Contents
Copyright
Other Works
Acknowlegments
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
A Few Words About 'The Darkening'(2nd Edition)
About The Author
Second Edition
The Darkening © 2016/2018 by Christopher Motz
All Rights Reserved
ISBN-10: 1539180999
ISBN-13: 978-1539180999
Paperback design, layout, and cover art: RDB Interactive, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
OTHER WORKS
THE FARM - A NOVELLA (2016)
PINE LAKES (2017)
BROKEN - A NOVELLA (2017)
THE PIGEON (with Andrew Lennon) (2018)
ALSO APPEARING IN:
COLLECTED EASTER HORROR SHORTS (2017)
COLLECTED HALLOWEEN HORROR SHORTS (2017)
100 WORD HORRORS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR DRABBLES (2018)
Acknowledgments
Brian Keene for offering advice, edits, and critiques (2016 Edition), Iain Rob Wright for the tools I needed to make this a reality, my many pre-readers for helping with some of the difficult bits, Robert Bardall of RDB Interactive for the amazing layout, design, and cover, and most importantly to my wife LeeAnn for never giving up on me and allowing me the time to chase my dream. I couldn’t have done it without you.
This book is dedicated with love to my mother.
1951-2013
Chapter 1
The boy cowered in darkness, shivering from exhaustion.
He knelt on the rocky floor of the old mine tunnel, listening as his town was torn asunder. The cold, musty shaft had become his refuge, the setting for his final stand, and possibly his tomb. The beast searched for him, cutting a path of destruction through the only home he’d ever known.
He'd gotten separated from his friends in his mad dash to safety; they were out there somewhere, fighting their own battle for survival.
Maybe they’re already dead, he thought.
More bloody corpses to add to the monster’s rising body count.
He could've saved them, the power was in his hands if only he knew how to harness it. The old man had predicted this, had warned him of the price of failure.
The consequences were infinite.
Dust and pebbles rained from the ceiling, collecting in his hair and coating his sweaty skin. The earth shuddered. In the black depths beneath his feet, he heard the roar of what could only be portions of the tunnel collapsing. His choices had become limited, but all led to a solitary outcome: death. If he remained here, he risked being buried beneath tons of rubble and debris, but if he went outside, back into the chaos of the creature’s wrath, the end would be the same.
The only real question was how quickly he wanted to die.
The creature shrieked, the sound of a billion tormented voices crying out in unison. The source of its anger was limitless. The boy wiped hot tears from his cheeks, smearing dirt across his face. There was a third option…
Reaching into his waistband, he touched the hard steel of the pistol he’d tucked away for safekeeping. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful it hadn’t been shaken loose during his frantic run through the smoke-choked darkness above.
This is your last resort, the old man had said. If all else fails, you know what has to be done.
The creature howled.
The earth trembled.
He raised the gun to his temple and closed his eyes, wincing at the barrel’s icy touch. His finger twitched. After all he’d been through, he wondered if he had the courage to pull the trigger.
The time for questions had run out.
He held his breath and waited for the end.
***
Danny Harper bolted up behind his desk and shook his head. The rocky tunnel had given way to the all-too-familiar white walls of his 9th Period classroom. A red, circular clock hung over the chalkboard, ticking ever closer to three o’clock. The lingering effects of the daydream mercifully faded as he fought to regain his composure.
Danny sat in a small plastic chair in Room 105 of Elmview High School, the same place he’d spent the last three months learning how to read spreadsheets and calculate payroll expenses. His Accounting course came easily. Simple but boring, plain but practical. He wasn’t one for Algebra and its mysterious parentheses, and he didn’t give a shit what X equaled. Some things were secret, and he believed in respecting X’s privacy.
Mr. Donovan sat behind his desk paging through an issue of Field & Stream. A tidy stack of report cards was piled neatly next to a tacky bowling trophy depicting golden pins. Amazing how a single piece of paper could turn the excitement of summer vacation into a prison sentence. Danny was a solid student - A’s and B’s across the board since 1st Grade. He fidgeted in his seat out of boredom while some of the other kids squirmed out of sheer worry. Frankie Bowman, sitting two rows over, wiggled nervously and scratched at a large pimple on his forehead. The outcome of his Chemistry final would determine if he was moving on with his friends or being held back for another year.
No one wanted to fail their Sophomore year. After surviving nine months of being Freshman scum, and finally climbing the ladder of the teenage social experiment, being a Sophomore was one step closer to passing through the doors of Elmview High one last time. An ‘F’ stood for Fucked! Failing the 10th Grade meant being doomed to invisibility two years in a row. Nineteen eighty-seven was right around the corner and there was no time to move backward.
