Children of the Dark

by Jonathan Janz

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  He eyes me for a good while. We walk toward the center of the courtyard, which is about fifty yards across. Now, that might sound plenty large, but I’m here to tell you, when that’s all the open space you get, fifty yards isn’t much. When I’m out here, I feel like I’m in a kennel. I’d kill to spend some time in the open, or even better, a baseball field. I’d kill to breathe some fresher air.

  Figuratively speaking, of course.

  When we stop, he looks up, studies the sky for a long moment. I do too. There are big cumulus clouds today, fluffy white ones. Though I can’t feel much breeze down here, the clouds are positively racing overhead.

  “Pierre?” I say.

  Still looking up, he says, “Were you telling me the truth about those things?”

  I swallow. I know perfectly well what those things are. So I say, “What about them?”

  “You say they were tall and pale, right? Really skinny?”

  “But strong,” I add. “The kind of creature that can rip you in half.”

  He nods. “They didn’t have wings?”

  I frown. “Pierre, what are we talking about here?”

  He chuckles a little, as if embarrassed. He shakes his head. “After that…whatever you want to call it at the state park. Massacre? Bloodbath?”

  I nod.

  “There’ve been all sorts of reports about creatures in the area. Shadeland, I mean. We’re on the other side of the county from them, but we still hear a lot of what goes on there.” Pierre shrugs. “A couple of the nurses even commute from Shadeland.”

  I wait, the worm of dread in my belly wriggling and wriggling.

  “Some of the reports,” Pierre says, “they jibe with your account. Tall, white. Green eyes.”

  I try to swallow, but my mouth and throat have gone dry. “The Children,” I say.

  “Whatever, man. You ask me, that’s a sick name to call a creature like that.”

  “I didn’t choose it.”

  He looks around. “There’ve been other reports too. Ones that talk of creatures that’re totally different than yours. Ones that…” He breaks off, shakes his head. “But it’s insane stuff, you know? I feel funny even mentioning it.”

  “Try me,” I say.

  He scowls at the ground for a moment, says, “Remember that niece I told you about?”

  “You mean Anita?” I say. “The one with the jerk for a husband?”

  He smiles at that, relaxing a little. “That’s the one. She lives between Lafayette and Shadeland, but closer to Shadeland. Which means she drives about twenty minutes to work each day and twenty minutes when she’s done. She usually pulls the day shift, but after what happened in Shadeland…you know, the Peaceful Valley thing? Several of the workers here have relatives in Shadeland. So she’s had to cover extra shifts because employees have been missing so much time comforting their loved ones. Or mourning them.”

  I wait, wondering where this is going.

  Pierre goes on. “She had the late shift a couple nights ago. Not the graveyard shift, but the one ends at midnight? She was driving the highway back to her house—her husband owns a few acres in the country, where he raises alpacas—”

  “Alpacas?”

  “—tall hairy things. Long necks, sort of cute if you look at them sideways? Anyway, she’s heading back to Alpaca Land and not really paying attention because it’s really late and she’s just trying to make it home before she falls asleep.” He pauses, massages his forehead. “See, this is where it gets weird. And I don’t really believe it since she was so sleepy and all…she probably just imagined it, you know?”

  I try to conceal my impatience. “What happened, Pierre?”

  “She says this shape came swooping toward her out of the woods. But it was nothing like the things you’ve been talking about. This…whatever it was, was black and winged, like some sort of mythological creature. She said it had scarlet eyes. Eyes that glowed. Came at her car at sort of a diagonal, the thing’s powerful legs and long tail actually smacking the roof as it swept over her.”

  I thought of the crude drawings I’d glimpsed in Padgett’s cave. The black-winged creatures with red eyes. The coincidence was too great to be ignored.

  “But you don’t believe it,” I say slowly.

  He laughs without humor. “I didn’t believe it. Not until she had me examine the roof.”

  I can feel my heart squeezing in my chest. “What did you see?”

  “Scratch marks,” he answers. “Two sets of scratch lines, from the front of the roof to the back. Deep grooves, in some places so deep the metal was torn up in jagged flaps.”

  Pierre laughs again, but there’s nothing pleasant about the sound. “Her husband, he’s too pissed off to listen to her story. He’s just thinkin’ about all the extra alpacas he’s gonna have to sell to pay for a new roof. But Anita, she’s scared now. She’s thinking maybe the reports she’s heard from her Shadeland friends are true.” Pierre looks at me. “She’s thinking maybe you aren’t so crazy after all.”

  “Do you think I’m crazy?” I ask in a quiet voice.

  He glances at me. “I never said you were crazy, Will. But you have to admit, your story’s pretty outlandish.”

  I sigh, rub my eyes. “So why are you telling me this? You said there was something else I could do.”

  “Man, why do you think?” he asks. “I’m telling you because some of the reports from Shadeland have mentioned these winged creatures too. If you talk about them—nothing overt, mind you, just alluding to them in a vague way—it might give you more bargaining power with the authorities.”

