Close Your Eyes: A Horror Story Collection

by Alec John Johnson

  He had called Hazel and the boys Monday night just after he got out of the seminar at about 5:25. It sounded like everything was going fine. They were going to have frozen pizza for dinner and their day was uneventful. The next day he had called in again at just after five to check in. Hazel seemed a little nervous but otherwise ok. Jacob didn’t pay much attention to it though, Hazel was always nervous during business trips. She hated being home by herself.

  That night he couldn’t sleep. He stared at the clock as it approached nine, ten, and past eleven. The night seemed to be infinite and unyielding. At first he lied in bed under the covers and attempted sleep. After a few hours of tossing and turning he gave up the charade, uncovered himself, and flipped on the television. There he sat staring at the television as the night wore on.

  The next morning was brutal. He had had only four hours of sleep. He had functioned on less when his kids were younger but this was a different story. His body was not used to lack of sleep. There were bags under his eyes and his head throbbed and screamed for the relief of coffee, soda, tea… anything with caffeine.

  Somehow, someway, Jacob had made it through the remaining half day of the seminar. Everyone was released just after one that afternoon. Jacob stopped by a nearby gas station and loaded up on caffeine and energy drinks for the long drive home.

  --

  Carolsburg - 125 Miles

  It was 3:18 PM and Jacob was still a ways out from town. The highway was empty except for the occasional traveler and semi-truck. On both sides of the road there lay rows and rows of fields freshly tilled. If you were to fast forward a few more months the road would be surrounded by corn or soy. He drove with the radio off just listening to his own thoughts. Radios were often useless on these car rides anyways.

  Precisely when the clock turned from 3:18 to 3:19 his cell phone began to ring. Getting service this far out in the middle of nowhere was surprising but more surprising was the number. He did not have the number in his address book but it did have a Carolsburg area code number.

  He debated for a second or two as to rather he should answer it at all. A part of him screamed internally not to answer it, to plug his ears, to throw the phone out the window. If he didn't answer then nothing could happen. If he didn't answer his world would stay sane. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone and hit connect.

  "Hello," Jacob managed to say in a dry scratchy voice that was unlike his own. His head pounded from the lack of sleep.

  "Is this Mr. Jacob Turner?" and unknown voice replied. The voice reminded him of gravel being scraped across a truck bed.

  "Yes..."

  "This is the Carolsburg Sheriff's Department. I'm afraid there has been an incident."

  --

  It had been a week since that foul day. The day that Jacob was driving home and he found out the awful news, the awful news that his family had been taken from him; his sons, his wife, everyone and everything. They were all gone. They only existed in memory now.

  Jacob sat in his living room on the red couch that sat against the porch windows. On the coffee table sat a large thing of whiskey with no glass to accompany it. He didn't need a glass. He reached for the bottle, tipped it upwards, and swallowed three burning mouthfuls.

  His face was haggard and worn. He had barely slept. His normally clean shaven face had begun to stubble four to five days ago and has now slowly transitioned into a beard. Within that seven day span he seemed to have gained numerous wrinkles spiraling out from the corners of his eyes and all along his forehead. If he had had hair it would have turned gray. He looked at least ten years older than from just as week ago.

  There next to the whiskey was a Glock handgun that had a full magazine snapped in. The gun was cocked and the red was showing. He had been considering it the past few days and he kept it on the table as a constant escape route. If things got too bad it was there waiting for him. It was his comfort, his safety net.

  Today the pain seemed too much to bare. He took another large swig of whiskey, slammed the bottle down on the table, then reached across it for the Glock. His hands were shaking as they grasped the weapon.

  His right hand now held the gun. The barrel was resting against his head just above and a little to the side of his right ear. It felt cold and hollow against his head. His finger was on the trigger. There he sat contemplating his next move.

  Suddenly, just a bit outside his window he heard laughter. It was a child's laughter. It sounded like Lucas' laughter. Excitedly, he turned towards the window and opened the blinds. The light greeted him cruelly and at first he recoiled, much like a vampire would, but with time his eyes adjusted and he could see them.

  There was a family just outside his window walking down the sidewalk in front of his house. The husband was pulling a wagon with one little girl in it and alongside the wife there was a boy around five or six walking with her. The little boy was laughing.

  Jacob watched them go by in utter silence. He didn't move, he didn't blink, he just watched. He was glued to the window. It was as if he was hypnotized by their presence. As he watched he realized he started to feel a little better. He slowly lowered the gun back to the coffee table. He started to realize that watching seemed to help. Maybe he should start watching more.

  The End

  My New Family Author’s Note

  My New Family was the very first book that I had ever taken the time to write. In fact this was the story that got me into writing. I realize that this may not be the cleanest and the most involved story in the world but it was a launching point for my hope to be writing career. With each book that I write I find that my writing and my storytelling ability improves.

