by Ike Hamill
The kids nodded along with Christopher.
He continued: “So Liam went back to his bed and watched his father get ready for his own rest. His body was warm and safe, but his thoughts were still troubled. This time he thought about the Stage of the Hunt, what his uncle called the ‘Hungry Feast.’ That stage was supposed to be particularly dangerous. All the hungry hunters prowling the dark would make even a peaceful man’s blood boil. Liam realized he hadn’t been paying attention, maybe he’d even drifted off—his father was missing.”
“What happened to him?” asked Davey—his voice a smiling whisper. Christopher shuddered a little at his son’s morbid curiosity.
“That’s the question that drove Liam from his bed. All he could think was that somehow the shadow-monster was somehow real. He imagined his father struggling for his life, and Liam pushed off his covers to go help. He couldn’t bear the thought that his dad would be killed by something that his curiosity had called to life.”
“Because he stayed up too late?” asked Davey.
“Exactly,” said Christopher. He noticed that Susan’s chin was resting on her chest—she had drifted off at last. He lowered his voice to a whisper and continued the story for Davey—“So Liam crept away from his bed, tiptoeing across the room to the passage that led to the summer room. When he was about to round the corner, Liam got his second big scare of the night. Right around the corner, as if waiting for him to approach, came…" Christopher paused, but Davey offered no guess, “his father.”
Christopher waited for Davey to be disappointed again, but Davey just watched. If Davey had been someone else’s son, Christopher would have called him creepy.
He continued—“Liam was glad to see his father alive and well, and was even more comforted at what his father said next—‘Liam, you’re just jumpy tonight. You can sleep in my bed until you settle down.’ Liam nodded and followed his dad to the big bed, farthest away from the fire. His dad hugged him tight under the heavy covers, and Liam knew nothing bad could happen to him in his father’s strong arms. At least that’s what he thought until he felt his father’s hot breath on the back of his head. That’s when Liam remembered why the Stage of the Hunt was so dangerous. It was one of the most feared Stages because it was contagious.”
Davey understood—Christopher could tell from his eyes.
“The next thing Liam did was the last thing he would ever do. He rolled over to look his father in the eyes. He looked his father in his glowing… red… eyes.”
“Cool,” Davey breathed. His eyes fell shut with the word. As if, now satisfied with a gruesome ending, Davey could finally sleep in peace. Christopher shook his head reflexively—dismissing the revulsion he would never admit feeling.
He leaned over—“Ready for bed?” Christopher whispered in Susan’s ear.
“Uhh-kay,” she yawned.
Christopher reached towards her and she put up her arms. He plucked her from Davey’s bed quietly, not moving the bed more than an eighth of an inch. Christopher was clumsy, except when it came to his kids. With his kids he was strong and graceful.
Christopher carried Susan to her room and slid her under thick covers. She had a better room than her brother, but it would still be cramped for a teenage girl, which she would soon become. Their inadequate house pushed at the back of Christopher’s thoughts, like a forgotten errand. Now that the kids were in school most of the day, he was supposed to go back to work. It had been nearly a decade since he’d decided to be a stay-at-home dad; the prospect of a job-search was daunting.
“Cold,” she mumbled.
He pulled up the covers, kissed her forehead, and tucked her in tight.
“Good night, sweetie,” he said.
“Night,” she replied. She turned her head and closed her eyes.
He backed out slowly and closed the door to just a crack.
Back in Davey’s room, his son had already kicked most of the covers off. Christopher rearranged Davey’s limbs and folded back the heaviest blankets. Davey was always radiating heat, but he was even hotter tonight, still getting over the tail of a fever. Christopher leaned in to kiss Davey’s forehead when he saw the mark.
He dug in his pocket for a mildly-used tissue. Pushing Davey’s hair back, Christopher wiped the white smudge from his son’s neck. Christopher left the tissue in Davey’s trashcan and closed the door most of the way.
With the kids safely to bed, he turned his attention to his wife. She would be downstairs, either talking on the phone or watching television, a glass of wine clenched in her right hand. Some nights, maybe even most nights, she didn’t drink at all. They would stay up until the news, talking, making plans, and cleaning up the kitchen. Nights like these, where she would be on her fifth or sixth glass of wine when he tucked in the kids, had become a regular part of Christopher’s life. On those nights he had three children, and it was time for him to see the third to bed.
Christopher flipped on the light at the top of the stairs and put his hand on the railing. Even something he did dozens of times a day, something that any normal man of thirty-six years would completely take for granted, was affected by Christopher’s clumsiness. Ever since he was a little boy, as young as Davey was that night, Christopher had learned to always use a handrail when climbing or descending stairs. He started down.
A noise from the end of the long hall, from the door to the master bedroom, claimed his attention and he turned his head. He wondered if Melanie, his wife, had somehow managed to slip past him while he was tucking in their children.
* * * * *
MELANIE WOKE ON TOP of the covers, blinking away the light from the nightstand lamp. She rolled over and reached for the slender stem of her glass, but she wanted water, not more burgundy. Melanie glanced at the clock, suddenly confused and waking up quickly. It read two seventeen.
