by Glenn Rolfe
THE WINDOW
Glenn Rolfe
The Window is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Electronic Edition: September 2018
Alien Agenda Publishing
Copyright © 2018 by Glenn Rolfe
Edited by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Hook of a Book Media
www.hookofabook.wordpress.com
Cover design by Alien Agenda Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Thanks again to my friends and family.
You guys make all this madness possible.
Thanks to God for being cool about our relationship.
Special thanks to Tim Feely, Zachary Walters, Rich Duncan, Russell James, Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, and Don D’Auria. This story is stronger thanks to your keen insights.
Thank you.
And thank you to you the reader.
Hope you dig this one.
“Table of Contents”
Contents
Part One:
Hello, Reflection
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Two:
Dark Ecstasy
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Part III:
The Mirror Never Lies
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Part IV:
Shattered Image
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
“Hello darkness, my old friend I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains”
–Simon & Garfunkel
“Now they'd come so far and they'd waited so long
Just to end up caught in a dream where everything goes wrong
Where the dark of night holds back the light of the day
And you've gotta stand and fight for the price you pay
Now you can't walk away from the price you pay.”
-Bruce Springsteen
Part One:
Hello, Reflection
Prologue
Galveston Krutch had sinned in the eyes of God. He went to his wife’s naked body, lifting it from the rocking chair he’d made with his own two hands. Holding her unconscious form steady with his left arm, he reached up with his other and stroked her cheek. Wood in the fireplace crackled and popped as the orange flames shimmered, casting amorphous shadows over Rosemary’s crimson-licked body. He felt the urges that had come over him time and time again since first laying eyes upon the demonic reflection. The primal and untethered desires had become as necessary as air itself. At first, they filled him with shame and guilt, but it wasn’t long before he caved in. The visions seemed so real. And the feeling… he’d never indulged in such pleasures of the flesh.
This was the devil’s work, but Galveston no longer worried himself with the holy word or the threats of vengeful fury Father Johns spewed on Sundays. Hell, he stopped attending church weeks ago. People in the town talked. Rosemary told him so. On more than one occasion, the back of his hand silenced her. As for the townsfolk, he knew a few that didn’t mind the change in his demeanor. Mrs. Luther had let him take her from behind while her husband butchered cattle in the barn. The young seamstress who helped Rosemary from time to time, Ms. Heather Charles, put up a fight, but cried out in pleasure as he came inside her. Galveston Krutch had been a meek soul his entire life, but for the first time in his life, he felt like a man. How could something so wrong not be right? If it was, he no longer cared. He would cherish every succulent moment from hence forth, no matter the consequence. He had cast aside a life of devotion to the one above for the full promise of the one below.
Thunder rolled, reverberating beneath his bare feet. Splashes of lightening sparked through the night. The storm was here. Turning his gaze toward the window, Galveston watched the amber blaze in the eyes staring back at him. He smiled, grinning like a madman, waiting for the bell to toll.
A shriek exploded behind him. Carson stood in his pajamas, hands to his mouth, and screeched like a creature possessed. Galveston lowered Rosemary to the floor. The reflection in the window nodded, and he smiled at his new master, then turned to his six-year-old, the crooked grin plastered to his face. He placed a finger to his lips. “Shh, hush now, boy.”
Stepping over his wife, careful not to slip in the dark fluid escaping from her wounds, his large shadow engulfed Carson’s place in the doorway. He squealed again as Galveston reached out for him. “Mama’s gonna be all right, now.” He wasn’t sure whether that was a lie or not. He’d not meant to harm her, as the demon wanted them both, but his anger had gotten the better of him. She was still alive, but he feared the knife wound would delay his new master’s plans. There were others in town that could take Rosemary’s place.
His son stepped into the room, grabbed the bloody envelope knife from where he’d left it upon his writing desk, and backed over the threshold.
“Don’t let him escape…we need him,” the raspy voice from the reflection called out.
Clara’s gaze shot toward the window.
“Come now, son,” Galveston said, taking another step toward him. “We mustn’t judge a book by its cover. The eyes are deceitful. There is so much more…if you just open yourself to them.”
“Pa,” he said.
He stood before the boy, stroking a bloody hand over his brown hair. “Yes, son?”
His movements came impossibly quick, lunging forward and burying the letter opener in his father’s stomach. Galveston exhaled in short, dying breaths. Carson’s bravery was shocking. Such a sweet, sweet child. But, as he dropped to a knee and met the boy’s gaze, he saw the anger, the hatred, striking toward him.
