Imp

by Andrew Neiderman

  Anyway, it was probably because of the angle he was at or the way the light reflected off the floor, but suddenly, he saw something he hadn’t seen before—the outline of a footprint in a dusty area. Of course, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, so he took out his handkerchief and wiped them. Gina had left the basement door opened upstairs, so he could hear her and Hilda setting the table for dinner. Gina was telling Hilda how she helped her mother with the housework whenever the maid failed to show.

  Cy put his handkerchief back into his pocket and then knelt down beside the post and the rabbit to study the print on the floor. There was no doubt about it—it looked like a tiny human foot. It was too small to be Gina’s. And yet, maybe it wasn’t a human foot, he thought; maybe it was a monkey’s. Could someone in the area have a pet monkey that got loose?

  He decided he wouldn’t mention it to Hilda, but he would call Eddie Morris in the morning and have him come up to look at it, too. Hilda wouldn’t sleep tonight if he told her what he found, he thought. Even he would have trouble sleeping. He stood up and looked around the basement. Nothing else was disturbed; they had checked every nook and cranny. It was safe and secure from whatever was out there.

  To be sure, though, he went back to the cellar door and tested it one more time. It didn’t budge and there was no way for anything to slip through. Just before he flicked the light switch, he looked back at the floor by the post and shook his head. What a crazy thing. What did it all mean?

  He thought about the story Eddie Morris had told them when he brought back the rabbit—how he had found it and how Mary Oaks had reacted. He thought about the Oaks girl he rarely saw and he thought about the strange, deep darkness that was always around The Oaks when he went by it during his walks.

  He had no real proof and no real reason to make any conclusions, but he thought, if this situation ever got solved, somehow it would have something to do with that crazy Oaks woman.

  “I’ve got a mind to go over there and talk to her myself,” he muttered, “and see what she might tell me.”

  “But then why would she talk to me, if she didn’t talk to a policeman?”

  Hilda interrupted the dialogue he was having with himself when she called him up for supper.

  Even so, he might just go over there, he thought. He might just do it.

  TEN

  The rain began slowly in a mist and then increased and thickened into what was to become an all-night downpour. Although he couldn’t see it, because there were no windows in the basement, he could hear it against the upper walls of the house. He didn’t know it as rain; he had yet to see and experience rain. But he knew it through his other senses. The dampness crept through the walls as always and cloaked him in a garment of cold air, penetrating his skin and reaching down into his muscles and flesh to make his bones shudder. He curled up in his box and drew the raggedy blanket over him as he waited for his supper. His built-in clock told him it was nearly time for the creature to appear with his food.

  Sure enough, it was only a little while longer before he heard her moving toward the basement door above him. He honed in on her footsteps, and his image of her was so vivid, he could practically see her through the ceiling. He heard the click of the padlock and the door open. The light from upstairs unraveled down the stairs and settled over the wall and floor at the base of the steps. He widened his eyes expectantly and waited. When she snapped on the cellar light, the brightness was a shock to him and, for a few moments, he blinked rapidly and shaded his face from the abrupt illumination. He heard her start down. By the way she stamped her feet on the steps, he knew she was going to be more vicious and meaner than usual.

  When she made the turn at the foot of the stairs and started in his direction, he noticed that she looked quite different. Her hair was loose and strands curled into the air as though they were electrified. Under the sharp light, the contrast between her face and her hair was that much greater. It had the effect of making her skin even whiter, washing away every blemish, every color. She looked vapid and chalky like a faded manikin.

  He saw that the strap of punishment was tied loosely around her waist, the two ends of it dangling like the heads of dead snakes. Her arms were extended stiffly, so she could hold the tray of food forward and away from her body. She acted as though she were carrying something contaminated. There was a small, lit candle on the tray. She hadn’t done that for a long time, and he was even more afraid because of it.

