Darker Than Night

by Goingback, Owl

  Snatching his hand back from the crack, he stood up and looked around. There was nothing in the kitchen. No nocturnal predators of any kind. He was quite alone. The boogers had gone, driven away by the bright lights.

  "But what happens if the lights go out?" he whispered, again feeling a shiver of fear march down his spine. It was a question he did not want answered.

  28

  Though Mike had stayed on guard duty for the rest of the night, the boogers had not come back. But it didn't matter. They were getting out, leaving just as fast as they could get packed. Enough was enough. He was a horror writer; he got paid to write nightmares for a living. He was not about to live one.

  Breathing a sigh of relief as the day dawned bright and clear, he opened the curtains in the library and living room, allowing the sunlight to enter. Apparently the boogers didn't like bright lights, preferring instead to lurk in darkness and in shadows, so they probably would not be much of a threat in the daytime. He and his family were safe for the time being, at least as long as the sun shone and as long as they avoided places of darkness.

  Shortly after the first booger attack, Holly had gathered the children together in one bedroom for safety. They were both awake now and, not wanting to panic either one of them, she was helping them pack in an orderly, calm manner. All they would be taking were a few suitcases of clothes, and a couple of items they could not bear to leave behind. The rest they would come back to get later, or send someone else to get.

  Mike stood in the front yard and looked up at the house. His new home had lost all of its appeal and charm. It was no longer a quaint old country house, a place of tranquil days and lazy summer nights. It was now a place of deadly secrets where darkness reigned. Neither he nor Holly wanted to spend another night in the house.

  Since they made a conscious effort not to upset the children by hurrying, it was already late afternoon by the time they had the van loaded and were ready to leave. Mike locked the front door of the house and then climbed in the van. He waited for everyone to get seated and then attempted to start the vehicle, but the engine was dead. He tried several times, even pumped the accelerator a few times, but without any luck.

  "Son of a bitch," he whispered, switching off the ignition.

  "What's wrong, Daddy?" Tommy asked, leaning forward in his seat.

  "Nothing's wrong. Just a little delay." Mike glanced at the dash to see if he had accidentally left the lights on, draining the battery, but they were turned off. He had never been much of a mechanic, so Mike hated it when he had car troubles. Even the simplest of problems gave him a headache and sent his blood pressure soaring.

  Expecting the worst, he pressed the button to release the hood catch and climbed out of the van. He was thinking that maybe he had a dead battery, or a loose cable, but when he lifted the hood he found out that his mechanical troubles were far worse than that. Much to his horror he discovered that most of the engine's electrical wiring had been torn loose.

  "What the hell?" He propped up the hood with a rod and stuck his head closer to the engine, as if he had not really seen the problem. "I don't believe it."

  He heard Holly telling the kids to sit still. A few moments later she joined him if front of the van. "What's wrong? Did you find the problem?"

  He stepped back so she could see. "I found the problem easy enough. Fixing it may be a little harder."

  Holly looked at the engine and saw the pieces of broken wiring hanging down. Her eyes widened in surprise. Who did this to us?"

  "Goo question. It must have happened last night while we were sleeping. It looks like someone doesn’t like our van."

  She turned toward him, her eyes bright with fear. "Mike, those things we saw last night must have done this. They don't want us to leave."

  He looked at Holly then turned again to study the engine, a feeling of dread forming deep in the pit of his stomach, If the boogers knew enough to rip out the van's wiring, then that brought up a problem altogether unexpected: the shadowy creatures were intelligent.

  "Dear God, they're intelligent," he said, keeping his voice low so the children wouldn’t hear him.

  "What?" asked Holly.

  "The damn things are intelligent." He turned to her. "Think about it. If what you're saying is true, if the boogers did rip out the wiring to keep us here, that means they're smart. They have to be smart to know we use the van for transportation, even smarter to know what to tear up to keep it from running."

  "But why do they want to keep us here?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe they're planning on doing the same thing to us that they did to Pinky."

  The color drained out of Holly's face. "Mike, we can't stay here. The children."

  "What's wrong, Daddy?" Tommy called.

  Mike closed the hood, not wanting anyone else to see the torn wiring. He flashed a smile in Tommy's direction. "Just a dead battery. That's all. No big deal."

  "What do we do now?" Holly asked, still keeping her voice low.

  "I'll just go back inside and call a taxi," he said, loud enough to be heard by everyone. "It shouldn't take too long for one to get out here. In the meantime, you kids give your mom a hand unloading the luggage."

  Going back into the house, Mike looked up the number for the local cab company and started to make the call. But the phone in the kitchen was dead. The phones in the living room and his office were also dead. There was another phone upstairs in his bedroom, but he didn't want to go up there to use it. There was something about the house that made him nervous. It seemed to be closing in on him, and with the sun now on the backside of the house it was far too dark and shadowy. He kept catching movement out of the corner of his eye; real or imagined he couldn't be sure.

  Trying to put on a happy face for the children, he stepped back outside. "Just my luck. The phone doesn't seem to be working either."

  "What are you going to do, Daddy?" Tommy asked, starting to worry as only an eight-year-old could.

