9 Tales Told in the Dark 10

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  She stood up and stretched. She was sore after all that time spent hunched over. Everything she had done had seemed familiar and she had not recoiled at what she was doing, what she had been asked to do. What would have seemed strange and repulsive only a day earlier was now as ordinary to her as brushing her teeth or making a pot coffee. She had done it with respect and reverence. Relieved, she felt as if she had passed a test.

  Denise grabbed the torch she had stuck near the coffin and used it to light the way as she walked to where the entrance to the cave had once been. She fully expected the doorway to have reappeared now that she had completed the ritual.

  But the stone wall remained in place. She banged on it with the blunt end of the torch and screamed for help.

  Breathing heavily, she continued around the parameter of the cave, searching for a way out.

  “I washed the bones!” she shouted. “I passed your test. Let me out!”

  The cave sloped sharply upward until it ended and she could go no further. She slipped a few times on the lose rocks but worked her way past the coffin and chair on her left and again the stone room grew narrow until she was forced to stop.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Let me out of here!”

  The only places left to explore were to the right of the vanished doorway or the darkness directly behind the coffin and chair, the pitch-black area where Draugar dwelled.

  Denise checked the area to the right of the vanished doorway; more rocks ending on a sharp, upward turn. No way out there. Tightening her grip on the torch, she held it out in front of her. She paused for a moment, listening. She heard only her own nervous, ragged breathing. She took a deep breath to calm herself and then headed toward the pitch-black area behind the coffin.

  She pushed the torch into the darkness and it seemed to consume the flame, nibbling away at it, not yielding to it. She hesitated and realized that if she advanced slowly, the darkness would gradually concede to the light. It took her several minutes to only advance a few steps but she was finally able to reach the far side of the small cave.

  The torch revealed a narrow passageway on the backside of the darkness, a broken area in the rock that was wide enough for her to pass through. Perhaps this was where her Aunt and the other two had gone? With her torch held high, Denise scrabbled excitedly over the rocks and climbed through the opening. Panting now in hope that there was finally a way out, it took her mind several moments to process what she was seeing and her body only a split second to respond to the blast of frigid air that confronted her.

  She stood in a cavern as vast as a dozen football fields with a ceiling that soared up thousands of feet and vanished into darkness. Torches that were stashed haphazardly in the lower parts of the enormous cave provided some illumination.

  Denise noticed that the light didn’t travel well above the torches; after only a few feet, the crackling radiance was obscured by the hovering darkness of Draugar, which occupied the upper reaches. Above her, all was dark as far as she could see, a dense, oppressive and observant blackness that was coiling and moving about restlessly like a mass of twisted, withering human bodies. It was the darkness that held her attention at first and in return, it fixated on her, aware of her presence.

  She managed to pull her gaze away from the massive region Draugar commanded and she squinted to see how far the cave went, but it was impossible to make out if there even was a horizon. Was there no end to this place? Even as she stood there looking around in terrified awe, the realization swept up and over her and all at once, she knew where she was. It was the colossal temple that had been set aside by the ancient cult for the worship of Eulogia, the goddess of bones.

  We are family. That is why you are here. Family goes back a long, long way.

  Her mind seized on that realization. It was not folklore or mythology; it never had been.

  She leaned back against the rocks. She felt drained. She closed her eyes, shutting out everything but the brutal chill in the huge underground hollow. She tried to control her breathing. She wanted to figure out what she would do next.

  When Denise opened her eyes, familiar shapes that hadn’t registered with her when she had first entered the ancient temple were now seen with horrifying clarity.

  In groups of three, as far as she could see, were thousands of caskets and thousands of chairs and thousands of red-stained containers. Everywhere she looked, in every direction, it was the same infinite display of items waiting to be attended to.

  I urgently need your assistance next week.

  Where had they all come from? Who had set them up here?

  Then a new realization rose up and presented itself to her with absolute certainty: There were many more shrines beyond this one.

  Please come. You must come.

  Overhead, Denise heard a rustling from the darkness. It was an ancient sound, one that the human ear could barely distinguish.

  She understood.

  It was impatient.

  You are young and strong, with many, many years ahead of you.

  Denise brushed the dirt off of the casket that was closest to her.

  Once the surface was clean, she grabbed hold of the lid with both hands.

  She opened the coffin.

  THE END

  THE MAN IN MY EYE by Dustin and Adam Koski

  Four months ago I was completely blinded in my left eye. It’s the result of when two of a cop’s kids next door were playing with the gun he hadn’t bothered to put away properly. They shot a round through a window, across our yards, through my wall, and into the eye where it destroyed the optic nerve in the socket so completely that they said they couldn’t even put one of those new bionic eyes in there.

  I don’t want anyone’s pity anymore. I got way more than I ever needed after that and, odd as it might sound, for a while after the shooting everything else went great for me. I got good medical coverage, no infections, things went fine at work while I was away and better when I came back, and a few investments I had made began to pay off in a big way. Things were “looking up.”

