

  “At least you’re not Chris,” I told him. “He’s probably walking around with a handprint on his face.”

  Barley frowned, glanced down at his feet. “That’s not funny.”

  He was right. It wasn’t funny. At all.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Who is it, Dale?” his mother called.

  He went a miserable shade of green. “It’s Will, Mom.”

  A long pause. So long, in fact, that I thought she might be going for her carving knife after all.

  Footsteps approached, and then Barley’s mom appeared. She was short and plump and ordinarily
very cheerful.

  She didn’t appear very cheerful today.

  “Dale isn’t allowed to play this week,” she said. Barley cringed, no doubt because of her use of the word play. I stifled a grin, knowing I’d use it to razz Barley the first chance I got.

  I donned my most contrite expression. “I understand, Mrs. Marley. I’m really sorry about what we did. It was irresponsible.”

  She stared at me a moment longer, then sighed and pursed her lips. I had a feeling a compromise was about to be reached. Mrs. Marley was a secretary at the elementary school, and as such she had a heart for kids. I could tell she hated disciplining her son.

  She said, “Well, Dale can’t leave the house, but if you two would like to play in his room, I would allow that.”

  Barley looked slightly less green. “Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

  I thanked Mrs. Marley and followed Barley upstairs to his room. I hadn’t been up here for a few weeks, and there were two new posters—one of them a retro movie poster for The Day the Earth Stood Still, the other a gigantic close-up of Hannibal Lecter.

  “Awesome,” I said, staring at Lecter’s crazed eyes.

  He eyed it morosely. “Doesn’t seem as cool now that Carl Padgett is on the loose.”

  “I’m surprised your parents let you put it up.”

  “Mom doesn’t like it much, but Dad told her it was harmless. Especially since he and I watched the movie last month.”

  I plopped down on a red beanbag. “Barley, we watched that movie in like the fourth grade.”

  He shrugged uneasily. “Yeah, but Mom and Dad don’t know that. I just acted really surprised whenever something bad happened.”

  “I bet it was pretty uncomfortable, watching The Silence of the Lambs with your parents.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “What’d they do when Buffalo Bill tucked his private parts between his legs and started to—”

  “Shut up, okay? God.”

  I subsided, chuckling.

  He shook his head and took the other beanbag, this one blue with a cracked vinyl cover. “I can’t believe you didn’t get grounded.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You wanna trade parents?”

  He chewed his bottom lip. “I guess not.”

  Before the mood could get too dreary, I said, “It’s awfully nice of you to let me come over and play.”