Dark Tales for Dark Nights

by Jacob, Angella; Arseneault, Pierre C. ;

  Donnie walked in through the wide open front door. Jay followed close behind. The house was dark, the only light coming from the street lamp that shone through the open door and exposed what looked like the scene of a robbery.

  Papers and books were scattered about on the floor. Furnishings looked misplaced, the couch overturned. Even the coat rack was lying on its side, blocking the entryway. Donnie pushed it aside with his right foot, turned quickly and pulled Jay into the house. He peered outside and then swiftly closed the front door. “What if they’re still here?” asked Jay.

  “They didn’t take anything,” countered Donnie. “Look, the DVD player is on the floor, and the flat screen TV is still in its spot there too.” The house was completely quiet and still showed no evidence that they weren’t alone. “Looks like we’re good,” Donnie whispered. “Just keep your eyes and ears peeled.”

  Donnie walked over to the living room, being careful not to trip on anything. He examined the disarray and wondered to himself what could possibly have happened.

  Jay turned his attention towards the kitchen. The table had been pushed up against the wall, and a few of the chairs knocked over. As he began to move towards the hallway, something on the counter caught his attention. It was a golden gleam, a soft ticking of time that resonated in his ears. He looked at the pocket watch with greedy eyes, his palms beginning to sweat.

  He called out to his friend in the silent house: “Donnie, you should go check upstairs to make sure we’re really alone in here.” Jay didn’t hear what his friend replied. His focus was intent on the watch that seemed to be calling to him from across the kitchen space. As Donnie reached the stairs to the second level, Jay slowly back-tracked to the kitchen counter, smiling.

  * * *

  Walter Goodman remained outstretched on his side, his left hand clutching at his chest. Hearing distant footsteps, he opened his eyes and saw the outline of a jogger coming out of the wooded trail that ran behind the street. The jogger made his way up the street, keeping a steady pace. Gathering up all the energy he had within, Walter lifted his right arm and tried to call out to the man. What came out was a meek whimper. “Help...Rose...”

  Walter held onto the hope that this man would see him, call for help and this nightmare to be over. But his hopes were dashed when the man ran up a driveway several houses down, and went back to the normalcy of his own life. Walter closed his eyes once more, his body weakened from the effort. The feeling of hopelessness closed in on him as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Jay picked up the gold pocket watch, cold and heavy in his hand. It was heavier than what he expected it would be. He turned it over and read the engraving on the back “Love is Forever....Yours always, Rose (1941)”.

  Smiling, he slipped the watch into his pocket, letting the chain slowly pass through his fingers, the sensation making him feel important, powerful somehow. He had seen Mr. Goodman’s old fingers do the very same thing many times before, as he had put away his watch. Now it was his.

  From the corner of his eye something in the living room caught his attention. “Donnie?” he called out, wondering how his friend had returned so quickly from upstairs. A long, low moan came from the living room. Jay, worried that his friend might have come across the vandals that had been there before them, rushed into the living room.

  The moaning continued as he walked by the glass-top coffee table next to the overturned couch. With nobody in sight, and the low moan still resonating in the room, Jay began to feel his mouth going dry. He looked in the corners of the room, behind the furnishings, thinking maybe he had missed his friend or someone else in the house. The room was completely empty except for himself and the scattered belongings of the old man.

  * * *

  Upstairs, Donnie found the door to the master bedroom slightly ajar, with still and complete darkness inside. His right hand outstretched, his fingers lightly touched the door. Pushing it forward very slowly, there came a high pitched squealing noise from the hinges as his fingers wrapped around the edge of the white door. He took a step closer, his hand now searching for the light switch on the wall. From inside the room, he heard a soft moaning and froze in place. His eyes darted and searched the darkness. Nothing could be seen from where he stood in the hallway. He held his breath, his ears intent on finding the source of the moaning, but it was too late. Donnie could never have guessed what was about to happen next.

