“I’m so sorry, I never really thought much about it. For me, it always felt like a bad dream. I woke up and everybody was screaming and….he was gone.”
“I scarred him,” Jim said. “I busted him with my baseball bat, remember. The scar is still there. Maybe it can be stopped. I was just nine then.”
“Do you think it could be…?”
Meredith’s cellphone rang. Both adults jumped and baby Steven let out a little cry before nuzzling back into his mother’s elbow. In another room, Candice played on, singing to herself.
“Thank you for calling back, Father.”
Jim leaned forward as Meredith went silent and listened to whomever had called her. Her eyes widened and she looked at Jim, nodding.
“He’s here now. With us.” Then a long pause. “Why would there be blood outside?” Another pause. “They were outside today, I don’t think there was blood on the ground.” She shrugged at Jim.
Jim shrugged.
“Did you see any blood on the ground outside?”
Jim shook his head. He’d seen no blood on the ground while he and Candice played outside. Then he remembered the dead deer in the creek, and the rainstorm that had come the night before…not long after Candice had run back inside. But he didn’t know why the sign of blood would be important.
“Ask him why?” Jim’s question was ignored as the priest rattled on something that was far more important. Meredith even plugged her free ear to insure she heard the priest correctly.
“Yes, we’ll… Jim, can you check all the shoes. Father Crosby says not to track blood into the house.”
Jim checked the soles of his own shoes, then went off and checked all of the shoes in the mudroom. He checked the floors, too, just in case there was a trail. Then returned.
“No blood.” And he thought, not yet, there had been so much blood when Brian was killed. It was everywhere. For years he was sure his parents had moved the family just so that they didn’t have to get new carpet and paint. It wasn’t until they died that he realized they’d done everything in their power to appear strong, so that their children wouldn’t be afraid—so Jim wouldn’t be afraid.
Meredith nodded, still speaking with Father Crosby. “No. He is staying the night. We added extra locks on the doors and windows. We will all be staying in tonight. Thank you, Father. We’ll see you around 7 then.”
Jim checked his wristwatch. It was almost 8 P.M.
Meredith hung up and sighed. “Father Crosby is going to come in the morning. He can’t make it out here tonight. You found no blood, right?”
“No blood,” Jim said.
“Father said it travels by blood.”
“Huh?”
“He says it’s a demon. I know you’re not religious, but mom and dad were and he helped them then. He’s in the Arlington Diocese these days, so he’s not too far away. Up in Dale City at Holy Cross.”
“It’s a demon now?”
“Jim, have you ever talked to anyone who knew what the hell it was?”
“I never told anyone.”
“Well, Father Crosby knows what we went through. He agrees its best you stay here tonight.”
“What else did he say?”
“He said to just stay calm, to keep a watch on Candice. I’m sure he’ll have some kind of plan tomorrow. He’ll probably bless the house. Maybe we can take shifts. This one,” she nodded at baby Steven, “usually wakes back up at 3 A.M. to feed. Do you think you can stand watch until then?”
Jim nodded.
“Well then, I better head to bed. It’s Candice’s bed time too.”
Candice heard from the other room and yelled, “I want Uncle Jim to read me a story!”
“You okay with that?” Meredith asked.
“My pleasure.”
“I want to tell you the story of the Night Friend,” Jim said, he reminded himself that he needed to keep Candice scared. Nightmares be damned, he had to scare the poor child. If she crawled into bed with her mother that was all the better.
“There once was a beautiful little princess who lived in a great big castle. In that castle lived all her friends and family, except one friend. This friend only came by at night.” There was no sign that Candice was making a direction connection to her own visitor. But maybe, just maybe he would plant a seed. “The King and Queen would not allow the night friend into the castle. They said his shoes were too dirty. But the girl insisted until her parents put a spell on her that made her sleep as soon as the sun set, and she only woke as soon as the sun rose. But the night friend had his own magic, and found a way to break the king and queen’s spell. The princess could hear him calling to her at night, and she would wake. The night friend asked to her come play. ‘I can’t,’ said the princess. ‘I’m not allowed.’ The night friend did not like that and she was sad that he was sad. But he asked her, ‘Can you leave out some toys so I can play with them while you sleep?’ The princess obliged, and the very next day when it was time to come in and sleep, she left her favorite toys out for her night friend. And do you know what happened?”
Candice mouthed the word no, and shook her head. Her eyes reflecting the nightlight on the far side of her bedroom.
“When she woke up the next day, all her toys were broken. And could her mommy and daddy, the king and queen, fix those toys?”
Candice nodded.
“No. They were broken forever,” Jim said. “The night friend had broken them.”
“No. it was just an accident.”
“That’s what the princess thought, and so when the night friend broke the spell again that night, asking her to come outside with him, he told her someone else had broken all the toys and he needed more toys to play with. So did the princess give him more toys?”
Candice nodded.
“And the next day they were broken, too. Was that an accident?”
Candice shook her head and drew the sheet up to her chin.