  Mike saw the concern in Holly's eyes. "I'll tell you what , let's just leave our things here and walk."

  "Walk?" Megan was shocked. "It's five miles to town."

  Equally anxious to get away from the house, Holly said, "Honey, it's probably only three or four miles at the most. And our closest neighbor is less than half that distance; we'll stop and ask to use their phone to call a taxi."

  "But if you're going to use the neighbor's phone, why do we all have to go?" Megan asked. "Why can't you or Dad go, and the rest of us stay here?"

  "Because we're a family, and families stick together," Holly answered, saying the only thing she could think of to say. "Besides, a good walk will do us good. It will be fun. You'll see."

  "What about our things?" Megan asked. "What if someone comes along and steals them?"

  "They'll be safe until we get back," Mike replied. "No one ever comes out here."

  Megan refused to give in to the idea of leaving the suitcases just lying on the ground, so they had to load everything back into the van. More time wasted. Mike debated about whether or not to bring the shotgun, but then decided to leave it in the van. It wouldn't look good walking through town toting a firearm, and it might frighten the neighbors if he did stop to use someone's phone.

  "Okay, everything's loaded. Let's get started." He closed the rear doors on the van and locked them. Megan was still less than pleased with the idea of walking, but she kept quiet as they started down the driveway. As they reached the road, Mike turned and looked back at the house. He didn't see anything, but he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. That all of them were being watched.

  * * * * *

  Sam Tochi paced in the center of his living room, growing more agitated by the minute. What he had learned yesterday upset him, bringing forth a fear he had not felt in years. He had slept little that night, despite taking twice his normal dosage of pain medicine and burning enough sage and sweetgrass to choke a horse.

  The woman who had come to see him, Holly A
nthony, had said that the kachina statues in her house had been moving. Not just one or two of them, but all of them. This was not good, not good at all. It could only mean that the Sipapuni was again open, or partially open, and the boogers were pushing their way through from the other side. To make matters worse, the stupid woman had taken down all the kachinas and wooden masks, leaving no medicine at all to guard the entrance into this world.

  Stupid woman. Stupid Bahanna. Sam had warned her that the kachina statues contained powerful medicine, and they must be put back in their proper places to keep the boogers from coming through in force, but he wasn't sure the woman had believed him. She had hurried from his home, saying that she would put the statues back, but perhaps she was only anxious to get away from him. Maybe she too thought that he was nothing more than a crazy old man.

  It would not be the first time that a white person had closed his or her ears to the things he had to say. He had tried to tell the people of Braddock about the Sipapuni and the boogers for many years, but they only laughed at him. Vivian Martin had been the only person to ever listen to him, but that was because she had seen the boogers with her own eyes and was willing to listen to anyone who could help her. She had listened to him, but she too had been called crazy.

  Sam grabbed his pipe out of the ashtray beside his chair, but he did not light it. He was tired of people calling him crazy, tired of them laughing at him. He should pack his things and move back to the reservation, leaving all these stupid Bohannas to their own problems, but he couldn’t. The boogers were not just a threat to the people of Braddock and the surrounding countryside. If they opened the Sipapuni, then they would by a problem for every living thing on the planet. A very serious problem.

  No. He could not turn his back and walk away. That would be wrong. He had to do something to help, even if his help was not appreciated.

  Crossing the room, he picked up the telephone and dialed information. The woman who'd come to visit was new in town, so her number would not be listed in the phone book, but he might be able to get it from the operator. Unfortunately, the operator told him that there was no listing for a Holly or Michael Anthony, so their number must have been unlisted. Sam was trying to think of what to do next, when movement caught his eye.

  Turning, he saw one of the kachina statues sitting on top of his bookcase begin to shake. It was only a slight movement at first, barely noticeable, but as he watched, the shaking began to increase as if the stature was beginning to vibrate. Sam held his breath, fearful of what was about to happen next.

  A second statue, sitting atop the same bookcase, also began to vibrate. Like the first, the movement was barely noticeable to start but rapidly increased. And then, as Sam watched, both statues slowly turned to face in a new direction. They both turned to face the west, looking in the direction of Vivian Martin's old house. The kachinas had turned toward the Sipapuni, ready to do battle with the evil that was attempting to enter the world.

  Sam stood with mouth open, watching the tiny statues that sat on the bookcases in his living room. He stood motionless and watched them for several minutes, but the statues had stopped moving. Nor did any of the other kachina statues vibrate or turn. It didn't matter, however, for he had gotten the message. The kachinas were warning him that the Sipapuni was opening, and that time was running out.

  Grabbing the telephone, he made another call. He needed to tell someone abut what was happening, warn them about the dangers. He knew he probably would not be believed, but he had to try. Maybe just this once someone would listen to what he had to say, instead of dismissing his advice as nothing more than the ranting of a crazy old man.

  He waited for his phone call to be answered, then quickly said what he had to say. He hung up the phone then looked around the room for the keys to his pickup truck, finding them under an old hat. He rarely drove his truck because it usually wouldn't start for him, but maybe this time he would have better luck.