  A white cloud-like shape suddenly formed in the middle of the room, illuminating the oak dressers and the large bed that stood nearby. The shape took form and quickly materialized into the wispy outline of an old woman, coming towards Donnie at full speed.

  Her mouth was moving, but his ears were ringing with the sound of panic. He stumbled backward, his feet moving quickly to get away from the apparition that was rushing towards him.

  About twelve hours earlier, the antique lamp fixture now lying broken on the floor had been hanging on the wall of the Goodman’s upstairs hallway. As with the rest of the house, everything that had been stored neatly in its place was now strewn about. Donnie’s left foot twisted as the metal fixture disrupted his escape from the translucent being. His arms flung out sideways reflexively to try and regain his balance as his body started to fall backwards.

  Had he fallen but a moment sooner, his head may have caught the brunt of the force on the old wooden railing overlooking the living room below. But now his head was far over the railing, his back hitting it with such force that it collapsed under his weight. Sharp wooden pieces and spindles rained down to the first floor. The last thing he saw was the woman’s face peering at him as his body smashed hard onto the hardwood flooring in the living room below, two broken spindles jutting out of his stomach and chest.

  Death was kind to Donnie, as it didn’t linger to make its presence known. It quickly descended upon him and as Jay came running over to his friend Death swiftly went on its way again.

  * * *

  In the hallway upstairs, the wispy apparition started to gain depth. It floated down towards the first floor, calling out “Walter, are you still feeling ill? Should I call the doctor?” Rose Goodman made her way downstairs, appearing almost herself now, as she had before she’d passed away.

  * * *

  Earlier that day, Walter Goodman had just started making his afternoon tea. Standing at the stove, he poured boiling water into the two cups sitting on the counter. In a weak and faint voice, Rose asked him if he’d bought milk that morning for their tea.

  “Yes dear, I bought milk.” Walter replied dryly. He took two tea bags from the white canister on the counter and dropped them in the cups. He brought the tea to the table and sat down, one cup in front of him, the other in front of the empty chair on his right. He glanced up as Rose’s spirit whisked about in the kitchen. She reached to open a cupboard, but oblivious to her own demise, her hand went straight through the cupboard and reached for a box of digestive cookies that was not there. “You will have to buy more of these,” said Rose. Walter knew full well she was referring to her favourite cookies. “We’re almost out.” she said as she sat down with the invisible box of cookies she thought she had opened.

  “Not a problem dear, I will get more tomorrow.” Walter sipped his tea slowly, eyes examining his cup’s dark contents, feeling as dark inside as the liquid he was ingesting. Rose was nearly invisible, though he could make out her features. Had he not known her for so many years, he may have not been able to distinguish her face well enough to know that it was really her. She was omnipresent, but at the same time she was near invisible.

  Walter felt hopelessness set in as she got up to close the kitchen window. “It’s really getting chilly in here, Walter.” She tried to push down on the window to close it, but while her hands were moving, the window remained in place. She walked over to the thermostat, small and lifeless fingers nudging at the controls. �
��We should look into getting a new furnace before winter.”

  Rose went on as though she had never died. Her life with Walter continued, even after death. Walter closed his eyes and silently wished his wife would find peace in the afterlife, and that he also could find peace knowing she was at rest. As her voice faded, Walter began to feel his heartbeat increase, the pounding of each beat echoing in his ears. Pushing himself away from the table, he got up from his chair, and grabbed his chest as the tightening pressure he felt grew stronger. His knees weak, he stumbled a few steps.

  “Walter! Are you alright?!” Rose’s voice had been loud! He felt shock pulse along with the pressure within. Her voice had been so weak and frail before. Now it had resounded off the walls of the small kitchen. Walter staggered to the living room, trying to reach the telephone to call for help. Dizzy and weak, he fell to the floor, holding his chest. Rose’s ghost rushed over to his side, bumping into the lamp, knocking it over. It fell and hit the TV tray, sending both sprawling across the living room floor, where Walter now lay moaning in pain.

