Until... | Book 1 | Until The Sun Goes Down

by Hamill, Ike

  I’m a passenger.

  (The light doesn't bother me.)

  The light doesn’t bother me.

  I’m much stronger now. Amber has every light on the first floor of Mr. Engel’s house on. It’s a hot night, but all the lower windows are closed. From a distance, my eyes watch her shape move through a rectangle of light. She’s looking in the direction of my uncle’s house. I bet she’s watching for the return of the police. They’ve been gone a while now.

  I see her moving to the kitchen and I remember the phone on the wall.

  I’m not conscious of any intention that I have to stop her from contacting the outside world. My arms and legs propel me through the grass anyway. Soon, I’m at the front corner of the house where the phone line emerges through the foundation and connects to the phone box. One of my talons pushes through the insulation and interrupts the connection. It was a new wire. They must have replaced it recently. They’re going to have to replace it again.

  I hear her inside the house, practically shouting at the phone.

  I know the feeling.

  We’ve grown so accustomed to being in constant contact with the world. A small amount of isolation is terrifying.

  When I was a kid, I resented my mom’s phone calls when I visited Uncle Walt. She always wanted to know details about what projects we were working on and what I had learned. Those intrusions sucked the life out of the lessons that I learned. When I had to encapsulate my accomplishments into words, their size and importance shrank. I eventually resorted to monosyllabic responses to her questions. She got the point eventually and called less frequently.

  While my brain recalled that memory, my body was busy.

  I’m clinging to the side of the house, lifting the sash of one of the bedroom windows.

  I try to yell to Amber to tell her to run. She has to run before my eyes snare her.

  I pause at the top of the stairs and tap on the bannister. It’s not to find her—I already know that she’s in the kitchen. I can hear her rapid breathing. When I really focus, I can hear her pounding heart. I’m tapping because it’s an innocuous sound. It will draw her closer to me.

  I’m also tapping to find the switch at the bottom of the stairs. If I can get it to flip, the lights in the downstairs hall will be extinguished and I can move closer to her. We’ll meet in the middle and she’ll get to see my eyes. I think she will like them.

  The switch is easy enough to locate, but it won’t flip. It should be well within my power, but it won’t flip. Everything in Mr. Engel’s house is old. It’s probably rusty.

  Everything in Mr. Engel’s house is old.

  That means that the lightbulbs are probably old too. They probably have those old, delicate filaments that could easy be vibrated until they break. As soon as my talons receive that information, they shift their focus to try to shake the bulbs. My eyes inform them that their efforts aren’t working. The yellow waves come back from the bulbs. They’re not moving like they’re glass and filament. The bulbs have been replaced with newer types. These aren’t fragile lightbulbs at all. Amber must have wanted to save money on the power bill.

  I think about the breakers in the basement. I managed to flip one in my house. I can probably do the same thing here.

  Just as I start to tap, music blares down in the living room below. It’s loud and the bass thumps. There’s nothing I can do against this onslaught of vibration. It effectively cancels any tapping that I might do. I’ve lost one of my primary senses and one of my strongest powers.

  It will be uncomfortable, but I think that my body will be able to handle the lights downstairs. All I have to do is get close enough for Amber to look into my eyes and then I can get her to shut off the lights for me. Actually, it would be best if she shut off the music first. That sound is horrible.

  It’s…

  “The Mountain of Pure Rock,” the voice says. After a thunderclap and a gong, AC/DC plays.

  Amber didn’t strike me as a WTOS fan. I guess I misjudged her.

  If it were up to me, this would be a good time to leave. The bedroom window is still open. Climbing up was simple. I’m sure that getting back down will be even easier. I’m still full of power and I don’t have a particular hunger for Amber.

  The problem is the letter and the snitching. She called the police once and she has paper evidence to back up her claim. I don’t remember what I wrote, but it was enough to get the officers to my house. They’re probably going to keep looking for me. Maybe if I get rid of Amber and the letter, I’ll find some peace.

  My legs have already decided on this course of action. I’m slipping down the stairs, trying to hear Amber over the screeching AC/DC.

  The music makes it difficult to think.

  I creep down the stairs, slowly exposing myself to the light down there. The glare is painful—as bad as the music, really—but I think I can tolerate it long enough to find her.

  I’m almost to the bottom of the stairs and I’m clinging to the left wall. That’s where the deepest shadows are. I think I understand why the light is so horrible. My skin is working hard to try to make me blend into the shadows. That’s not something I can control. It’s as automatic as blinking, which I don’t seem to do as much anymore. I would say that it’s as automatic as my heart beating, but I don’t think my heart still beats during daylight.