“That’s right, but the night friend told her it was an accident and that he could fix those toys if the princess would come outside to help him. So did she come outside to help fix the toys?”
Candice nodded. “And she fixed them.”
“No. While she tried to fix them the night friend snuck into the castle and ate the king and queen and all of the princess’s toys. He ate them all gone.”
Candice’s mouth was agape.
“He wasn’t her friend at all. He only wanted to eat all of her toys.”
“But he was sorry.”
“No. He laughed about it. He wasn’t nice at all.”
“I don’t like night friends.”
“No. You better not.”
Candice took two more stories and five minutes of a back rub to fall asleep. Jim was exhausted from the act. He had never wanted kids of his own. Not after what had happened to his baby brother. It had been his fault. He had befriended that thing that came to visit him each night. He had opened the door.
By the time his stupid 9-year-old brain realized what the thing’s intentions were it was too late.
Jim refilled his wine glass. He started to put the wine bottle back in the fridge, then brought it with him to the couch. He only wanted to kill half the conversation in his brain. He wanted to feel warmth and not have the jokes on television tinged with regret, shame, and fear.
But the humor of the sitcoms and the fake audience laughing seemed distant. He found himself watching the clock, hoping more than a few minutes could pass between his glances every 15-seconds. He turned off the television and paced between the kitchen and the living room.
An owl hooted outside. Jim listened as it repeated itself. His eyes scanned the darkened window panes. Somewhere the night friend waited.
And then he heard its voice.
“Old…friend,” it said. “How have you missed me, as much as I have missed you?”
At first, Jim wasn’t sure the voice was real. It came from within him, but this was how it had spoken to him as a child. He had not heard it s
ince it was nine years old, but for the first time the voice was full and not the fragmented echo that had haunted him.
“Jim-mie.”
“Leave us alone,” Jim said.
“Let me in again, I only want to play.”
“You killed my brother. I’ve been waiting for you. Did you know that? Did you know I’ve been waiting to kill you?”
“Silly child, you have been afraid.”
“I’m not a nine year old boy anymore. I cut you then. This time I’ll take your head,” Jim said.
Silence returned to the night. Then a sound as if an owl’s hoot had been cut short.
Then a dripping sound, as if the rain was just starting.
Jim flipped the switch and turned on the outdoor spotlights. No rain speckled their beams. And if there was any movement it was in the pitch black shadows that escaped the light.
Then, just at the edge the blades of grass bent.
“Come on, you bastard. You can’t do anything. You can’t come in here. You don’t have the right. You need us to let you in. You’re powerless without my help. You can’t trick me.”
“I already have.”
“You won’t again.”
“I will be in that house before dawn. I always get what I want. Yes, I require your help. The owl will only get me to your front door.”
The doorbell chimed.
Jim jerked around. The little metal doorknocker had always been more for show. It rattled against the door and the doorknob turned back and forth in vane as the deadbolt did its job.
Jim grabbed a recliner, dragging it across the floor, he slammed it against the front door.
The windows chattered, as sharp nails tapped against them. This was not at one window—it came from every window in the house.
Baby Steven erupted into long wails. Meredith gasped as she woke.
And, little Candice popped out of her room.
“He’s here,” she said.
“Stay right there,” Jim said. “Just stay right there.”
“He isn’t going to leave.”
Jim knew Candice was right.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The nails on the window taunted. Three taps and then silence, then three taps.
“Oh God, make it stop,” Meredith pleaded from the doorway to her bedroom.
Steven screamed over her.
Jim couldn’t let this happen. The night friend needed blood. It would not stop until it had it. But he had scarred it once. He went into the kitchen and pulled the largest knife he could find.
Tick-tit-tick.
Tick-tit-tick
Tick-tit-tick
The ticks increased until the rattled the windows like an assault rifle.
“I’m going out there,” Jim said. “I’m going to kill it.”
“Don’t,” Meredith said.
“I’ve got to. It’s not going to let you all alone.”
“Jim, I…”
“Don’t,” Jim said. “Ever since that night I wished it was me and not Brian. I’m not afraid of dying. I just don’t want it to hurt you and your kids.”
“Jim?”
He looked at his sister. “Set Steven in the sink and barricade the door as soon as I go out. Don’t let me back in.”
“But Jim?”
“No matter what, don’t let me back in. If I killed it. I’ll be in at day break. Do not let me back in.”
Jim shoved the couch up to the front door, then heaved it up on its side.
“Just push it over and it’ll fall on the door.”
Meredith agreed. But she had not set Steven down. She juggled him from arm to arm, patting the infant’s back in hope of silence.
“You have a beautiful family,” Jim said. “It’ll be better this way.”
Meredith did not get a second more to protest. Jim flipped the deadbolt, flung the door only enough for his body to slide through, and just as quickly slammed it. Meredith shouldered the sofa. It slammed against the front door.
Candice darted around the couch.
“Don’t!” Meredith screamed.
But the little girl was not about to do what her mother expected. The Candice locked the dead bolt and jumped back from the door.