The demon screamed from the window as Galveston Krutch fell to his side. Galveston felt something heavy slide away from his mind. For the first time in many weeks, clarity returned. The pain in his stomach kept him there, with his beautiful boy.
He watched the rage flee his gaze, and his body relaxed.
“Oh, pa,” he said, dropping the letter opener and going to his side.
“How…” he tried but coughed up blood. “How did you know?”
Carson caressed his bearded cheek. “Mama…Mama warned me. She said if I ever saw you doing something my pa would never do, to beware.”
He coughed again. “You did… you did good, so-son. You…did what I hadn’t the strength….”
“I knew it wasn’t you, pa.” Carson wrapped his arms around his father. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Forgive me, pa.”
“It…had…to be…done,” he said, his eyelids fluttered before closing.
The window rattled. Something thrashed against it, yet there was nothing on the other side.
Galveston felt the teardrop hit his cheek and opened his eyes.
“You must…. go. Get as far away as you can,” he said.
Carson sat up, thumbed away the tears from his father’s face, and shook his head.
“I won’t leave you, pa.”
Another rumble began across the room. After a moment, the window imploded, sending a sandstorm of shattered glass through the air.
Growing weak, his sight fading in and out of focus, the cold in his bones sapping the last vestige of his strength, the final vision Galveston saw was the shard of glass penetrate his son’s eye. The hand on his face went limp, as his boy fell away.
The screams of the window demons followed him into eternal darkness.
In the weeks following the gruesome discovery at the Krutch house, which was the family of three found dead in their own home: the father, Galveston, suspected of killing his wife, Rosemary and the son, Carson, also found dead, believed to have acted in self-defense in stabbing his father before becoming his last victim. The reasons behind the chaotic murders baffled the community for years, while the true murderers retreated into exile.
The demons, Domineus and his wife Sanikus, so close, yet so far from attaining their ultimate goal, once again, were forced to wait for another opportunity, another family to attach to and ruin.
The Krutch family wasn’t the first and would not be the last.
Nothing would stop them from trying to put things right. To return from the other side with their son, Kyrus, and show their Dark One that they would be enslaved no more.
“Soon, my love,” Domineus whispered to her.
“Yes, soon,” Sanikus said.” Soon…we shall be free.”
Chapter One
This was going to be the worst summer ever. James hated everything about being stuck here. His mom and her gross, mustache-wearing fiancé—God, even thinking that word made him sick—were trying way too hard to be good, strict parents. He wished it was just Garrett, as it would make it easier to place his hatred, but his mom was just as bad.
It was only going to get worse. He would have to start eighth grade at Evergreen Junior High in a month, while all his best friends, back home in Caleb, got to hang out and… tears welled up in his eyes. He hated thinking that life would go on without him. He didn’t care if he was being dramatic, it was true.
His mom walked into the room and stood with her arms crossed in front of the television.
“Can you shut this off for a minute?” she said.
“Ugh,” he moaned. “Why?”
“I just called your father. I told him you were staying with us tonight and that we’d drop you off tomorrow.”
“What? Why? This is Dad’s weekend,” James said.
His mother stood, one arm folded over her belly, the other emphatically playing out the message. She spoke, the same way his grandmother always did, with her hands. “It is, but I want you to meet Garrett’s parents. They flew in all the way from Florida to meet us.”
He didn’t care where they flew in from; they could be coming from Mars for all he cared. He hated Garrett and he certainly didn’t give two shits about the jerk’s parents.
He craned his neck, trying to see the scene from the DVD playing on the flat screen behind her—the Tall Man drove his hearse through the gate—but his mother stepped to the right and into his line of vision. He threw himself backward on the couch and exhaled with all the vehemence his teen angst could muster. Crossing his arms, creasing his brow, he spat, “There’s no way I’m calling them Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Did I say you had to? Huh?” she said.
“No,” he moaned.
“Did your father tell you that?”
“No, God, Dad didn’t say anything. I just know that’s what you guys want. You want to act like this is fine, and that you marrying someone else is all good and great. Well, it’s not. I hate it.” He stood, the pent-up rage boiling over. “Well, I’m not gonna do it. I don’t care. I don’t care if you guys are getting married or not. This fucking sucks!”
“James!”
He didn’t care. As he stormed out of the room and thundered down the hallway to his bedroom, he listened, pleased, as his mom huffed and puffed from the living room where he’d left her. He smiled knowing that he’d gotten under her skin.