Katey Pearce sat in front of Danny, chewing watermelon gum and scribbling on her Trapper Keeper. She’d become fodder for some very vivid 9th Period daydreams over the past few months. When she leaned back, her dirty-blond hair hung over the back of the chair. A few times he wondered what it’d be like to reach out and touch it, caress it, let it slip through his fingers like golden sand, but he resisted. Being labeled a weirdo was just as awful as failing, so rather than act on his fantasies, he admired her from a distance and kept his hands to himself, content just to smell the faint scent of her shampoo.
In the back of the room, Tony Barren and Mark Pincavage were in quiet conversation. Danny didn’t consider himself a close friend of theirs, but he was on good terms with them, even sharing a smoke behind the school now and then. Mark caught Danny’s gaze and held up his index finger, pointing at Danny, then at himself, and lastly at the large row of windows on the left side of the classroom. Wait for me, he mouthed. Danny nodded.
“So what’re you doing this summer?” a female voice whispered. He turned to his left to see Stephanie Donaldson watching him while twirling a finger through her hair. They’d shared a few classes together in the 8th Grade, and ever since, she had a crush on him that wouldn’t quit.
“Not much, Steph. Hanging out with friends and stuff.”
“That sounds fun. I only live ten minutes away, you know? Maybe we can hang out this summer. My sister has her driver’s license and I’m sure she’d brin
g me into town.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he lied. Stephanie was a nice girl, but there wasn’t any romantic connection. Her hair was the color of rust, her skin so pale she might as well have been a vampire. She had thick braces, complete with little Day-Glo-colored rubber bands, that made her mouth look like a child’s finger-painting. “Sure, we’ll probably see each other at some point. I’m going to have a lot going on this summer.”
“Oh yeah, sure.” Smiling weakly, she turned and looked out the window, visibly deflated by Danny’s less-than-enthusiastic response. Sure he felt bad, but he couldn’t fake an attraction. If Danny had an annoying little sister, Stephanie would be it.
“Okay ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Donovan said with his trademark lisp, “four minutes until the end of the period and the official beginning of summer vacation. Principal Reyes has a few words for you, after which I’ll be handing out your report cards.” Scattered groans greeted the announcement. “Some of you will be pleasantly surprised. Some of you. Remember, what you put into your education is what you’ll get out of it.”
Right on cue, the public address system crackled to life as the Principal’s gravelly voice boomed throughout the building.
“I’ll make this short,” he began.
“Short like his dick,” Tony Barren whispered, followed by a spattering of laughter.
“I’ve had the great pleasure of being the Principal at Elmview High for seventeen years, and each year brings exciting challenges and new faces. It has truly been an honor seeing every one of you get one step closer to becoming the man or woman you will someday be.
“Congratulations to our graduating Seniors, Class of 1986. It’s now your turn to become teachers, doctors, lawyers, heads of industry, leaders of your community. Time to leave the toys of your childhood behind and embrace your future.
“I look forward to seeing everyone again in the Fall as we move closer to the edge of the century. Have a safe and happy summer vacation. You are dismissed.”
The loudspeaker went silent as the building erupted in celebratory cheers - hundreds of students saying farewell to the confines of their stuffy classroom lives.
The final bell sounded.
Danny scooped up his empty backpack from the floor and stood, trying to contain his excitement. In his mind, he was passing through the front doors and into the bright June sunlight.
The weightlessness of his book bag made him smile, free of textbooks, free of homework and science projects, free of everything. He’d cleaned out his locker the previous day, and books had been collected that morning, leaving no evidence of the past nine months of his scholastic life. Responsibility was going on strike.
The students formed a crooked line in front of Mr. Donovan’s desk as he passed out the white envelopes, their body language indicative of their pleasure or discomfort.
Danny couldn’t help glancing out the window every few seconds, taking in the deep blue of the cloudless sky, the fragrance of the lilac and honeysuckle growing in the courtyard, sweet freedom just moments away.
Stephanie grinned at him as she grabbed her report card. He beamed back, unable to control his excitement. The young redhead misread his cue - her smile widened and her cheeks turned the bright red of a nasty sunburn. She kicked the trashcan, stumbled, and nearly fell to the floor before hastily exiting.
Danny shuffled forward and reached out, awaiting his golden ticket, free admission to the world outside. Mr. Donovan grabbed his hand and shook it firmly before placing the envelope between Danny’s outstretched fingers.
“Congratulations, Daniel. You’ve been a great student this semester. I doubt your report card will be much of a surprise. You’re signed up for my second-year Accounting course?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Try not to sound so excited.”
“With all due respect, depreciation and compound interest are the last things I’ll be thinking about for the next ninety days.”
Mr. Donovan laughed. “Fair enough.”
Danny tucked the envelope into his pants and walked into the hallway where chaos had ensued. Students bumped into each other, people sat on the floor stuffing junk into their backpacks from overstuffed lockers, teenagers shouted back and forth and squeaked their sneakers on the linoleum.