  “Enough to get out of here?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but you never know, right?”

  I fall silent.

  Pierre is watching me. “Hey, Will?”

  I look up at him.

  “There is one last thing,” he says. “I left it under your mattress a few minutes ago. While you were eating lunch.”

  “What is it?”

  His expression is unreadable. “You’ll see. Just don’t let anybody else know about it, all right? And if anybody was to find out, you wouldn’t mention me. Got that?”

  I nod.

  We head back inside. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to take off sprinting when we reach my hallway. But soon I’m in my room, and the door behind me is locked. With one more glance at the window near the top of the door, I hurry over to the mattress and lift it up.

  And see the envelope. Just a simple white one.

  I snatch it off the box spring and tear it open. There’s a letter inside. It’s handwritten, but the words are legible:

  Dear Will, it says.

  Darcy is writing this letter for me. You taught me how to make my letters, but I’m too slow, and Darcy gets annoyed with me. She’s my foster sister. She’s fifteen and the one I like the best. There are six of us at the Westfalls—that’s the name of the family I’m staying with—but Darcy is the only one I talk to. Oh, Benny is okay, but he’s my age, and we fight a lot. But I don’t like any of them as much as I like you.

  I miss you, Will. They won’t let me talk to you where you’re staying, and Mr. and Mrs. Westfall won’t let me call you anymore even though it’s a local call. I want Darcy to drive me over to the hospital but she doesn’t have her license yet and she says the Westfalls will kill her if she takes their Mercedes (HI, WILL. THIS IS DARCY. WHAT PEACH SAYS IS TRUE. THE WESTFALLS AREN’T BAD PEOPLE, LIKE VILLAINS FROM A MOVIE, BUT THEY ONLY HAVE US FOSTER KIDS FOR THE MONTHLY STIPEND. THEY TREAT THEIR REAL CHILDREN LIKE PRINCES AND PRINCESSES, BUT THEY MAINLY JUST ACT POLITE TOWARD US. ANYWAY, IT’S NICE TO MEET YOU. I’LL LET YOU GET BACK TO YOUR SISTER NOW). I told Darcy not to put anything else in the note, but she said you wouldn’t mind. As if she knew you.

  Anyway, Darcy is the only one who calls me Peach. The rest call me Audrey, which you know I hate. I miss Mom sometimes, but not as much as I miss you. Every day I mis
s you. Since I got kicked off the phone, Darcy lets me call you on hers, but she’s only got the kind of phone where you have a certain amount of minutes (TRACK-FONE) and she says I’ll use up her minutes calling the hospital. But she lets me call anyway. It makes me feel better just knowing you’re alive. Do you think about me? I hope you do because I cry all the time wishing you were with me.

  Mia emails me through Darcy’s account a lot, and Barley emails me too. I think Barley has a crush on Darcy (PEACH IS ONLY SPECULATING. BARLEY AND I HAVE NEVER EVEN MET FACE TO FACE). Mia and Barley really miss you and keep hoping they’ll be allowed to see you. I want to see you too. I should be allowed to see you. I’m your sister! It’s not fair what they’re doing, Will. Are they ever going to let you out?

  Anyway, Darcy says I have to wrap this up (SORRY). Mia and Barley want you to know they’re both okay, but they’re really scared. Something bad happened in Shadeland a couple weeks ago, and they think more bad things are going to happen. I’m worried about them. But I’m more worried about you. I want to give you a big hug and watch movies with you and have you push me on the goon-goon (WHAT’S A GOON-GOON? PEACH KEEPS ASKING THE WESTFALLS FOR ONE, BUT NO ONE CAN FIGURE OUT WHAT SHE MEANS). I love you, Will. You know that already, but I hope you remember it. I love you more than anyone, even Darcy. Sorry about that, Darcy (NO PROBLEM! WILL SOUNDS LIKE A GREAT BIG BROTHER J). But I love you, and I hope I get to see you soon. Don’t be sad, okay? I’m fine. I just miss you.

  Love,

  Peach

  I finish reading the note, and with tears blurring my eyes, I re-read it. Then I read it again and again and again. And the tears keep coming. And some of the time I’m laughing, and at other times I’m balling my hands into fists and shaking so badly I almost rip the note. But I don’t. I keep reading it. And crying and thinking of my amazing little sister.

  ¨

  That was yesterday.

  I didn’t sleep last night, and today I’m edgier than usual. Now that I know Mia and Barley and Peach have been trying to contact me, I feel better in a lot of ways, but now my incarceration here feels even more unfair.

  There’s something else, though. Something I try not to think about, but every time I strive to escape the thought, it comes right back.

  Eric Blades and Mr. Watkins turned into monsters. Padgett got scratched, and he claimed the infection is what transformed him into a serial killer.

  I got scratched too. Multiple times.

  Is that why my temper has gotten worse? Am I imagining things, or am I becoming more like the Children?

  I think of the fights I’ve had since I’ve been here. I think of the nightmares I’ve been having on those rare occasions when I can sleep. I hear voices in my dreams. Do they belong to the Children? And if the Children and black-winged creatures are real, does that mean the gigantic versions of them are real too?