  Anyway, my skin is good at disguising me, but direct light is way too much work. When one of my talons strays into the light, my arm snatches it back. It needs time to recover.

  Complete darkness would be the best way to recover. On the other side of the bannister, there’s a hall closet. The door is ajar. It would be an ideal refuge.

  Bracing myself for the light, I spring up, leap over the banister, land softy on the floor and then slip into the closet.

  Relief floods through me. The coats muffle the sound and the door blocks out the light. After a few minutes in this solitude, I’ll be ready for anything. I slip to the very back and huddle down with the overshoes and a stray set of gloves that must have fallen from the shelf. It smells like Mr. Engel in here—like a towel, fresh from the dryer.

  I won’t, of course, but I could stay here forever.

  In the living room, the Mountain has finished with AC/DC for the moment and I hear a commercial for some car dealership. Are they the only advertisers? It seems like the only business I hear ads for.

  The radio clicks off and I can’t believe my luck.

  My talons don’t waste a single second.

  They tap on the floor, echo into the basement, find the breaker and switch it off. The light under the bottom of the door goes out. I hear Amber take in a sharp breath—she’s right outside the closet door—and then I hear something that almost sounds like rain.

  A grain of rice bounces under the door and lands on the toe of a boot.

  My talon shoots out and snatches it up.

  Her heart is beating fast and she’s practically gulping down air. She’s not trying to run. I can sense her, on the other side of the door and a few feet down the hall.

  All I have to do is open the door wide enough and she will see my eyes. That’s all it will take.

  I shift silently in the dark. A ripple travels through my skin so it won’t rub against the coats and make them move. A talon puts a tiny amount of pressure on the door, making it swing open slower than a minute hand.

  Amber is still standing there. I don’t know what she’s doing, but it won’t matter soon.

  If I were her, I would already be running. Three paces between each breath would keep my stamina as I fled out into the night, but Amber is just standing there.

  Even in the dark, I can see the grains of rice. The rice hitting the floor was what I thought sounded like rain. She must have spilled the dry rice when the lights went out and now she’s frozen in fear.

  It won’t matter soon.

  I push the door open a little wider so I can pick up the rice. My talons need to do that before my eyes will be
free to mesmerize Amber.

  “Hey,” she says.

  Even with her heart racing and her breath coming in quick gasps, she sounds calm. I guess I misjudged her adrenaline for fear.

  The flashlight clicks on and I see the beam coming towards me.

  In that last moment, I lock eyes with her.

  I sense her mind and I hear my own words echoing in there.

  They’re from the letter.

  “If I don’t knock on the door, like a friendly neighbor, then please understand that I’m here to do you harm.”

  Another tidbit floats by just before the light hits me.

  “You’ll know I’m close if you hear tapping. Scatter seeds to slow me down.”

  I must have given her more advice than that. I see that the flashlight is taped to a long wooden stick. She’s gripping it in both hands.

  Amber drives it forward into my right eye.

  I remember the whole letter.

  I thought she would be unable to resist my stare. I’m so strong now from the two police officers. Amber jerks her stake back with a grunt and shoves it into my other eye.

  I can still see the yellow waves. They’re a part of everything that moves or vibrates. The echoes of her heartbeat light up the hallway and the rice on the floor. They show me everything even as the world begins to melt.

  Then, with a long exhale, the world turns to mist and disappears.

  (Letter)

  Dear Amber,

  You don’t know me well, but I shared a moment with Mr. Engel. I hope you’ll remember that as you read what I have to say. Give me the benefit of the doubt even though what I’m writing is going to sound crazy.

  I’m going to try to come to you tomorrow, after dark. I can’t come until the sun goes down. I’m going to ask for your help. The infection that killed your great uncle is attacking me. It’s turning me into a monster, and I can’t live this way. You saw the talons growing from my wrist. The change has progressed since then. If I could take my own life, I would. I’ve tried. I need your help to end this.

  I know that this is a lot to ask.

  Hopefully, I will still be able to explain this in person when I come to you. If I can’t, then that means the infection has already gone too far. If I don’t knock on the door, like a friendly neighbor, then please understand that I’m here to do you harm. You’ll know I’m close if you hear tapping. Scatter seeds to slow me down.