  She held her head stiffly as she held her arms. Her eyes were locked in that hateful gaze that combined fear and anger. When she moved into a shadow, the tiny candlelight cast a sickly yellow sheen over her face, making her look thinner and more skeletonlike. Her sallow cheeks were concave, which resulted in puffing out her lips and making her mouth look swollen. All of her features were exaggerated to him. The sharper bone structure caused her eyes to become even deeper and darker. Her entire demeanor terrified him.

  He began to whimper before she was close. He embraced himself even more protectively and tightened his fetal position, squeezing his legs so hard against his stomach, that they brought pain into his abdomen. At first, it was as though she didn’t see him; it was as though she were looking through him or beyond him. Her gaze was frozen and her head unmoving. She was carrying herself like a blind woman or someone locked in a hypnotic trance. He did not know these things; he simply sensed her changes instinctively and reacted to them. The only image of comparison that he had was that of a stick, hard and straight.

  As soon as she knelt down beside him to place the tray on the floor, he held his breath and tightened his fingers into tiny fists, pressing his long nails into his own palms so hard, he actually brought blood to the surfaces. Finally, she seemed to notice him. She reached forward mechanically and took a fistful of his hair into her hand, jerking his head up and forward so abruptly, she nearly tore his neck. He started to scream, but swallowed it quickly with the pain. He knew that such a reaction could only make her more violent.

  With her other hand, she lifted the candle in its holder and brought it dangerously near his face. He could feel the small heat threatening to singe his skin. She used the tiny light to search his face and what she apparently saw, satisfied her. The wry smile took form and she nodded slightly. He wanted to take a deep breath, but he was afraid to make the slightest movement.

  “Demon,” she said, “Thou shalt see no victory in my house.” Her smile widened. “Glory to God in the highest…”

  He continued to do nothing, but she held him firmly. For a moment the memory of the little boy’s bleeding arm came to him. He remembered his feeling of power afterward and he thought of reaching out to do the same thing to her arm; but his fear of her was so powerful, he couldn’t budge. Instead, he hung there limply in her grasp and waited for her to release him. It seemed as though she never would, because she continued to glare at him and use the candle to search his face for some clue, some reaction. He barely moved his lips, but his tongue pressed forward, almost as if it had a mind of its own, and the tip of it emerged like the tip of a snake’s tongue. That seemed to satisfy her, for she smiled and nodded more emphatically.

  She placed the candle back on the tray and quenched its flame with her hand. That amazed him, because fire was something he had always feared and she suffered no pain. When she released him, he fell back to the floor of his box quickly, but his relief was short-lived. She stood up and untied the strap of punishment from her waist.

  He cringed and pressed his back against the rear of the makeshift bed, when she folded the belt and stood over him, dangling it ominously. He closed his eyes in anticipation of the blows, but they did not come. When he opened them again, she was looking upward, her head back so hard, that her Adam’s apple thinned and whitened her skin to the point of tearing it.

  Looking up at her, he thought that she began to swell—her shoulders rose and her body seemed to stretch toward the ceiling. In his eyes she had grown gigantic. Suddenly, she raise
d her arms and clasped her hands above her head, and then, after a quick series of gasps, she chanted, “Amen, Amen, Amen.”

  After that, she lowered her arms to her sides slowly and deflated, until she appeared her normal size to him again. The belt dangled loosely beside her. Then she jerked her head to the side and up, as though she heard something. Without so much as looking down at him one more time, she turned and walked back to the stairway. He heard her go up the steps slowly, her ascent much softer than her descent. After a few more moments, the light switch was thrown to off, the basement door was closed, and the padlock was locked. Despite her soft gait, he still heard her footsteps above him. But they disappeared so quickly, it was as though she stepped onto the air. Then, all was quiet, except for the terrible beating of his heart and the tiny sound of his own puppylike whimper.