  Are those the beings who’ve been trying to speak to me?

  I don’t know. I only know I need to sleep, even if my dreams are terrifying.

  I’ve been lying here tonight, thinking my insomnia has to end sometime. But after three hours of lying awake, I get out of bed knowing I’m going to be up all night again. I go over to the wire mesh window and stare out. The window is one thing I like about my cell. I also have it to myself, and it’s surprisingly big. They permit me to have books, but they’re pretty strict about violence, language, and sensuality. I keep asking for a Stephen King novel and they tell me not yet.

  Assholes.

  Anyway, I’m staring out the window and considering all that Pierre told me. I run through Peach’s letter, word-by-word, in my head. I get choked up again thinking about my sister.

  So when the huge shape swoops by my window, I’m completely unprepared.

  I gasp, stumble backward, and nearly end up on the floor. Then I scramble to the window, press my face against the wire mesh, and peer into the night.

  And see it. Winging its way back around, the creature is huge, almost prehistoric, its wings maybe twenty feet across. It circles around a big elm tree, hovers above the hospital, and hangs there in the air, its vast wings flapping slowly to keep it aloft. It has lurid red eyes, its flesh a glittering obsidian. The creature reminds me of a dragon, except for the face, which is more sinister than any movie dragon could ever be. Triangular, its mouth crammed with long, curving teeth, the face sweeps slowly over the windows of the fifth floor, searching, searching—

  —until they get to mine. At which point the eyes flare red, their eerie light glowing like hellfire. The creature lets out a bloodcurdling screech—one of recognition?—and wings its way into the night.

  And here I am, an hour later, still sitting beside the window. I can’t believe what I’ve seen, but I know I’ve seen it nonetheless. It wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t a byproduct of my insomnia. It was real.

  Which means Anita’s story was real.

  Padgett’s cave drawings were things he’d seen, or images that had been communicated to him telepathically.

  I think of Peach, here in Lafayette, only a few miles away.

  I think of Barley and Mia, still in Shadeland. Still within walking distance of Savage Hollow and Peaceful Valley.

  All the people I care about within reach of the beasts.

  I have to get out of here.

  Some way, somehow, I have to get to them. To Mia. To Barley.

  To Peach most of all.

  The Feds are coming tomorrow. I have to convince them to let me go. I’ll say anything, do anything to get out of this place.

  I’ll even return to Savage Hollow if it means I’ll be released.

  I think of the winged beast hovering outside my window.

  I think of the Children, of the massacre at Peaceful Valley.

  Most of all, I think of my friends. My little sister.

  I have to get back to them.

  They’re all I have left.

  About The Author

  Jonathan Janz grew up between a dark forest and a graveyard, which explains everything. Brian Keene named his debut novel The Sorrows "the best horror novel of 2012." The Library Journal deemed his follow-up, House of Skin, "reminiscent of Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House and Peter Straub's Ghost Story." Horror legend Edward Lee proclaimed House of Skin to be "The Quintessential Haunted House Novel."

  2013 saw the publication of his novel of vampirism and demonic possession The Darkest Lullaby, as well as his serialized horror novel Savage Species. Of Savage Species Publishers Weekly said, "Fans of old-school splatterpunk horror--Janz cites Richard Laymon as an influence, and it shows--will find much to relish." Jonathan's Kindle Worlds novel Bloodshot: Kingdom of Shadows marked his first foray into the superhero/action genre.

  Jack Ketchum called his vampire western Dust Devils a "Rousing-good weird western," and his sequel to The Sorrows (Castle of Sorrows) was selected one of 2014's top three novels by Pod of Horror. 2015 saw the release of The Nightmare Girl, which prompted Pod of Horror to call Jonathan "Horror's Next Big Thing." His newest release is Wolf Land, which Publishers Weekly called “gruesome yet entertaining gorefest” with “an impressive and bloody climax.” He has also written four novellas (Exorcist Road, The Clearing of Travis Coble, Old Order, and Witching Hour Theatre) and several short stories. Three of Jonathan's novels have become audiobooks, and Jonathan recently signed an eleven-book hardcover deal with Thunderstorm Books.

  His primary interests are his wonderful wife and his three amazing children, and though he realizes that every author's wife and children are wonderful and amazing, in this case the cliché happens to be true. You can learn more about Jonathan at www.jonathanjanz.com. You can also find him on Facebook, via @jonathanjanz on Twitter, on Instagram (jonathanjanz) or on his Goodreads and Amazon author pages.

  Coming Soon

  Blister by Jeff Strand

  Undertaker’s Moon by Ronald Kelly

  Mayan Blue by Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason

  Find these and other hor
rific books at sinistergrinpress.com

  Table of Contents

  Children of the Dark

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  PART ONE - Legends

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  PART TWO - Monsters

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  PART THREE - The Moonlight Killer

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  PART FOUR - Savage Hollow

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About The Author

  Coming Soon