  That ended two months ago.

  I’d gone two months of what had been the left side of my vision just not being there and was getting used to it. But slowly I became aware there was a small, faint white patch in otherwise pure blackness. I was optimistic enough that I believed it meant that somehow, by some miracle or something, my vision was coming back. I took out the glass eye. Of course there was no change in my “vision” in that socket. Just a white spot in void. I didn’t even intend to tell anyone, since it seemed so benign it was bound to go away soon.

  It didn’t. It grew so slowly that even though it never left my line of sight, it took a week for it to become clear what I was seeing. It was the pure white face of a man appearing as if he were emerging from pitch darkness into the beam of a spotlight aimed straight down. If I had ever seen this face before, I didn’t recognize it. It was another week before the entire pale face could be seen, including ears and the top of his scalp. He was bald, had no eyebrows, and was wrinkled like a middle-aged man who’d lived a hard life. His eyes were jet black. He looked utterly malevolent, his lips curled in a hideous sneer, his eyes glaring in fury. This expression did not change ever after weeks and weeks. As time went on, the face grew in size from my point of view, seemingly coming closer.

  I told family, friends, psychologists and doctors about this. I had not been losing my mind, I had not been under inordinate stress that would cause me to hallucinate. Blood tests, CAT scans, psych tests, you name them. All of them have told me that there’s no reason I should be seeing this face with an eye that no longer functioned. I’m seeing it all the same.

  It doesn’t matter what my other eye is seeing or what my mood is, it’s there. Except at first when I was dreaming. That was my only relief from actually seeing that face, and naturally that went away. Who could look at something all day without dreaming about it? I’ve imagined all sorts of things a person who looked at me with such hate for s
o long would do to me.

  The face has come so close that it fills most of what my left eye would be able to see. I can see the pores on the face, the tiny wrinkles in its eyelids. It’s a confrontational distance, actually close enough that it should be blurred if I saw it with my normal vision. Why is it approaching me? Is it just because I can “see” it? Does it need a reason? Has this been happening to anyone else? Is it the beginning of something new and widespread that no one would believe unless they saw it coming themselves?

  Well, I don’t care about finding those answers any more. I drove myself crazy asking questions, but that’s all done. I haven’t slept for days. I haven’t felt alone and safe for weeks. But I’ve got an idea. The eye itself was destroyed, but there’s still that optic nerve back there that connects to the brain. I know I will not be able to get a surgeon to help me with this. What I intend to do may be, no, is irrational and dangerous. But if it means not having to see that face ever again, one way or another, then I’m only hesitating long enough to write about this so people will understand what I was thinking if it goes wrong. I’ll let you know soon, I hope.

  It was painful and hard, but I did it. I went in with a heated length of wire after numbing my face as much as I could and burned away all the nerve. At first it didn’t work. I had to go far and deep. And slowly, gradually, I could no longer see the face. I explained it away to the hospital as a stupid welding accident and for a time, I was happy again as I recuperated.

  Then it came, the feeling of fingers on my neck. They’ve begun to squeeze. Slowly, ever so slowly they’re tightening. The skin on my neck has turned white, as it does when you press something against it. It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe. I can feel not only the fingertips along the front of my neck like normal hands. I feel other, very different fingers. Ones which wrap all the way around. Longer than any human’s.

  I have an appointment with the doctor soon, but I already know they won’t be able to provide an explanation. I’m sure some of you think I’m insane for what I was willing to do to my eye, but something like that with neckt... I don’t think I could bring myself to do it. But maybe I’ll find the strength for that when trying to breathe becomes unbearable. I have the tools I’d use ready just in case.

  THE END

  REVENANT by Kevin Wetmore

  DARK…

  dark…

  dark…

  I am…

  dark…

  I am…

  dark….

  I am I am I am I am I am I am I AM I AM I AM

  She opened her eyes and let them adjust.

  The room was unfamiliar. No, wait. The room was familiar, the contents were not. The room was hers. She recognized the crack in the ceiling by the closet and the window that looked out over the ravine behind the house. This was her room, but these were not her things. She did not recognize the furniture or the toys or the clothes.

  What happened?

  There was a girl in the bed, asleep. Young. Six? Eight? She did not know the girl.

  She walked out of the room, saw the hallway, knew the hallway but its unfamiliarity also washed over her.

  There was a mirror hanging in the hallway outside her bedroom. She could not remember if it had been there before. As She walked past it, She saw nothing.

  Wait. She saw nothing. She did not see herself. She stood in front of the mirror and stared. She lost track of time, but She kept staring in the mirror.

  Finally, She appeared. Funny, until she concentrated on herself in the mirror, She had forgotten what she looked like. Her face was now visible. She could see herself in the mirror.

  Late afternoon sunlight streamed in the skylight in the hall. Wait. Hadn’t it just been night? She looked in the mirror again. Darkness fell.

  As She stood, staring, she became aware of eyes on her.

  The little girl, from her room, standing in the doorway of her room, staring at her.

