9 Tales Told in the Dark 22

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  ‘I’ll do what I can,' Jacob whispered back reaching out his arm to comfort the old woman by patting her enormous shoulder. The smock she was wearing appeared to be made from a thick, curtain- like material that was decorated with faded pink and red rosebuds. He left his hand there for a moment to comfort her, make her feel like everything was going to be fine. The flesh began to slowly tighten under his hand, the chest below expanding as she sucked in breath through her constricted airways. Jacob began to stroke her back, the poor thing she can barely breathe, the feeling of sympathy overwhelming any revulsion he may have felt. Her head slowly turned to look at him, searching for his eyes. He could feel the tendons in her neck stretching like taut catgut. He looked down to meet her gaze, the satisfaction he felt for showing such compassion to his fellow humans was immediately extinguished.

  Her eyes were deep, black pools of night, he probed them for anything remotely comforting, even human, but his search proved fruitless. Her inhalation ceased and he felt the stillness of her body. Despite his growing terror, he continued to meet her gaze. He could not look away. His hand continued mechanically to stroke her back. The old woman’s mouth began to open, to yawn impossibly wide; he was aware of teeth like dull, grey tombstones and the reek of breath that colored the air around her. A sound like a fog horn began to rise from deep within her; muffled by the mounds of copious layers of fat until, free of her gullet, it finally boomed into Jacob’s ears. Watching across the street Bill cringed, but did not miss a note as he continued whistling and gaping at the spectacle unfolding.

  Jacob’s hand stopped moving, paralyzed he stood over the old woman who was reverberating from the noise that had escaped her. Her doughy hands reached out and greedily grabbed him. Picking him up and settling him on her enormous lap, she brushed his cheek tenderly. Jacob looked up at her, he felt like a child on the lap of an enormous aunty, the terrible sound still echoed in his ears. Her head bent down over him, the black eyes unblinking, staring into his, the mouth was opening again, and then she buried her face in his abdomen and began to feed. He did not feel any pain as she tore and sucked at his guts; when there was nothing left she turned him like a corncob and started on his ribs. Jacob’s lips curled upwards in a smile, what a cruel joke he thought as he stared at the pattern on the old woman’s dress, they were not rosebuds but rather bloody haunches arranged in a floral motif.

  Bill breathed a sigh of relief, that will keep her full for another year at least he thought to himself as he continued on to work, certainly something to tell the customers about.

  THE END.

  THE WOODS OUT BACK by Shawn P. Madison

  Tatiana sat in the stale smelling attic in front of the open window, letting the cool evening breeze blow through her hair. The darkness of night felt like a welcome blanket around her shoulders, soothing her in a way that none of her foster parents had ever been able to over the years.

  Now, though, she was living with actual relatives, fellow Romanians, distant cousins to her mother, now long dead…but not forgotten. They had welcomed her here to this house set deep off the small dirt road that snaked its way through the surrounding hills and valleys. The house itself was old, she had known that as soon as she entered it this morning, knew from the creak of the wooden beams in the brisk autumn wind, from the smell of aged wood and even older plaster and tiles. Yes, this place was old, full of secrets, full of ancient wisdom and experience, full of the tales that only houses this old could tell.

  Tatiana had felt very comfortable with these people, her Aunt and Uncle and newfound cousins, and they had done all they could to welcome her into their family, into their home. This had been in the works for quite some time, she knew. A feeling of family had been firmly pressing in on her over the past year or so, letting her know to expect this sudden change in her life, this abrupt swing in the direction of her forlorn existence.

  When the car had pulled off the road on to the driveway and this house came into view, Tatiana had smiled wide and clapped her hands together in anticipation. This was where she belonged. This was the place that had been calling to her.

  When her mother died all those years ago, she had been shuffled from one foster family to another. She’d spent years in despair, a lost girl all alone on the often cruel path of life, following nothing of her own. It was during these first few years, when she’d been deeply distraught, felt displaced and despised, that her abilities had begun to show. The knack for sensing something when nothing was there. The quick darting looks to the darker corners of the room. The glint in her eyes revealing that she knew something nobody else did. These things only served to spook her custodians, unnerve them, make them feel as if she were…different.

  Tatiana had gotten used to the shuffling around, the new schools, the new rooms, the new smells, and feels of all the places she’d lived. The knowledge that none of those places would last made her grow cold inside, made her close herself off from everyone else around her. There was only one person she had known and loved, only one person who she’d ever felt safe with…but she’d died, quickly and viciously, leaving Tati all alone in the world at a very young age.

  Now, though, she knew things were different. She was back with family, back with her own blood, people who came from the same place on this Earth as her parents had. And this wonderful house, tall and dark, set deep into the woods with even deeper woods behind. There were so many rooms, so many corners, some wonderfully dark, some wondrously cold.

  There was a history here, the house had been in the family for many years. Nearly three centuries old, this house had been built by her very own ancient ancestors, people who’d been alive too long ago to imagine. And by their own hands, no doubt. Their touch was upon the timbers, their sweat in the stones of the foundation, their love in the aesthetics of the woodworking in the sills, the doorframes, the ceilings. They were all still here in this house and Tati could feel them.