His frustration and anger spoiled the smile cracking his face. It hadn’t been that long since his parents got divorced. Eleven months—not even a whole year. He hadn’t told his dad about Mom and Garrett’s engagement. It wasn’t a conversation he looked forward to having. His mom sure as hell wasn’t going to share the news. He knew she fully expected him to do it for her. Between his father losing his business, and then losing his wife and son, the man had been hurt enough already. At least his Dad had Alison to help ease his pain; James had no one.
He slammed the door, plopped down on his bed, and stared daggers through the poster of Katy Perry on his wall. If all this bullshit with his dad and his mom wasn’t bad enough, his mind kept bringing him back to his new school. He’d have to make all new friends and find kids who liked what he liked—horror movies, Jonathan Maberry books, and oldies music like Kiss and Guns N’ Roses. He’d have to wade through the sludge of Twilight and Lady Gaga and whatever passed as rock-n-roll today. He could still call Eric and Kevin back in Caleb and talk about shit with them, but even that was held in check. His Mom and Garrett only allowed him to use the ancient landline to make calls. They had taken his cell phone and only let him have it when he went to his Dad’s. And that was only because his dad had spent money, money he didn’t have, on the phone. Even though you could call anywhere in the U.S. on a landline now, Garrett charged James twenty-five cents a minute to make calls back home (calls to his dad being the exception). Therefore, all his calls to his friends cost him money, i.e. his allowance. He liked shooting the breeze with his buddies, but not at the cost of his magazines, his books, or his music. At least they still let him use the computer for a couple hours a night. His Facebook page was closely monitored by his Mom, but it gave him a little more time—free time—with friends.
The funny thing was that the person he’d been chatting to most since the start of summer was Kevin’s sister Carrie. It had been amazing. She was only a year younger and had tagged along with them most of the time anyway. This last year at school, he’d really started to notice how beautiful she was. And he was pretty sure she liked him, too. He wasn’t sure what good any of it would do him now that he was stuck an hour away.
He sat on his bed irritated with his mom and annoyed by having to have dinner tonight with Garrett’s parents. The world really sucked sometimes. He wished she’d let him live with his Dad, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. His Dad worked all day at his new construction job, and she didn’t want James living there with Alison. His mom didn’t like Alison (even though she would never admit it) and didn’t like how lenient they were with him. She wanted him where she could “keep an eye on him” and make sure he was “raised right.” James grabbed his iPod and his new copy of Horror Hound from his nightstand. “Paradise City” played through his headphones as he re-read an article on horror movie remakes. Reading about A Nightmare on Elm Street and The Hills Have Eyes was fine and all, but his brain kept going back to wondering, as it usually did when he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself, how his Dad was doing. He drowned out his rock and shock material as he folded his hands, closed his eyes, and said a prayer. For himself, for his dad, that his mom would ditch Garrett. He knew from attending church here and there when he was younge
r that God didn’t answer all prayers, but one or two would be fine with James.
Get me back home, please.
…..
Richie Curry brought the beer up to his lips as he watched Kate Upton showing off her tits and ass to sell him a fast food burger. All in the name of advertisement. Ah, the good old American mantra—sex sells. He swallowed a mouthful of the cheap booze and licked his tongue over his teeth. They felt grimy; his mouth tasted like shit. Alison was working another one of her overnight shifts at Mendy’s Pharmacy, something he wasn’t comfortable with, but she got an additional two dollars an hour for the late shift, and with him being on again and off again with McGee’s Roofing, they needed the extra cash. Richie hated her having to take on more than she should. It just added to the growing list of pathetic hits he’d taken in recent years.
He sat up, finished the first beer, and pulled a second from the plastic ring of sweating cans. It was hot as hell in the trailer tonight, and the damn A/C unit was only pumping out enough frosty air to keep the bedroom cool. He’d intended on replacing the unit for the living room that died last month, but the ten days of rain cost him a good week’s worth of work and rent was due the first week of August.
He’d been prescribed Sertraline, which was a generic, less expensive version of the anti-depressant, Zoloft. His mood swings prior to being diagnosed with depression had been horrendous. One minute he was laughing with James, the next he was buried under the weight of the world, unable to breathe. No matter how much he told himself things would be okay, life was a roller coaster, and his was set to climb back up at any time. His wallowing made him thirsty and alcohol made him feel better, at first. Somewhere down the line though, even that had stopped working.
He popped the tab on the beer and chugged a good fourth of it down. His drinking had taken a dramatic upswing since his ex-wife, Samantha, served him with divorce papers. She’d moved in with Garrett Stevens, the same goddamn prick that sold them the Grand Am in his driveway. Worst of all, she took James with her when she left.