  Although the food was there, he had lost all appetite. The dampness had depressed him, and her terrifying appearance had so tightened his stomach and twisted his insides, that he felt weak and nauseous. He waited for himself to calm down. Also, he wanted to be certain she was not coming back. Satisfied he was somewhat safe, he rose slowly to a sitting position. His eyes, now used to the dark again, made out shapes and objects quickly. He could think only of escape and crawled out of his box to go to the wall.

  He worked methodically and extra quietly to remove the rocks and create his opening. The breeze carried some of the rain into him, but despite that and despite the thick darkness, a darkness that was even blacker than his own, he wasn’t dissuaded. The odor of the damp earth and wet grasses was not unpleasant to him, but the feel of the cooler, rain-soaked ground was somewhat shocking to his feet and hands. He hesitated at the house. The rain was driving at him because of the wind, and he was quickly soaked. Even with his good night vision, he was unable to make out the familiar pathways, so, like any other wild creature of the bush, he relied on his power of scent to lead him.

  Without any real foresight or understanding of the significances in things, he could not envision that his trip would be in vain, that the little girl would not be outside, and that he wouldn’t be able to see her. All he could think of was her beautiful, soft hair and her happy laugh. Confident that he had the power to bring her to him, he went quickly to the garbage can to retrieve the rabbit, so he could bring it back to her.

  A skunk was there, feeding off some scraps that Faith had not picked up in the morning. When it heard him, it arched its back and studied him with suspicion. For the moment it seemed satisfied that he was no threat. Indeed, he had no interest in it or anything that would interfere with his plan. It took a few steps back and continued to eye him carefully, as he went to the first can. When he lifted the lid off and pulled himself to a standing position, the skunk arched its back again and prepared to douse him. He reached into the can blindly, searching for the rabbit, but all he felt was garbage. Frustrated, he turned the can on its side abruptly, its contents spilling out again, cans rattling, bottles shattering. The action and the noise frightened the skunk, so it shot a stream in his direction. Most of it hit the can, but some splattered onto his face and upper body.

  The stench was beyond belief. It drove him back on all fours, scampering for safety and whining like a stricken dog. The skunk trotted off into the darkness and all was quiet for a few moments. He rubbed his face and shoulders where he had been hit by the odorous liquid, but that only spread the stench to his hands and every other place he touched himself. After inhaling it directly a little longer, he began to dry-heave, squatting there in the wet darkness. The acid taste in his throat burned him. Instinctively, he knew to roll himself over and over in the wet grass. The odor never left him, but it became tolerable. At that point he went back to look for the rabbit.

  He thought that he had checked the wrong can, so he turned the other one over with the same result. Surveying the mess, the reality of the rabbit’s being gone occurred to him. He sat there like a cat that had lost its kittens and whined and moaned in frustration. The rabbit was important to his plan and now, with it gone and the rain coming down harder, all the world was as dark and as cold as it seemed. He didn’t know how to deal with this disappointment, so he sat there for the longest time, pawing the ground around him and whimpering like a child who has been denied a toy. When his tantrum subsided, he swallowed his sobs and crawled forward, still determined to salvage something from this terrible night.

  It vaguely occurred to him that the rabbit might have escaped and gone back to the basement of the other house. He began to picture the girl down there with it. That picture with all its possibilities drove him forward, and he ignored the rain, the mud, the thorny bushes that caught him. He went onward, deeper into the darkness, sniffing and moaning like some hybrid creature born from the marriage of the rain and the darkness. The downpour swept over him in invisible, cold, wet sheets, washing away the mud and dulling the odor of skunk. Out of shelter in the field, it was difficult for him to see. His eyes were opened in slits and his long strands of black hair stuck to his shoulders and neck like charcoaled lines. His naked body slipped in and out of the dark places, his toes digging deeply and firmly into the wet earth.