  “Noooooo! Walter, hold on dear!” Rose cried. But as she hurried, her foot hit the small table where the phone rested, sending it flying. She turned on her heels, and headed out the living room, passing through a wall where there used to be a door. Her passing through the wall caused a large painting to fall to the floor, hitting Walter on the forehead. A large gash now adorned him just above the left eyebrow, blood oozing out and dripping onto the floor where he lay.

  * * *

  Jay looked down in shock at his friend. Donnie’s eyes were as empty of life as was his body. Jay stared at the blood stained spindles jutting out of his friend’s stomach and chest. Not able to hold it in any longer, he turned and vomited on the living room floor. From up the stairs, a voice called down for Walter.

  Jay jumped to his feet, unsure if he should run or confront whoever just killed his best friend. He swiftly turned toward the stairs just as the apparition arrives at the bottom, confronting him angrily.

  “Who are you?! What are you doing in my home!?” Rose screeched at him.

  Jay couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Rose had passed away over two years ago, how could she be standing so close to him?

  With an angry tone, she anxiously called out. “Walter hurry! There’s a kid in our house trying to steal from us.” Rose’s spirit then lurched toward Jay.

  In a panic, he turned and began to run. He moved around Donnie’s prone form, glancing back at the shape of Rose. He didn’t see the telephone on the floor. Tripping over it, he fell hard into the glass-topped coffee table, shattering it. The largest of the shards of glass sliced Jay’s neck open from the back of his head. The blood-soaked piece stuck out of his throat, cutting through his windpipe in one long swift movement. Jay gurgled, blood streaming down the corners of his mouth.

  Rose’s spirit approached him cautiously. She peered down at him, an air of shock set upon her ethereal face. He uttered one last, painful plea to her. With blood spattering the corners of his mouth and upper lip, he mouthed with forced effort “Heeeeeeeelp meeeee.”

  His face already ashen peered into the eyes of Death. It had come back for yet another visit in the Goodman residence. Glancing at Rose curiously, it continued on its path once it was done with Jay.

  * * *

  Florence had been sleeping soundly in her bed when her cat Tinkerbell came into her bedroom, waking her with unrelenting meowing. “Alright you silly cat, I’m going.” Florence pulls on her terrycloth robe and slides on her slippers. She walks sleepily to the front door opening it to let Tinkerbell out.

  Florence does a double take when she sees something on the street in front of her house. Rubbing her eyes a bit she looks again, focusing on the shape that is laying half on the sidewalk and half on the curb. Mumbling could be heard, so she knew it was a person. Quickly closing the door, she walks to her kitchen and grabs the cordless phone from the cradle.

  “Clark County Police Department,” the operator says.

  “There’s a drunk passed out in front of my house,” Florence says breathlessly.

  “OK ma’am. Please give us your address and well send a car right over.”

  Florence gives the police her address then hangs up the phone. Returning to the bay window she waits for the police to arrive. Florence peers from behind the drapes at the figure sprawled out, obviously drunk and mumbling to himself. A part of her wonders if he might be injured. Perhaps she should step out and check on him? She starts to move away from the window, but a chill walks up her spine. Living alone, the fear washed over her at the thought of putting her vulnerability out there.

  She stands solid at the window, arms crossed, one hand holding the drape open. She stood there until flashing red and blue lights illuminated the front of her home. The police cruiser arrived first, and so Florence steps out onto her front porch, safe now that the police were there. The ambulance arrives a few minutes later, and the paramedics began to question the man. Florence feels a pang of regret for not having gone out to check on him. She knew there was no way for her to have known that he was injured or hurt, but she still felt a bit of remorse for assuming the worse. She tentatively walks down her walkway.

  One of the police officers comes up to her and with a grim look says, “I’m Officer Marty, ma’am. Do you have any idea who this man is?” He gestures to the body.