“Well, shit,” a loud voice yelled in his ear. “If it isn’t Mr. Future Accountant up close and personal. You going to run home and crunch some numbers?” The voice belonged to Brent McAllister, all-around class-clown and Danny’s best friend since before the Bicentennial.
“No, I’m going to run home and bang your mom,” Danny replied.
“She might already be busy with another client.”
“Another client? Now who sounds like the accountant?”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a real asshole?”
“Nope, but thanks for bringing it to my attention.”
They had a relationship akin to brotherhood. Since the age of six, they’d been inseparable, meeting in a small town and forging friendships that only kids from a small town understood.
The older kids used this closeness as a way to make jokes, bullies like Alex Kline who used to tell everyone they were butt-buddies and peter-puffers. Alex died in a house fire in 1982, and whether or not people believed in karma, no one else attempted to pick up the slack. His taunts and nastiness died with him. There were so many better ways to make fun of awkward, teenage boys than wasting your energy on gay jokes.
By the time they’d reached Junior High, Brent had gained a ton of weight due to a thyroid issue and Danny had a nasty run-in with acne. Undressing in the locker room was torture for both of them, Brent often being hit with the wet end of a towel or Danny being stared at with his face and shoulders covered in red splotches. Teenagers are not nice people. Sometimes they were downright evil.
As time marched on, their skin thickened and the snide remarks no longer had the desired effect. The other kids lost interest and moved on to easier prey. They would never feature on a magazine cover, but they had each other - they’d gotten to a point where status was unimportant.
“Well,” Brent said, “I think it’s time we embrace our freedom. The clock’s ticking, time is wasting, and we’re not getting any younger. Summer awaits, my friend!”
“Summer awaits,” Danny repeated. They broke into wild laughter and ran down the hallway toward the promise of adventure and the unknown.
Once outside, the shouting grew louder as kids ran in every direction, off to begin their own adventures, off to their first parties, to drink their first beer or smoke their first joint or get their first hand-job.
Mark Pincavage, not a small boy by any means, jogged over to meet them, his flesh bouncing in time with his footsteps. “Hey Dan, hold up.” Danny had forgotten about him.
“Hey Mark, what’s cooking?” he asked.
“Mark always knows what’s cooking by the looks of him,” Brent joked.
“You should talk, fat-ass!”
“Takes one to know one.”
They laughed and gave each other a whole-hearted high-five.
“My uncle is throwing a party at his place tonight,” Mark said. “I invited some girls over and there’s going to be food and booze. As long as we stay, we can drink until we bust.”
“Some uncle,” Brent said. “The coolest thing my uncle ever did was teach me how to change the oil in his Chevelle.”
“You guys in or what?”
“I have to swing it with my parents, but I think we can make it happen,” Danny said.
“Cool beans! I’ll see you around eight. You know where he lives?”
Danny nodded. Mark’s uncle had money and a big old house on Mason Street with a massive backyard and in-ground swimming pool with attached hot tub. High-style digs for a bunch of boys barely able to grow fuzz on their faces.
After parting with Mark, the boys walked away from the High School and down the hill to Broad Street. They were covered in sweat by the time they reached
the abandoned train station three blocks away. Here they split up, going their separate ways for showers and after-school snacks, agreeing to meet at Brent’s place at six.
Welcome summer vacation, my old friend.
***
The old man - Ben to his friends - stood on the corner of Market Street and gazed up at the derelict schoolhouse. There were no students celebrating their freedom in those dusty, forgotten halls… just shadows. He held a cigarette in one hand and a can of soda in the other. He didn’t move a muscle.
His bloodshot, faded-blue eyes darted from one window to another, watching and waiting to see if it would show up to greet him. As if beckoned, a set of shiny orbs appeared in a second-floor window. Their eyes locked as eons of unspoken hatred passed between them.
Soon, old man. The boy will be mine, the shadow projected.
Not if I can help it, the man returned.
The silver globes dimmed and vanished as if they’d never been there. The man turned and walked away, finishing his cigarette and tossing it in the gutter.
“Things are about to get very interesting around here,” he muttered.
He walked slowly across town, taking in the sights and sounds of a community humming with activity. He knew what was coming, knew that every laughing child and proud parent had become a target for an unseen enemy.
An enemy that thrived on chaos, whose only goal was vengeance.
It wasn’t yet time for the old man to make himself known…
…but the pieces were all in play.
***
Two hours later, Danny knocked on Brent’s aluminum screen door and waited. The temperature hovered at eighty-five degrees. A warm, humid breeze lifted his short brown hair from his forehead; the moisture in the air clung to his skin like flypaper.
Danny had given his parents a story about staying over at Brent’s house for the first night of summer vacation. The first-night sleepover was a tradition, so they didn’t deny him his ritual.
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