by Amy Cross
A shiver passes through my chest as I realize what she means. “Have you seen him?” I ask.
She stubs the cigarette out and immediately lights another.
“No offense,” I continue, “but you were drunk last night, Mom. You're hardly a reliable witness. I wouldn't be surprised if you saw Pete's Dragon and Doctor Seuss running around in front of you.”
“I saw him!” she hisses. “Don't make fun of me, Bonnie! I saw your brother and it was nothing to do with the fact I'd had a few drinks. Don't fucking patronize me!”
I open my mouth to tell her that she's nuts, but at the last moment I hold back. “Well... What was he doing?” I ask.
“He was frantic,” she continues. “At first I thought it was all in my head, and then I thought he'd just come back 'cause he was mad. You know, for us not going to visit him or to see him on his last night. But then I realized it was nothing like that, he was looking for something. It's like he was trying to tear his room apart, but he was scared, he kept looking over at the door like he expected someone to come in. I was too scared to run, but finally your brother just screamed and bolted, and then this other...”
Her voice trails off.
“This other what?” I ask cautiously.
“There was something else in there,” she continues. “Something... Something was really chasing him.”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head, “it really wasn't.”
“I saw it!” she hisses. “Just for a moment, but I saw it! It turned and looked at me, and I saw the deadest eyes I've ever seen in my life. Dry and old, and withered... It was tall, and its whole body was black, like ash. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't human.” She takes a drag on her new cigarette. “And then it left, but at that moment I swore that I would never, ever touch another drop of alcohol again. Not after seeing that... thing!”
“What exactly do you think you saw?” I ask.
She pauses. “Never mind. You wouldn't believe me.”
“Maybe I would,” I tell her. “What was it?”
She stares at me for a moment. “I don't really know,” she continues, her voice filled with fear, “but it was almost as tall as the room, and it was dark like black smoke, and I heard a kind of rushing sound as it went past, and there was a smell of...” Another pause. “I don't know what the smell was, but it was foul, like it burned my nose, and I had this impression of overwhelming anger. It let out a sound, too, like a kind of growl. Jesus Christ, Bonnie, it was awful, I don't ever want to see or hear that thing again, so...” She hurries over to the cupboard on the opposite wall and starts rooting through, before finally pulling out a small, half-empty bottle of whiskey. “I almost forgot about this,” she continues, heading back to the sink and pouring the last of the whiskey away. “I'm never touching another drop,” she stammers. “Never again in all my life.”
“I believe you,” I mutter, seeing the fear in her eyes. “I really do.”
***
The rest of the evening is weird. I mean really, really weird. Mom would usually just start drinking herself into a stupor from around 5pm, but this time she's awake and alert, drinking coffee instead of spirits. Sure, she gets a little sparky thanks to all the caffeine, but it's a lot better than the nights when she ends up wasted. She insists that I sit with her to watch the nightly news, and then she tries to start a conversation about how bad things have been lately, and about how we should leave town as soon as we can. It's strange hearing such coherent thoughts coming from her mouth, but at the same time I genuinely believe that she's sobering up. The whole goddamn world seems to be changing.
Oh, and she apologizes for hitting me. I don't know how to deal with that, but I thank her anyway.
“Where's Dad?” I ask eventually.
She glances at me.
“Where is he?” I continue, feeling a flash of fear. “I haven't seen him for a long time. Has he... Has he left us?”
“I don't know,” she mutters, taking another drag on her cigarette. “Watch the news.”
“How can you not know?” I ask. “Either he's gone, or he's still here.”
“Do you see him anywhere?”
I look around, and although I don't see Dad himself, I spot his jacket on the the hook by the door, and his boots on the mat. There are definitely signs that he's around, even if I haven't actually seen or heard him for so long.
“Can I call him?” I ask finally, turning back to Mom. “Do you have a number for him?”
“Stop talking about it.”
“But -”
“Bonnie, please!” She takes another, longer drag, and it's clear that she's on the verge of a full-on breakdown. “Let's just not talk about things like that,” she continues, “not tonight. You're bugging me out.”
Realizing that she's never going to give me a straight answer, I glance at Dad's shoes for a moment. He's not around, but I don't think he left either. In fact, sometimes I think I can sense him in the room with us, even though there's no sign of him actually being here.
Eventually I tell Mom that I have to get some sleep, but the truth is I'm not tired at all. I used to hate it when she drank so much, but now I'm starting to realize that at least I used to have more freedom. There are definitely some benefits to having an inattentive, neglectful parent. I used to be able to slip out of the house without worrying that she'd notice, but suddenly I have to actually be sneaky. I spend an hour or so in my room, and she checks on me three times. I guess it's nice that she cares, but at 9pm I tell her I'm going to bed and then she tries to start yet another conversation about how sorry she is for hitting me all those times. I do my best to calm her down and assuage her guilt, but I get the feeling that she's really facing some kind of big life-change. It's not until almost 10pm that I get her to leave my room, and by then I figure I actually should get some sleep so I climb into bed and give it a try.