  “Who are you?”

  She stared back. She had no answer.

  “Who are you?”

  She turned back to the mirror.

  The lights suddenly flipped on. A woman, not her mother, not known to her, was in the hallway now. “Sweetie, what are you doing?”

  “Talking to the girl,” said the little girl.

  “What girl?” The woman rubbed her eyes in exhaustion and confusion.

  “That girl,” said the little girl, pointing at her.

  “Sweetie, there’s nobody there. You probably had a bad dream. Go back to bed.” The mother began to push the little girl (daughter?) back into her room.

  “But I gotta go the bathroom!” the little girl insisted.

  “Then go, but then straight back to bed, Emily. You have school tomorrow.”

  The mother returned to the room she came from. That was her parents’ room. Why was this woman in there? The little girl looked at her and then ran to the bathroom. She went downstairs so that She would not be there when the little girl came out.

  She stood in the kitchen. Familiar unfamiliarity now being a state she was used to. She looked out into the darkness. Into the backyard. The ravine was there. She had played there as a child with her parents, with her friends, until. Until.

  The man in the ravine.

  Her last memory. The man in the ravine. Had he killed her? She died. He was there. She was murdered?

  She was dead. Is that why She was having problems remembering? Is that why time and this place seemed so strange?

  She died. She died in the hands of the man in the ravine. Is that why She came back? To let people know she had been murdered? To find her killer and bring him to justice?

  She did not remember dying, or at least not the moment of her death. But the man in the ravine had been there when She died. He didn’t try to help her. He (must have) killed her. She will watch for him and when she sees him She will let these people know the murderer has returned to the scene of his crime. He will pay for his crime. She will avenge her own murder, she thinks.

  She hears voices in the house.

  “Mommy, I saw that girl in my room again last night.”

  “That’s nice, Em.”

  “Mommy, I’m serious, there is a girl in my room.”

  “I know, sweetie. Finish your lunch so we can go shopping.”

  There are four of them. A mother, a father, two girls. At first she thinks the man might be the man from the ravine. But he is not. She does not know where her family is. They should be in the house. If She just died, recently, they should still be here. But She doesn’t see them. These strangers are here. Maybe it has been a few weeks or months since She died.

  She never leaves the house.

  She stood in the window of her bedroom, looking down at the two girls playing in the ravine. The little one looked up at the house, looked at her. The little girl shrieked. The other one said something. The first pointed up at the window. The other looked at her then looked back at the girl and said something. The first one would not stop screaming, though. She walked away from the window. This house knew too many screams, too much crying. Why did she think that?

  She sat on the stairs, where she used to sit as a child, humming a song. The mother, folding laundry in the family room in front of the television looks up at her as if she hears something. The mother puts the shirt down and turns off the television.

  “Hello?” the mother calls.

  She leaves.

  Her head hurts. She is in her room, now the little girl’s room. The little girl comes in here less and less and lingers more and more at bedtime. She can hear the little girl slowly trudging up the stairs at bedtime. This room frightens.

  She is frightened. She does not know why She is here. She tries holding things to make her feel better. Stuffed animals. Blankets. Toys. They offer no comfort. She does not know where the man is. She only knows he held her body as the life left it. If she can find him, find who he is, she will find peace. She knows this. It is the only thing of which she is c
ertain.

  “Mommy, where’s Bibber?”

  “I don’t know, Emily, where did you have him last?”

  “He was on my bed but now he’s not,” a whine creeped into the little girl’s voice.

  “Well where did you move him to?”

  “I didn’t!” The little girl slid into a full whine. “Kayleigh moved him!”

  “I didn’t touch your stupid teddy bear!” came the voice of the other girl.

  “Kayleigh Elizabeth, if you are playing a trick on your sister, so help me…”

  “I’m not, I swear!”

  “Moooooooooom!” The little one was on the verge of tears.

  “Emily, I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere. Why don’t you grab Mr. Sniffles and we’ll find Bibber later, OK?”

  She heard the older daughter say quietly, “Mom, you know things go missing around here and turn up later,” and the mother reply just as quickly, “Hush. Don’t talk like that in front of your sister!”

  “Whatever…”

  She stood in the hallway, by the mirror, only sort of looking at herself. She was thinking about the man in the ravine. He had been so powerful, so strong. She was filled with such fear. It was not fair to die like that. Not fair. She wanted to tell him. Wanted to see his fear. Wanted his eyes to grow wide as he realizes the girl who died in his arms was back for him.

  In her sleep, the little girl moaned and whined as if she were having a nightmare and could not wake.

  Maybe there was something in the attic that could shed some light on her situation. Maybe her parents had put things up there. It was dark, but somehow she could see. She wandered around, but did not recognize any of the boxes or other things there. She wandered to the far end of the attic and looked at the ravine. From up high it was even scarier and lonely.

  Voices.

  “I heard something, too, though, Mike. It’s not just the girls’ imaginations. Will you at least get some traps? Show the girls that we are doing something.”