“I won’t let him in, mommy.”
“Good…girl…come here. Stay with me.” Meredith wrapped her daughter in her arms, and Candice reached up and patted Steven’s back, trying to console him.
Jim cursed outside, trying to rile the night friend into combat. But it laughed, and when it did, the tapping on the windows stopped.
“Fight me!”
Meredith didn’t bother shielding her daughter’s ears from the other vulgarities Jim yelled. No words could be as damaging as the feeling of dread and evil that sickened the air around them. It was like a bad smoke, coating them in an unforgiving ash.
Then the sounds.
The sounds of struggle.
Breath, and flesh, both smacking and thumping outside the front door.
Then slam! The front door rattled and footsteps ran back off the front porch. Jim’s voice full of hate and anger. Meredith’s neighbors were not far away. They were awoken by the noise, and hid in the darkness of their homes, trying to gauge their civic duty.
The front door rattled. The hinges began to bounce, as if the pins would be knocked free. Meredith skirted her children into the kitchen.
“Stay here,” she told Candice. And then she put baby Steven in the sink.
Candice didn’t listen. She followed her mother around the kitchen island to the front door.
“Go back!”
“No. I have to help you!”
Candice pressed against the front door. Meredith pushed higher against the door. The force behind it tried harder, slamming the door so hard it smacked Meredith in the chin.
“Go away!” she screamed. “Go away!”
“Get away from them!” Jim screamed from outside. He had been silent for so long that Meredith had feared for the worst. Suddenly renewed hope reinvigorated her and she pushed the door against the frame and felt it stay there.
It stayed there because the night friend had to deal with Jim.
Jim roared like a mad man and his stabs could be counted, a pause for the sloshing of blood between each puncture of the creature.
Then the panting of breath, accented by the thump of a body.
The window shattered.
Jim’s bloodied body slid across the floor and slammed into a wall. Blood shot up that wall and the trail of blood led back from his body, out the window.
Steven screamed form the kitchen sink.
There stood the night friend. Darkness was its only form, the void of light, but the depth of madness. As if somewhere in its human shape was another chasm, another outside. But it raised its arm, and at the end of it, a black hand held high the head of Jim Tulips.
Blood dripping from the neck.
“Stay away!”
The night friend swung the head back and forth. The blood splashing across the floor and at Meredith and Candice.
“Go away!” Candice cried. “Leave my mommy alone!”
The night friend paused and cocked its head. Within the darkness formed an expression that felt like a devil’s smile. As if it were armed with thousands of jagged, sharp teeth and forked tongue that convulsed in anticipation.
The night friend threw Jim’s head. Meredith caught it. Her brother’s blood soaked her belly.
She looked up and the night friend was gone.
“We scared him,” Candice said.
But Meredith knew better. She could feel it. She could feel the night friend, pushing through the blood on her shirt, rising up from her belly only as much as it needed to. It opened its darkness split her in two.
Candice screamed as her mother’s blood drenched her.
Then the darkness rose upon her shoulders and pinned her to the bloodied floor.
Though daylight had arrived half an hour earlier,
blue lights flickered on the tree tops, and off the windows of the house. Father Crosby’s steady speed fell, as he foot no longer had the weight behind it to move forward. He checked the address on his directions, not really hoping for confirmation. He prayed for happy news, even though he knew it could not be. He parked his car at the edge of the driveway, and walked down past all the police cars, and one ambulance. As he passed it, he glanced inside. The stretcher was there, but no one accompanied it.
Though under other circumstances, the priest might confuse this sight for hope. He knew the other reason for it being empty was more likely. He watched officers standing outside, drinking coffee and shaking their dismayed heads. The flash bulb of a photographer went off every couple of seconds.
A paramedic was hunched over by the side of the ambulance. He had vomited. His partner patted his back, but as the paramedic gasped for breath, he spit the same words over and over again. “…shoved…in the sink… it was… shoved down… the sink.”
His partner jumped at the sight of the priest.
“S-S-Sorry, father, this is a crime scene,” the paramedic said. “You need to head back to your car.”
“I…”
A police officer spotted the priest and came off the front porch.
“Hey you, you,” he said. Then asked, “Did you know them, Father?”
Father Crosby was too busy trying to get a view over the man’s shoulder to give an immediate answer.
“It’s a closed scene, Father. Were you friendly with the family?”
“I was coming to visit them this morning,” he said. Beyond the police officers and at the threshold of the home, there was blood. Too much blood. A broken window was photographed as paramedics exited the house with the weight of defeat on their shoulders.
“You were coming to mee them, you say,” the officer said. “I’m going to have some questions for you then. You mind staying put for a few minutes?”
“I’ll stay,” Father Crosby said.
The police officer nodded and gave another office the order to get the priest’s name and information. Then he jogged up the steps and back inside.
Father Crosby watched the crime scene photographer. His boots tracking blood out onto the steps. The priest jogged to catch up to him, and surprised the man by placing a hand on his shoulder.
9 Tales Told in the Dark 17 Page 10