  The idea for My New Family came from a dream that I had. I woke up in the middle of the night and the idea stuck in my head even throughout the next morning. The idea wouldn’t leave me alone so I figured I better write it down. A few days later I decided to start writing a story based off of the dream. To be honest the house that the man kept sneaking into is in fact my neighbor’s house that is directly behind ours. (Don’t tell them that though!)

  When I first started writing I realized that I hadn’t actually read a book in quite some time and because of that I struggled with structure and overall theme of the story. This was alarming to me, to say the least. I always prided myself on being well read and now through the course of time I had forgotten all about the joys of reading.

  Not only did this story inspire me to write but it also inspired me to read as much as I can once again. As I write this author’s note nearly two years later from the time I wrote this story I am still reading for at least a half-hour each and every night. Reading should be fun as well as writing.

  Knock Knock

  By Alec John Johnson

  1

  Eleanor Davis was the ripe old age of seventy-two years old. Nearly forty of those seventy-two years were spent living in the corner apartment 4C in the Shaded Meadows apartments. When she moved in the gigantic pines that dotted the landscape were but mere saplings. Over those forty years at Shaded Meadows she had lived alone, or as alone as she could be. Her husband had died long ago, thanks to it. She had very little family left nowadays and any family that was still around rarely visited. Day after day she spent alone in her one bedroom apartment. There was a large window in her living room that faced away from the main complex and into the trees and shrubs. Squirrels and chipmunks ran back and forth day in and day out leaping and bounding from tree to tree. There Eleanor sat in her rocking chair, which was nearly as old as she was, passing the days away. She was waiting for one thing. She was waiting for the end. She was waiting to die.

  It wouldn't be long now. She wasn't sure when it started but it had taken hold over the past few months. It had begun with difficulty breathing. She shook it off not thinking much of it but as time went on the difficulty increased and an ever persistent cough began to form. At first it was shallow and hardly noticeable but it had slowly progressed into a deep hacking cough that shook he
r whole body. Some days she would cough up blood and pieces of herself. There was one day where she coughed up a good half inch of something that was covered in a brilliant red color. She had studied it for a few minutes rolling it around in her fingers back and forth and then tossed it in the kitchen trash like a used Kleenex.

  A doctor was out of the question. She would not go to a hospital. If she went to hospital it would almost certainly mean staying overnight and that was a no can do. It was with her. It was always with her and she couldn't risk sleeping somewhere foreign. She would not put someone else's life in danger again just because of her selfish need to live a few more years. She had learned from her mistakes of the past. No, she would die here in this apartment in Shaded Meadows. She would die in her rocker watching the squirrels play.

  As she rocked in her chair she began to shiver. She reached for one of her numerous knitted blankets that were piled on her kitchen table and pulled it over her body clutching onto it with what little strength she had left. A coughing fit caused her to suddenly lean forward. This one had lasted nearly thirty seconds and as she began to clean herself up she noticed that some blood had gotten on her blanket.

  It knew she was sick. It knew that her time was near and it did not like it. It needed a new host and she would not give it that luxury. Her mind began to drift back to a time when she was younger, back to the time when it found her all those years ago.

  2

  Eleanor and Harold (Everyone called him Harry.) were both right around the age of thirty. They had been married for five years and for their fifth anniversary they decided to go on vacation. They were never much for those big fancy vacation spots like Cancun or Maui. No, they liked the simple things of life. About four hours south of Carolsburg the landscape began to change and the plains and flatlands began to rise into large hills and bluffs. You couldn't quite call them mountains but they were the next best thing. As you got closer and closer to the Ozarks you could see the forests thicken, the foliage brighten, and the hills get steeper.

  Carolsburg wasn't a big city by any means but it still had the daily drag that the average Joe's knows all too well. The Ozarks offered a chance to escape, a chance to be one with nature, and most important of all a chance of quiet. They had rented a small cottage that was off the beaten path away from any nearby city.

  They left on a Wednesday morning and headed south. It took a little longer than expected to get there but there was no hurry. This was their time and they were together. That was all that mattered. They had the address of the cottage written down and they were on the right road but they still drove past the place at least three to four times. Eleanor finally spotted it. Harry had no idea how she even saw it as it was just a wooden stake barely a foot tall that was sticking out of the ground with small numbering reading 253. Beyond the post there wasn't even a driveway or road. It was just dirt and grass. As Harry turned into the path he noticed that there was at least something to work with. The path had turned mostly to dirt where other cars had driven through, it wasn't much but it got them on track.

  The path like driveway winded and turned for what seemed like miles. Eventually they reached the cottage. The winding drive was well worth it. They both stepped out of the car and stared at the building in wonder. There was about a half-acre of land cleared in a full circle around the building that had random grass and weeds growing in it as well as a few saplings. Beyond the perimeter were lines and lines of endless trees. On the back side of the building the trees continued but the hill drastically declined so much so that it looked like a sheer drop off or cliff. The back porch was posted into this decline and was elevated so that you could gaze for miles and miles into the horizon of endless trees. The cottage was rather simple on the outside. It was made of local wood and had a rather faded look to it. The roof had the typical black tarred shingles. There were two small windows in the front and one additional bay window on the back porch.