“Dad!” cried Davey, from the next room. “DAD!” he screamed.
She sat up. It felt like her body was two steps ahead of her brain and she settled back down on her elbows. Christopher would see to Davey. There was no need for both of them to get up if Davey was yelling for Chris.
Her eyes were half-closed again before her confusion came back even stronger.
“Dad?” Davey called.
Chris should have been there by now.
This time Melanie sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. She pushed to her feet and steadied herself on the bureau. She ran fingers through her hair as she consulted the mirror. She straightened her blouse and smoothed the front of her slacks. Her head began a slow drumbeat in time with her pulse. There would be a headache waiting for her in the morning if she didn’t get that glass of water. Davey’s room was two doors down.
“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked, as she pushed open Davey’s door. The hall light was on, so she didn’t open it all the way.
“I think I stayed up too long,” he cried.
“What? What do you mean?” she knelt next to his bed and smoothed his hair.
“I wanted to stay up until the Stage of Possibilities, just to see,” he said frantically.
“Shhhh,” she said, “don’t wake up your sister. Just tell me what happened.”
Davey started again, slower, as if explaining something very complicated—“I wanted to stay up to see the Stage of Possibilities, so I could see what it looked like,” he whispered.
“What does that mean, honey?” she asked, while she stroked his face. She reached over clicked on his lamp. The bulb came on slowly, with its slightly cold fluorescent light.
“Dad told us about how the night has stages. I just wanted to see the first stage, so I tried really hard to stay up. Even when the scary noises started, I just pinched myself on the arm, see?" He pulled his arm from under the covers. A string of welts ran from his wrist up to his elbow. One had a small spot of blood from his sharp nails.
“Oh, honey,” Melanie licked her thumb and wiped the blood from his arm. She cleaned her thumb on a tissue from the nightstand and
then used the tissue to wipe a smudge from the side of Davey’s face.
“The scary noises stopped at one, zero, seven,” he pointed to the clock on his bookshelf. “And nothing happened for a long time. I almost went to sleep, but then, at two, zero, zero, I saw it.”
“Did Dad tell you scary stories before bed?” Melanie asked as she tightened her mouth.
“No,” Davey answered.
Melanie stowed her anger for later, and tried to recover a more appropriate, sympathetic look. “What did you see?”
“I saw the sideways-head thing over there,” he pointed at the corner where his dresser met the wall.
“What’s the sideways-head thing?” she asked.
“It looked normal until about here,” he indicated his chest, “but then, where the head should be, it was all sideways. And it made a sound—it sounded like this,” Davey made a low growling sound in the back of his throat. She was nodding sympathetically when he started the noise, but her head stopped moving on its own. That noise coming from her son was creepy. The hair stood up on the back of her neck.
“And it was over here?” she asked, crossing to the dresser.
Davey nodded vigorously.
“Honey, I think that was your imagination,” she said, looking around the dresser. “Or maybe you fell asleep and didn’t know it, and then had a bad dream.”
“But Mom…” he began.
Melanie cut him off, “Honey, there’s nothing over here, and if something had been here, I’m sure I’d see a sign of it.”
“But in the Stage of Possibilities…” he started.
“We’ll talk with your father about the Stage of Whatever in the morning, okay?” she asked.
“Can I just talk with Dad now? I just want to ask him something,” begged Davey.
“We don’t want to wake up Dad,” she said. “He had a long day, I’m sure.”
“Please?” asked Davey.
Melanie sighed—“Okay, I’ll go get him. You stay here,” she said. She left his light on and pulled his door shut.
Exiting Davey’s room, she noticed the light at the top of the stairs. Melanie moved quickly at first, but then slowed as she approached the stairs. She rounded the corner with her breath held, but then released as she relaxed.
What did I expect to see? she thought.
“That’s it!” Davey shrieked from right behind her. Melanie jumped and nearly slipped on the top stair. Her hand shot out and touched the wall, steadying her balance.
“Davey you scared the life out of me!” she said. “I thought I asked you to stay in bed.” She knelt down next to him.
“What’s going on?” Susan asked shuffling from her dark room, rubbing her eye with her knuckle.
“It’s okay, go back to bed, dear,” said Melanie.
“But Mom,” yelled Davey, “that’s it, that’s it. It’s right behind you—look!”
Melanie straightened up and rolled her eyes. “Okay, Davey, what?" She turned around and looked down the stairs where Davey pointed, but still didn’t see anything but stairs that descended down into their dark foyer.
Susan reached to the wall and flipped the switch for the lights at the bottom of the stairs.
That’s when Melanie’s inebriated, thirty-four-year-old eyes saw what Davey pointed at—the sideways-head thing.
Four steps from the bottom, with an outstretched arm clawing a tread, a perfectly normal body lay. But the body was topped with an abomination. The neck skin was split—torn and stretched. The man’s face was pointed down and away, his chin resting on his back. All Davey and his mother could see from the top of the stairs was the back of the Christopher’s head.
Susan crossed the hall and came up next to her brother and mom to see what the light had revealed.
Susan was the first to scream—“Dad! Oh Dad!” she cried as she pounded the stairs to her father.