  Pocketing the truck keys, he went into the bedroom and removed his medicine bundle from where it was hidden in the back of his closet. He also removed a loaded .22 revolver from his dresser drawer, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. Sam knew that the pistol would be of little use, but it made him feel better bringing it along.

  Leaving the house, he locked the door behind him and then climbed into his rusting Ford pickup truck. He inserted the key into the ignition and tapped the accelerator pedal a few times, praying that the truck would start without giving him any problem. His prayer must have been heard, because the old truck fired right up.

  "Thank you," he said aloud as he backed out into the street.

  His kachina statues moving could only mean that Holly Anthony had not done what she'd promised to do — she had not put the kachinas in her house back in their proper places. Therefore, Sam was going to pay a visit to the Anthony family. He was going to try to convince them to put the statues back before it was too late.

  Leaving the town of Braddock, he followed State Road

  #315 west toward Sawmill Road

  . He wasn't planning on going all the way to Sawmill, however, because he knew of an abandoned logging road that would shave a couple of miles off the trip. The road was in bad shape so it was rarely used by anyone, but Sam's truck was four-wheel drive so he had no problem with ruts and potholes. The logging road ended at Bloodrock Creek, just on the backside of Vivian Martin's property. There used to be a bridge across the creek at that spot, so trucks could haul logs to and from the old sawmill, but that bridge had washed out years ago. It didn't matter that the bridge was gone; Sam could walk to the house once he reached the creek.

  He turned off of #315 onto the old logging road, concentrating on avoiding the larger potholes. The truck bucked and bounced, and threatened to fall apart at an moment, but he finally made it to Bloodrock Creek. He thought about trying to drive across the creek, but only for a moment. Though the water wasn't deep, he would probably bury his truck in the soft creek bottom if he tried to cross.

  Switching off the engine, he grabbed his medicine bundle and climbed out of the pickup. He started to take the pistol, but then decided to leave it in the truck. Showing up with a gun could make things worse. Instead of listening, Holly and her husband might just call the police.

  As Sam stepped out of the pickup, he was instantly aware that something was wrong. The forest surrounding him was quiet. Too quiet. He studied the treetops above him, but there wasn't a bird to be seen. Not one. Nor did he hear any in the distance. The forest was completely silent, as if every bird and animal had decided to pack up and leave. He had heard a similar silence once before, in this very forest. It was the hush that fell over the area when the boogers started appearing, many years ago.

  "This is not good," he said, shaking his head. "Not good at all. I may be too late."

  Clutching his medicine bundle tightly to his chest, he slowly waded across Bloodrock Creek. The water was less than a foot deep where he crossed, but he had to go slowly to keep from losing his footing on the slippery rocks. Once he reached the other side, he again paused to listen to the silence that surrounded him. It was an eerie quiet, one that spoke of unseen dangers.

  Sam pushed onward, following rabbit trails that twisted between the trees and underbrush. He paused twice more to listen to the sounds around him, but nothing had changed. The only noises he heard were those he made. A few minutes later he broke free of the forest, emerging into the apple orchard behind Vivian Martin's old house. He was greatly relieved to be out in the open once more.

  He crossed the orchard to the house, circling around to the front door. Stepping up onto the porch, he knocked on the door but no one answered. He looked around and noticed a van parked in the driveway, so someone must be home. Unless they owned a second vehicle. He knocked again, but there was still no answer.

  Knowing time was running out, Sam tried the door, hoping to find it unlocked. The door was locked, but only the lock in the knob had been engaged; the two deadbolt
s had been left unlatched.

  "It looks like they left in a hurry," he said to himself, studying the door. "Maybe they are only gone for a short time."

  He removed his billfold from his back pocket and took out a plastic phone calling card. Slipping the card between the door and its frame, he wiggled it beneath the latch and unlocked the door. Putting the phone card in his back pocket, he opened the door and entered the house.

  "Hello?" he called, stepping across the threshold. "Hello? Is there anyone home?" There was no answer.

  Sam had only visited Vivian Martin a few times, but it was enough for him to remember the general layout of the house. Still, he was surprised to see the change that had taken place since his last visit. Gone was the clutter and mess that had covered almost every inch of free space. Where he used to have to squeeze between boxes and bags, he was now able to move easily from room to room.

  Closing and locking the door behind him, he made his way down the hallway to the living room. The room was clean and neat, with furniture that spoke of practical good taste. But Sam wasn't interested in the interior decorations, and he gave the furnishings only a quick glance. Instead he focused his attention on the far wall, looking with dread at the empty wooden shelf that ran the length of the room — a shelf that had once been the resting place for hundreds of kachina statues.

  "She did not put them back," he said, a wave of anger flowing over him. "She said she would, but she lied. Stupid woman. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

  He left the living room and hurried into the library, again finding a shelf barren of kachinas. In addition to the empty shelf, he spotted a long vertical crack running down the wall. He crossed the room and placed the palm of his right hand against the crack. He held his palm there for only a moment, because the cold he felt caused him to snatch his hand back in fear. It was a cold not of this world, but of someplace dark and evil.