  Sometimes he slid like a snake; sometimes he crept like a bobcat, moving so quietly, it was as though he crawled on a shelf of air. He never paused in his pursuit of his vision, until the house came into full view, its well-lighted and warm-looking windows tempting him like the promise of pleasure and happiness he sought so desperately. Then and only then did he stop to wipe the mud and water from his face. His breathing quickened with his anticipation of excitement. He turned his head slightly to see if he could catch the sound of the little girl’s voice, but the rain was relentless. He would have to get closer.

  When he entered the lighted part of the lawn that glowed from the illumination of the windows, he emerged from the darkness like a bright jewel cast on a sheet of black velvet. His wet skin shone, his eyes glowed, and his naked little form wove itself in and out of the shadows like a string of radiation, glowing with beauty and danger, and tying the pockets of darkness together into a fabric of mystery and terror.

  He was at the house. Not the storm nor the blackened world nor the frustrations of travel had prevented him from getting here. Satisfied and even more determined, he made his way toward the basement door to fulfill his expectations. He was a spoiled child who would tolerate no more denials.

  But denial came when the basement door would not budge. He remembered how he had opened it before and he went through the process again and again, each time with no success. His frustration turned into anger. He tugged and pulled and finally clawed at the door, but all to no avail. Despondent and dejected, he sat on the steps while the rain came down on him, pounding his body with a ferocity that had begun to frighten him.

  He scampered back to find shelter under Cy Baum’s rear porch. A sudden streak of lightning brought a high-pitched scream out of him, which frightened him almost as much as the thunder that followed. He tore away enough of the wooden webbed porch skirt to be able to shove his body through it and settle himself securely within. Now shivering, he embraced himself and squatted on the hard-packed earth. Gradually feeling more protected, he calmed down until he loosened the grip he had around himself and relaxed in a sitting position.

  He heard something scurry only a few feet beside him and he caught sight of a field mouse. Simply because of his frustration and anger, he lunged forward and seized it just before it escaped through the wooden webbing.

  He held the squirming creature firmly in his hands, really uncertain about what he would do with it. For now he enjoyed its struggle and his power over it. In the inky darkness, he was unable to make out many details about it. He pressed its tiny legs firmly against its torso and put his thumb under its head, pushing the head back as far as it would go. He could feel its little heartbeat and, for the moment, he was filled with the wonder of life and curiosity about its source. The harder he squeezed, the more frantic the mouse became an
d the faster its heart beat.

  Before he snapped its neck, he envisioned the big creature standing over him, her strap raised ominously. For a few seconds he saw himself the way she saw him—as small and as helpless as the mouse, his heart beating just as rapidly. The image made him clench his teeth and, without even thinking, he pushed the mouse’s head back too far, until there was a tiny click. As soon as that happened, the animal became limp in his hand. When he took his thumb from its head, the head slumped over his fingers.

  Its stillness and limpness annoyed him now, so he cast it deeper into the depths of the back porch’s foundation. Then he sat there and listened to the rain tap on the wooden slats above him and the roof runoff trickle down the gutter beside the porch. As he looked out at the darkness, he realized now that the girl would not come out of the house; and, since he was unable to get into the basement, he would not hear her footsteps or have even that small contact with her.

  His sadness made him aware of his fatigue and he lowered his body to the hard-packed cool earth. The rain continued to pound monotonously on the porch floor above him. He could see the trees silhouetted against the darker and deeper blackness. They moved in a way that frightened him, their leafy branches turning and twisting reluctantly in the wind. He felt some kind of a struggle going on around him, and he was hypnotized by the awkward movements of the trees and the constant sound of the rain. He became drowsy.

  When he closed his eyes, it never occurred to him that he might fall asleep here. That kind of foresight was beyond him. Like any of the other small creatures that were around him, he acted on impulse and lived for the moment. And, for the moment, he was tired; so he folded his hands beneath his head and curled his body up tightly. He whimpered and shuddered and sniffed the damp, cool earth. The odor of the skunk still lingered over him. He turned his face into his arms to avoid it. He missed his raggedy blanket, but he thought so hard about it, that he imagined it was over him.