“Oh, fuck,” said Melanie.
CHAPTER THREE
Mike — Present Day
“BATHROOM?” ASKED MIKE, his body halfway into the cramped gas station. It was a stretch, but he was desperate. He couldn’t imagine finding a public restroom somehow jammed into this small space—packed-in shelves filled with snacks.
“Nuh-uh,” the squat cashier said between clicks and pops of gum. “Try the Tim Hor’uns. They open.”
“Pardon?” he asked.
“Roun’ the cahnuh,” she waved. “Tim Hor’uns.”
“Thanks,” he was halfway back to the van before he mentally inserted the missing “T” and came up with Tim Horton’s, a chain of coffee shops. Sure enough, around the corner from the tiny gas outpost, they found a Tim Horton’s lighting up the darkness.
“You could call this a one-horse town, but I bet they have tons of horses, and cows, and chickens.” Mike chuckled.
“What’s that?” Gary asked. When Gary drove he dropped into a deep trance.
“They should call it a one-bathroom town instead of a one-horse town,” Mike amended, his chuckle now forced.
“Is this it?” Gary asked, pulling into the parking lot.
“Yeah, thanks,” said Mike.
Mike jumped out as Gary was still bringing the huge van to a stop. He rounded the front, walking a stiff-legged shuffle to contain his discomfort.
“Stay with the van,” he said when Gary’s door swung open.
“I want to get something,” said Gary.
“I’ve got thirty-thousand dollars of equipment in there—please stay with the van,” said Mike. His temper was fueled by his urgency to use the restroom.
“Okay,” said Gary. “Get me a doughnut.”
Mike tugged at the restaurant’s door, but his hand snapped back empty. He reached and grabbed the other handle, which pulled easily. He hustled in and found a friendly door on his right. Ten minutes later, after a loud and malodorous session which he attributed to that evening’s Greek salad, Mike exited the men’s room.
A young man and older woman stood behind the counter, staring at Mike.
He approached the counter trying to look casual, but he read unmasked disgust in their eyes.
“Could I get a dozen glazed?” he asked.
“All we got is cherry,” said the young man.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“Cherry.”
“Okay,” Mike considered, “could I get a dozen cherry?”
“All we got is six.”
“Great. Six cherry and a diet then,” said Mike, reaching for his wallet.
* * * * *
OUTSIDE, MIKE FOUND THE VAN abandoned and the driver’s door open.
“Gary? Gary?”
Gary poked his head around the corner of the building with a cigarette in his mouth.
“Didn’t I just ask you to stay with the van?” Mike asked his approaching assistant.
“You don’t want me to smoke in there. I went over here,” he waved.
“Can’t you close the door and lock it when you leave?”
“I was listening to the radio,” said Gary.
Mike held out the bag of doughnuts in one hand and rubbed his temples with the other. “Whatever,” he said, “let’s get going.”
“I’m on it,” said Gary, jumping back in the driver’s seat with his bag of doughnuts.
* * * * *
WHEN THEY FINALLY GOT BACK to the gravel lot, they found that their site had changed. Another car waited in the lot, and a group of teenagers were down next to the river.
Gary flipped on the night-vision scope. It emitted a high-pitched tone as it powered-on.
“Looks like kids drinking,” said Gary. “Want me to go run them off?”
“No, no,” said Mike. “That might even be better. Sometimes human activity actually fuels the entities.”
“Cool,” said Gary.
They sat in silence while Gary observed the teens.
A knock on the passenger’s window startled the men. Mike spilled his soda.
“Jesus,” he whispered. He rolled down h
is window a few inches—“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry, Dr. Mike,” she said, smiling. “Am I early?”
“Nope, you’re right on time,” he said, recapping his drink. The girl outside the window backed away as he pushed open the van door. “We’re about to get set up. You can help me in back.”
“This is so exciting,” she said.
“Do you have a sweater or something?” Mike asked. “It might get cold out here.”
“I’m fine,” she waved, “I’m from around here; I don’t get cold easily.”
He led the young woman around to the rear of the van and motioned for her to stand aside as he pulled open the back doors.
“Wow, look at all that stuff,” she said.
Mike lowered a built-in stepladder to the ground and smiled at her enthusiasm.
Gary appeared from the left side. “Hey, I’m Gary.”
“Hi,” she said, taking Gary’s hand. “I’m Katie Brown, from Bowdoin. The college, not the town.” She pointed south.
“We’re going to be studying that area of rocks, just past that sign,” said Mike, stepping between them.
“I know that place,” said Katie. “Sometimes kids go down there to get drunk. Mostly high-school kids though.”
“Exactly,” said Mike.
“Have you ever seen anything down there Katie?” asked Gary.
“Nope,” said Katie. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t drink.”
“Good for you,” said Gary softly, tilting his head.
“Anyway,” said Mike. “We’ll set up the narrow transmitter from here, and then we’ll get multiple angles with the thermals and infrared.”
“Which is the new one?” asked Katie. “The narrow one? Is that it?”
“Yes,” said Mike. “The main thing we’re testing here tonight is my new narrowband amplifying transmitter.”