  My eyes are hypnotic. Even glancing at them can cause paralysis. That’s how the infection traps its next victim. Light is the antidote. A flashlight can diminish the mesmerizing effect. I killed thirteen infected, most with a wooden stake—not through the heart, but through the eyes.

  Sharpen something wooden to a point. I used a shovel handle and a broomstick. It’s not hard to pierce the eyes. Trust me, you’ll know it’s necessary when you see what I have become. We move in the darkness or shadows, hunt at night, and use our claws to tap so we can listen to the echoes. We hide during the day. Any scratch or bite can transmit the infection. Don’t let me get too close.

  I hope you can read this. It has been a battle to write this letter.

  Sincerely,

  Ike Hamill

  September 2019

  Topsham, Maine

  About Until the Sun Goes Down

  This book was a lot of fun for me to write. I hope you had as much fun as I did. Books with monsters—real or imaginary—have always been my favorite. I take that back. I’m actually not too fond of the imaginary sort of monsters. A scary book needs to have a payoff. There has to be something unexplainable or else I’m a little disappointed.

  With Until the Sun Goes Down, our narrator is driven more by his own fear than anything else. Did those creatures really mean him harm? Do we have any irrefutable evidence? In a lot of horror stories, the characters are doomed because they refuse to act while they try to explain everything away. In this story, I wanted the narrator to jump to a quick conclusion and act accordingly. It was just rotten luck that he still got tripped up.

  When I was a kid, I used to come to Maine every summer to stay with my grandparents at their house in the middle of nowhere. The house was on a dirt road. At night, the light on the barn made a tiny patch of safety surrounded by endless woods that contained countless horrible monsters. That place terrified me and I loved it.

  ’Salem’s Lot came out in 1975. I don’t remember what year I found a dog-eared copy, but I know exactly where I was when I read it. I had come up that year without my brother and sister, and I was staying alone in the guest room with the twin beds. It was a scorcher of a day, filled with swimming and chores in equal measure. That night, with the window open, a breeze finally brought relief from the heat. I got up and closed it anyway, because I was reading about ’Salem’s Lot, where the dead can’t seem to stay still.

  I even pulled the shade, afraid that I would see glowing eyes hovering outside the second-story window. That book made me afraid to even take in a deep breath. I hope that one of my books gives that kind of thrill to someone. I treasure that memory.

  Hope you liked the story. If you haven’t read my other books, you should check them out. I have a bunch. Stay Away and Fiero’s Pizza are in a similar vein. Migrators takes place a few miles from this book and shares some of the same atmosphere. Let me know what you think. You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, or email (ike@ikehamill.com).

  All my best,

  Ike

  Stay Away

  Every small town has secrets. Some secrets can kill.

  He’s always been there, the old gentleman in the funeral suit, hanging around the big oak tree. Even before the cemetery was dug, the natives knew about him. He was just as much a part of the landscape as the rocks or the river. If you ever needed anything, especially if it was a matter of life and death, you could find him and make a trade.

  He always trades fair. Everybody says so.

  Eric is about to trade without even realizing it. He isn’t tricked. It’s only a mistake. “Caveat emptor,” some might say. Uncle Reynold would say, “Watch your butt, lest somebody kicks a new hole in it.”

  Fiero’s Pizza

  There’s something out there waiting for your family and it needs you to call. Your baby can sense it. In the middle of the night, when the curtains blow, you can sense it too. All it needs is an opening. Once it’s inside you, it will control everything.

  What if your family is already doomed?

  Brian and Samantha have found the perfect home to start their family. It's an old farmhouse in rural Maine, with plenty of character and plenty of room to grow. And they're just in time! Before they've moved in, Samantha goes into labor with their first son. With the house, they get more than they bargained for. They stumble into the clutches of a demonic parasite, just waiting to latch onto the next family. By the time they realize what is happening, their fate is already sealed. Only their love and commitment to each other will see them through. But what if they're not strong enough?

  Time to call Fiero's Pizza -- FREE Delivery -- Now Open Sundays!

  Migrators

  Do not speak of them. Your words leave a scent. They will come. Somewhere in the middle of Maine, one of the world's darkest secrets has been called to the surface. Alan and Liz just wanted a better life for themselves and their son. They decided to move to the country to rescue the home of Liz's grandfather, so it would stay in the family. Now, they find themselves directly in the path of a dangerous ritual. No one can help them. Nothing can stop the danger they face. To save themselves and their home, they have to learn the secrets of the MIGRATORS.

 

 

 
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