  Others, as well, roamed this place. Her excitement mounted as this first night in the house grew colder and darker. A half moon shone brightly in the evening sky, casting sinister shadows through the grass and trees below her attic window. She sat toward the rear of the house, the windows pulled open to reveal the woods out back and the many tree limbs swaying in the breeze.

  All around her, the sounds of the night rang out. Leaves rustling along the dirt, twigs scraping against the house, the wind rushing through the trees and those sounds that had no readily identifiable source.

  Tati wrapped her arms around her shoulders and began rocking silently as she looked out the window. The thin tee shirt she wore did nothing to protect her from the chill of the night. Her relatives were all asleep, had been for hours, and she’d taken the opportunity to search out the attic. The door at the top of that tall dark staircase had creaked noisily when she’d first tried to push it open but, with great patience, she managed to squeeze through without waking anybody up.

  The great area was filled with many shadows and the musty smell of old things. Large tarp-covered lumps lay haphazardly throughout the space, begging to be exposed, their truths released. The dust was thick up here but there were footprints along the paths that wound their way through the clutter. Small footprints that made Tati laugh at the inquisitive nature of her younger cousins. Yes, she belonged to these people...

  Allowing her eyes to briefly travel around the attic, she saw many things in the shadows, things not usually visible to most people, but that were there nevertheless. There were many such things, Tati knew from experience, but not many people were aware of them.

  Just then, a sound reached her ears and Tati turned to look once more out the window. The woods were alive with the movement of tree branches and the quick shifts of moonlight that ducked through to the ground as they swayed. The sound came again and Tati felt a chill run down her spine. Her hands gripped her shoulders more tightly and a rousing batch of goose bumps covered her body. Shivering, Tati stood up, placed both hands on the open windowsill and reached
her head out into the night, the wind playing havoc with her long blonde hair.

  The call was there again, a small voice, a beckoning voice, it could barely be heard. But Tati heard it just fine, that lonely call, that voice in the night, begging for help. Tati felt a rush and turned toward the attic door, not bothering to shut the windows as she burst on through and raced down the stairs. A quick detour to her designated room to fetch her robe and slippers took only seconds and then she was on the second landing staircase, heading for bottom.

  On the ground floor, she bypassed the front door and made her way toward the doorway leading to the cellar stairs down the hall a few rooms away. This door creaked also but she had less patience now. The stairs were dark but she navigated them cleanly, using her previous exploration of the house as a guide. Once at the bottom, she took care not to disturb anything and made it to the outside door. Shafts of blue moonlight came through the four small panes of glass in the door and the overwhelming odor of rotted wood and the accumulated mold of countless years assaulted her senses.

  Tati turned the small knob, releasing the lock, and eased the door open. The wind tried to rip the door from her grasp but she held on tight. It hadn’t rained here for days so she knew that mud and loose soil would not be an issue. As she closed the door tightly and secured the robe around her waist with the thin sash the call came again and she found her direction.

  Then it was a mad dash into the wind and woods, skipping over roots, slipping on loose leaves, using trees for support. Tati ran through the woods at a breakneck pace, following that call for help, needing to get there, to see for herself…she knew it would not be in time, would never be in time, but she needed to see…

  Help…the word rolled languidly through the night, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. It was agonizingly long and drawn out, a voice that had been calling for a very long time, had been calling and calling but knew that no help was forthcoming.

  Tati’s heart was pounding, her breaths came in short quick gasps, but she ran on, toward where she felt that call was coming from. An unseen root tripped her up and she tumbled, head over heels, the leaves getting caught in her hair and the fabric of her robe, the uneven surface of the ground catching her in the ribs and ankles and knees.

  She let out a small shout of pain as she came to rest against an old fallen log, the wood rotted through and devoid of bark from years of exposure to the wind and rain. Visibility was limited despite the half moon shining above and Tati sat up to try and regain her bearings. More sounds rushed at her now, coming from all around, her eyes darted in every direction.

  Trying hard to hear clearly over the sounds of her heavy breathing, Tati could see strange shapes among the trees and bushes of these woods. The house was nowhere in sight but she knew that she could find it again if she had to. Standing, she made her way toward the calling voice once more, letting some cautiousness take over this time. Her scuffed knees and scraped palms were bleeding slightly but she paid that no mind. The voice was getting louder, she was almost there.

  Reaching forward to brush some branches out of her way, Tati tripped over a ragged old stump and went sliding down an embankment. She was able to slow herself a bit by reaching out for another fallen log and she quickly rolled over on to her knees, made it to her feet and kept running.

  Closer, she was much closer now, it couldn’t be far. One last cry for help lingering on the breeze seemed to be coming from right in front of her. Tati crashed through some branches, saw a tree dead ahead, tried to skid to a stop among the leaves lining the ground and reached out for something that was hanging from above.

  She realized too late what it was she was reaching for and couldn’t pull her hand back in time. Tati screamed, tore her fingers away, and brought both hands up to her face as she backed away in horror.