  The front door must have weighed a hundred pounds Harry thought as he unlocked it and pushed it open. It was made of solid oak and had to be at least three inches thick. Harry stepped into the room first and Eleanor was right behind him. They stood side by side at the entrance of the cottage surveying the interior. Everything was perfect. It was a one room cottage that had it all. Immediately to the left of them was the kitchen. There was a wood stove, a sink, and a small counter space that had two stools tucked neatly beneath the counter. To their right was their bathroom, the only other 'room' in the house. It was rather basic with a sink, toilet, and bath. On the far wall and to the right of the cabin lay their queen size bed. The mattress was mounted on a thick wooden framed bed frame that had an intricate carving on the headboard. There were two brightly colored quilts at the foot of the bed and at the end of the bed looked to be a chest that contained more blankets. Just past the bed lay the large bay windows to the back porch overlooking the valley. The view was breathtaking. In the last corner of the room there lay a small square of a table with four chairs lined up on the far side of the table.

  Harry turned to Eleanor and said, "Welcome home!" He went in for a kiss and Eleanor met him halfway. They went back to their car and started unpacking. The next six days were going to be amazing. There was no work, there were no responsibilities, it was just them and nature. There was no one else... or so they had thought.

  --

  After spending about an hour or so exploring everything the house had to offer Harry and Eleanor hopped back into their car and drove to the nearest city for supplies. If they were going to be here for six days they needed food, water, and of course alcohol. You weren’t roughing it if you didn’t have any liquor with you. They had debated on stopping at one of the local towns on the way to the cottage but decided against it. They were antsy and wanted to see the cabin right away. The day was young and the rest of the stuff could wait.

  The nearest town was in fact only about ten miles away if you followed a straight line but in the deep Ozarks nothing was a straight line. They followed the road as it winded and turned and went up and down the hills. What should have been a fifteen minute drive turned into thirty minutes and eighteen miles. Eventually the town of Kingsville greeted them. There wasn’t much to see in Kingsville. It was about what you would expect for a small Ozark town. The main street, if you could call it that, only went on for about a half mile. The library, police station, and fire station all seemed to be combined and conjoined in some ancient three story brick building adorned with large gaping windows. A few gas stations dotted the landscape and just a bit further down the road was a small grocery store named ‘The Food King.’ A few cars were going back and forth on the main street of town as well as a couple pedestrians walking along the sidewalk. The largest gatherings of cars were parked at the ‘Food King,’ grocery store that was at the end of the road. Harry and Eleanor pulled into the ‘Food King,’ and started walking towards the entrance. The grocery store seemed to be the only somewhat new thing in Kingsville. The parking lot looked to be freshly paved and the outside walls of the building still shone brightly. Its colors had not faded yet with time.

  The shopping trip only lasted about twenty minutes. They were anxious to get back. Serenity was awaiting and they didn’t want to put it off any longer. They loaded the car up with the essentials, including three larges bottles of rum, and waved goodbye to Kingsville. They had arrived back at the cottage just after noon. There was a small grill just outside the cottage to the right of the porch and next to the grill stood an older picnic table. Harry started the charcoal grill and lunch was served not long after.

  The rest of the day flew by. They followed old walking trails that went deep into the forest, they sat on the back deck enjoying the valley below them, and they drank. The sun started to go down just after eight that evening and Harry and Eleanor retreated back to the cottage. As the world went quiet and the sun set behind the valley they were in the cottage sitting on the bed gazing out their window at the deep valley below. Their heads swam w
ith liquor. It was either the wilderness, the intimacy of the moment, or the alcohol but they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. There was no hesitation on either part, no second thoughts. It was the true and meaningful love of a husband and wife who had been together for many years. The day closed with them each asleep on the bed. The window to the back porch hang open and a cool breeze washed over them every few seconds.

  --

  That night Harry had a dream. It was unlike other dreams that he had in the past. This seemed real. He was lying in the bed at the cottage asleep. Eleanor was right next to him asleep as well. As he slept he felt more and more like he was being observed. It was like something was critiquing him, watching him, grading him. He tried to sit up from his position in bed but found he could not. He was frozen in place in this fake sleeping position. The only thing he could move were his eyes, and move them he did. His eyes whipped back and forth left and right looking for anything that could be giving him this uneasy feeling. He found no one but something he did notice was that the window next to the bed was open in this dream and he could feel the breeze against his face. He already found it strange that he was dreaming about a place he had only been to for a day but now his dream was even manifesting the open window? The lines of dream and reality seemed to be blurring. Was he actually awake? Why couldn’t he move?