By midnight, however, I know that I need to go out. This whole situation, with a caring mother who actually worries about me, is way too freaky. I go and check on Rudolph again, and he still alternates between being alive and being dead whenever I take the lid off the shoebox. Whatever's causing me to imagine all of that, it's clear my mind still isn't quite right.
***
I only ever come down to the ocean at night. I can't even remember the last time I sat on the beach like this during the day, not when there's always a bunch of people hanging out. I don't get on well with people these days. Quite against my will, I seem to be sinking away from the rest of society, becoming more and more closed-off, and there's nothing I can do to fight that process. At night, however, with darkness all around and the sound of crashing waves in the distance, I feel much more at home. Whenever I want to get out of the house and keep away from other people, and when Molly's busy, this is where I come.
“Hey kid,” I remember Malcolm telling me one night when we were down here together, when he was walking too fast for me and I was dawdling. “Are you gonna keep up or what?”
I don't know how many times we used to wander along the beach after dark, but it was a lot. Malcolm used to go on and on about the ocean, about how it was pure and how one day it'd wash mankind away. I don't think that idea upset him too much, either. Looking back, I'm pretty sure he wanted the ocean to come crashing through the town so it could destroy everything, but at the time I thought he was just trying to be poetic. I didn't care, though. I just wanted to hang out with my big brother and listen to him talk.
I miss him.
I know that's wrong of me, but I can't help it. I wish I could get him back, or at least the part of him that wasn't planning to do something awful.
And then there's Josh. He and I used to come down here sometimes as well, just to sit and spend time together in the dark. Even now, I can feel tears welling in my eyes, but I quickly banish them by thinking about how he behaved earlier at the bus stop. I always thought he was a kind, caring guy, but I guess now I know better.
Screw him.
Lo
st in memories of the old days, I barely even notice the voice at first. Finally, however, I turn and look along the beach just in time to see a few figures coming this way, silhouetted against the night sky. I instinctively scramble to my feet and hurry over to the nearest beach-hut, ducking down so that there's no chance I'll be seen. Sure enough, as the voices come closer, I realize that I recognize them all too well.
“Your parents suck,” Adam is telling his friends. “You should just tell them that right to their faces. Go up to your father and tell him, like, that he's a raging asshole.”
“Yeah,” Danny replies, “and he'd take that so well.”
I hold my breath as they walk past. If they realize I'm here, I'll get another beating for sure, but thankfully I hear them trudging away and slowly their voices recede into the distance. I still wait several more minutes before daring to move, and then I hurry past the beach-huts until I get to the path, at which point I can just about see the silhouettes of Adam and the others making their way up from the beach. With a sigh of relief, I realize that I should be able to hang out down here for a while longer, so I head to the shore and listen to the sound of the ocean. The weirdest part is, I'm cold and I could go home, but I'm so used to getting kicked out in the evenings, I somehow feel as if I still want to be shivering on the shore like this.
I always thought I wanted Mom to sober up, but I guess it's going to take some getting used to.
“Come on!” Malcolm's voice calls out. “This way!”
I turn, momentarily convinced that I actually heard him. That's impossible, of course, although after the past couple of days I'm not entirely sure I'm the best judge of what is and isn't real.
“Bonnie!” he shouts suddenly. “We can't stay here! We have to keep moving!”
I freeze, and after a moment I realize I can hear footsteps hurrying away. No matter how hard I try to tell myself that the whole thing is in my head, I swear I recognize the sound of the steps.
“Malcolm?” I whisper.
“Bonnie, hurry!” he calls out, his voice sounding more distant now. “They're coming! It's not safe to stay here!”
I hesitate for a moment, telling myself that this is dumber than dumb, but finally I can't hold back. Hurrying across the beach, I listen to the sound of his footsteps in the distance and I try to catch up.
“We don't have much time!” he shouts.
“Wait!”
No matter how hard I try to convince myself that I'm losing my mind, I can't stop running after him. I reach the edge of the beach-huts and make my way along the row, barely able to see anything at all in the dark, until suddenly I stop as I realize I can just about hear someone muttering nearby. I wait, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, but I swear to God the voice is Malcolm's.
“This is impossible,” I say out loud, just to remind myself. “It's just another day in the life of someone whose mind is falling apart. Next stop, a psych ward.”
“They're coming,” Malcolm says after a moment. “There's no time. I can't keep running.”
Making my way past the next beach-hut, I look around the corner and see a dark figure pacing through the darkness.
“They're coming for me,” he continues, stepping closer.
“I -” Before I can finish, I realize I can just about see his face in the darkness. His eyes are filled with fear as he stares at me, but it's him, it's really him. Somehow, my ravaged and increasingly frenzied mind is summoning an image of my brother from the depths of my memories. I think I need actual psychiatric help.
“Can't you hear them?” he asks. “They're coming!” He grabs my shoulders and holds me firmly, and I realize that I can actually feel him. “Bonnie, they're coming!”
“I don't hear anyone,” I stammer, turning and looking along the beach for a moment. When I glance back at my brother, I see that he's turned away and has his head in his hands. “Malcolm,” I continue, “please, I know this can't be real. You died the other night, you -”
“Why can't you hear them?” he screams suddenly.