  Florence could not see the man’s face from where she stands. She walks down to the sidewalk and looks at the injured man, his eyes wide, straining to breathe. “Oh my…,” Tears start to run down Florence’s face as she informs the officer “Yes, yes. It’s Walter Goodman. He’s a neighbour who lives just up the street. It’s the white house at sixty-seven Mulberry Lane.”

  Officer Marty nods and looks up the street. He glanced around at the scene around him. The lady in the terrycloth robe held her hands to her mouth, seeming to pray silently. The paramedics were doing everything they could for Mr. Goodman. His partner Doug was standing next to their cruiser, calling the dispatcher.

  Officer Marty turns and heads up the street toward the simple white house. Rounding the corner of the driveway, he hears a commotion coming from the paramedics. Marty looks back and sees one of the paramedics frantically running back from the ambulance with a defibrillator. The other paramedic is calling out to Mr. Goodman. “Hang on Walter, we’re here for you.” Even from this distance, Marty can see that Walter is in cardiac arrest, his eyes rolling back in his head, as he grabs and clutches at his chest.

  Officer Marty turns back toward the house and is surprised to see a bright glow coming from the windows. Only a few moments before it had been sitting completely dark and still, he was sure. Officer Marty reaches for his holster and draws out his gun, “What the Hell is going on?”

  Marty can hear a paramedic yell out “CLEAR!” As he does so the glow within the house becomes brighter. Another call of “CLEAR!” and the glow from within the house grows a bit brighter. Marty stares in amazement at the house. With each zap of the defibrillator, the brightness within the house becomes stronger. Marty cautiously steps onto the front porch when a sudden burst of light knocks him off his feet, throwing him back onto the grassy patch just beyond the walkway.

  Ears ringing Marty shakes his head and blinks away the light, his eyes slowly readjust to the darkness of the night. As he stands up he can hear one of the paramedics say, “He’s gone. There’s nothing more we can do for him. I just wish we could have gotten to him sooner.”

  Officer Marty gives the house a cautious glance, then waves Doug over, deciding it’s probably best to have backup with him before going in.

  * * *

  The two officers cautiously enter the house, Marty holding a long flashlight up to survey the residence. “Man, what the Hell happened here?” asks Doug.

  It was immediately clear that the home had been vandalized. Debris was scattered every
where, and furniture strewn about or flipped over. From the threshold Marty looks around and finds the light switch on the wall next to the foyer closet. He flicks it ON, and a flood of overhead light fills the living room and kitchen.

  Marty moves slowly through the living room, his eyes falling on the two young boys, bloody and lifeless. “I remember those punks from Juvenile Hall a few years ago.”

  Marty looks down at Jay’s body, seeing an antique pocket watch falling out of the boy’s pocket. Gesturing to his partner, Marty says with a grin, “Good old Walter was tougher than we thought. Taking on these two punks by himself.”

  Doug looks around and replies “Yeah…look at this place, it’s completely trashed!” Marty and Doug walk around of the house to make sure nobody else is there, and that everything is secure before heading out to their car to call for the coroner.

  As they make their way outside, Marty turns to ask Doug, “Did you see a bright flash of light earlier when the medics were working on Walter?”

  “No I didn’t see anything like that,” Doug replies. “Why do you ask?” Marty shrugs it off and says “I must have imagined it.” Unsure of what he had seen, Marty decides he best keep this to himself.

  * * *

  A few weeks later, The Ketchup Stain waitresses are standing at the counter talking to officers Marty and Doug about Walter Goodman. “I wonder what happened to that nice Rolls-Royce he had,” asked Marty.

  Glenda wiped down the counter as she explained, “It went up for sale at a decent price, so my husband Charlie snatched it up.” She tossed the dish rag over her shoulder as she went on. “It’s really been his pride and joy since he got that car. He spends more time with it than he does with me now!” she exclaimed, and they all burst out laughing.