  The man had been hung, his face was up there in the darkness, not at all visible, but it was his ankle that she had grabbed on to just a few seconds ago. He swayed in the wind, hanging by his neck, the branch creaking from his weight, much more than dead. But still, knowing this could not be real, the feel of that ankle on her fingertips, the coarseness of the bare dead skin, the fragility of the rotted fabric of his pants, had startled her so.

  The body continued to sway, that cry of help emanating from lips that she knew were not moving up there in the shadows was floating away on the breeze and carrying out across the woods. Slowly, one hand moved, a finger pointed toward her and the body swayed into a shaft of murky moonlight. Briefly, only briefly, she saw those lifeless eyes looking down upon her, pleading for mercy, begging for salvation.

  Help me…

  She heard the words deep down inside, heard them loud and clear, and saw the finger thrust toward her accusingly once again. Tati’s tears burst from her eyes, rolled down her cheeks and she ran away from the specter hanging from the tree. She couldn’t help him, she knew, could offer no aid to his restless soul and so she ran off through the woods, hopefully back toward the house but inevitably deeper into the night.

  She was crying openly now, the vision of that dead face so crisp and clear, imprinted in her memories. Time passed, the wind kept blowing, and those quick shafts of moonlight continued to press in all around her as she stumbled her way through the woods. Tears tasting salty in her mouth as she turned first one way then another, twirling about, then off in another direction. It was cold, very cold, and getting colder and Tati wanted only her room and bed in the house up ahead, only to reach the house.

  She saw more, much more, as she dashed through the woods. A boy with a rifle and a camouflage hat covered in blood, his brains leaking from the side of his head after an apparent accidental shooting more than a decade ago. The bloated body of a drowned teenage girl who had fallen into the deep water of a submerged hollow following the torrential rains and sustained flooding of a hundred years past, not yet having learned to swim. A young man wearing a bloodstained greatcoat of deep blue with obvious military markings clutching his chest to no avail. All of these specters and more reached toward her with outstretched fingers and accusing eyes, assaulting her ears with their haunting cries for help.

  Through it all, Tatiana ran and cried. Cried for their lost and tortured souls and cried for the fact that she couldn’t help them. She could see them, touch them, hear them…to her they were quite real. But she could offer no assistance. The only thing she could give them was acknowledgement, a confirmation that they were still here on this Earth, searching for something, some way out of these woods.

  And just like that, she burst from the edge of the trees and the leaves and on to the moonlit back lawn of her new old house. The wind blew long hair into her face, chilled her exposed legs and rippled the fabric of her robe, threatening to loosen the sash around her waist. Still her legs kept running, up the hill toward the cellar door, up through the grass and the dead leaves until her hands closed on the doorknob.

  Once the door was safely shut behind her, Tati slumped down to the cellar floor and allowed the tears to roll freely. She sat there for some unknown length of time, whimpering for those poor lost souls and pleading to the night for their release from this prison before her crying subsided. Then, knowing that she should really get some sleep this night, she rose from the icy cold floor of the cellar and made her way to the stairs.

  As she entered the hallway on the first floor and tried to close the door leading to the cellar stairs with a minimum of creaking a light snapped on above her and she stifled a scream.

  “Tati? What is it?” the frightened voice of her Aunt sounded far away as the woman grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close, brushing the remnants of dead leaves from her hair and bits of dirt from her face. “You’re filthy! Where were you? Where did you go?”

  Tati pulled herself from the woman’s grasp very gingerly, looked into her Aunt’s eyes and smiled. “I was in the woods out back, Auntie.”

  “The woods? Why?” her aunt demanded. “What’s wrong? Are you all right, c
hild?”

  Tati’s eyes grew distant for a moment as the very vivid memories of what she’d just experienced replayed themselves in her mind. One last tear escaped her right eye, rolled down her cheek and spilled on to her robe. She knew that she’d be seeing those same things again and many different others soon. During more trips to the woods on many another dark and moonlit night. Then, with a deep breath and a great sigh of relief, she looked up at her new surrogate mother and said, “Don’t worry, Auntie, I’m just fine. I feel like I’m really home now. This place, this house and the woods out back, this is where I belong…although I knew it this morning, I know it even more now. Thank you, Auntie, thank you so much for bringing me home.”

  THE END.

  FULL SPREAD by Sara Green

  The red ribbon finally landed. Secured within the blades of cut grass, the cool spring breeze would push it no further. There it lay as children trampled tulips and daffodils in their Sunday best—screaming and laughing.

  All except for Chandra. Her lips held tight, cheeks puffed and chin pushed forward. Her untied hair covered her face like a crazed wooly mammoth. Her fists only unclenched when she thought she could grab another child’s collar. She lacked the precision timing that age might bring her one day. Two green streaks shot up the front of her floral print dress. The knees beneath were bloodied.

  A young boy strafed and broke off from the group, laughing confidently. He stumbled backwards over the concrete patio.

  Chandra pounced.

  Her shoulder caught his chin. Turned the boy’s face to the side. His back scraped against the concrete, but the traction did not stop him in time. Metal chimed, and a hollow thud echoed up the gutter drain. Rain did not come down it, for it had not rained in days. Blood flowed instead.

  The jagged aluminum punctured the boy’s cheek just below his eye, forcing the eyeball out of its socket.