“Hear who?” I ask, taking a step closer. I want to see his face properly, to see whether it's really, truly him, but at the same time I'm scared. Either my brother's ghost is panicking right in front of my eyes, or I've completely lost my mind.
“I thought I could run,” he continues, “but I should have known they'd get me. He's helping them, don't you see? He's on their side and he's helping them! They've been waiting for me, all this time! They knew I'd end up here, and now they're going to take me!” He pauses, before turning to me. “You know I didn't see you, right? You know I never... I mean, if I'd known...”
“Known what?” I ask.
“They're coming,” he stammers. “Can't you find a way to stop them? Come on, Bonnie, you were always the smart one out of the two of us! Stop them!”
“Stop who?”
“They're coming!”
I look over my shoulder, expecting to once again see nothing, but suddenly I realize there are several silhouettes coming closer through the darkness. Something about them immediately feels familiar, as if deep down I already know that they're the same figures I saw outside the house the other night.
“The dead ones,” Malcolm whimpers. “Bonnie, I'm scared. I wasn't scared at the prison, they couldn't get to me there, but I'm scared now. Can't you do something?”
Stepping back, I watch as the silhouettes get closer. It's almost as if they're trying to surround Malcolm, and he's making no move to run. Dropping to his knees, he covers his ears with his hands, but when I turn to him I feel as if I might be about to faint again. I've been so worried for so long that I'm losing my mind, and this might be the moment when I finally snap.
“Make them stop screaming!” he shouts.
“They're not screaming,” I tell him, back all the way to the nearest beach-hut. “Malcolm, this isn't real, you're not -”
“He's here!” he continues, his voice filled with pain. “Bonnie, can't you see him? Don't let him get you! Whatever you do, don't let him do the same thing to you! Please, I deserve it but you don't! Once he's got me, he'll come for the rest of you!”
“What -”
Before I can finish, I sense something moving past me, and I see a much larger, much darker silhouette moving through the darkness, accompanied by a foul, overwhelming stench of burning sulfur. The other figures seem to be holding back, as if they prefer to let the larger creature take control, and after a moment I realize that the creature is towering over Malcolm, staring down at him. I can't make out any of its features, but its silhouette reveals strands of ragged skin hanging from its face, and it seems to exude a kind of vast, calm strength. There's also a faint rumbling sound coming from its depths, almost like a low, continual growl.
On the ground, Malcolm is whimpering and sobbing.
“This isn't real,” I whisper, taking a step forward. “This is all in my head, it has to be. It can't -”
Suddenly Malcolm screams as flames burst from his body. I raise a hand to cover my eyes, but there's no heat from the flames, only a roaring brightness that lights up the faces of the figures all around me. The creature, meanwhile, is reaching down with one hand to clutch Malcolm's neck, slowly forcing him to his feet. The flames are everywhere now, burning with such force that I can barely hear Malcolm's scream above the roar. I step forward, trying to find some way to help him, but the inferno flares and knocks me back, and I have to cover my eyes as the brightness intensifies. At the same time, I feel a sudden, heavy pressure slamming into my chest, hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. I try to twist away, but the pressure returns again and again, thumping into me with a kind of rhythmic pulse until finally I let out a gasp and tilt my head back.
“You're next,” a voice whispers in my ear. “What are you waiting for?”
I try to reply, but my whole body is shuddering now and I can't get any words out. I try to open my eyes, only to be blasted by the increasingly strong flames. Malcolm is still scream
ing nearby, but when I turn and look toward him I see only a wall of light, flickering through the darkness.
And then it's gone.
I let out a gasp as I sit up. The pressure on my chest has begun to fade, and the flames seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye. I stumble to my feet, looking around, but the figures are nowhere to be seen and neither is the tall creature.
“Okay,” a voice says in the distance, echoing through the cold night air. “I think we're good.”
“Malcolm?” I whisper, trying not to panic.
I take a couple of steps forward, but there's no sign of my brother.
“Malcolm!”
I turn and look all around, but it's quite clear that I'm suddenly all alone. I run around the side of the beach-hut and look for some sign of him, but after a moment I realize that the only sound comes from the waves as they crash against the nearby shore. There's a faint beeping noise as well, fading in and out, although after a moment it's gone, leaving just the waves again.
“I'm losing my mind!” I whisper, as a sensation of cold ripples across my chest. “It's finally happening! I'm completely insane!”
***
“Molly!” I hiss, tapping on her bedroom window again. “Molly, wake up!”
I wait, but there's no reply. Realizing that simple tapping isn't going to be enough, I start banging with my knuckles. I know she's a heavy sleeper, but she isn't answering her phone so I need some other way to get her attention.
“For God's sake, Molly,” I mutter, “how -”
Suddenly her drapes are pulled open, and I see a face staring out from her darkened room. It takes a moment, but with a sense of shock I quickly realize that the face isn't Molly's at all. It's an older girl, maybe eighteen or even twenty, and she's not looking directly at me. Instead, she glances around for a moment, as if she can't work out what caused the noise, and then she steps back and closes the drapes again.
I pause.
