After a moment, he opened the front door and walked into the darkness.
Chapter FORTY-THREE
Grandma and Grandpa’s House
At first, Jon didn’t speak. He was shaken by the darkness and the silence of the house. All he could hear was the sound of his heart beating in his ears and the ticking of the large analog clock that hung above the living room couch.
The light switch was useless. No electricity, but he knew his way around the place. Still, it was eerie. A nightmarish version of a warm and welcoming home. For all he knew, there could be new guests lurking around the corner. Lunatics. The thought made him nervous and, for a moment, he thought about running back to the car and grabbing the Glock. Instead, he took off his backpack and laid it on the floor beside the beach bag, not wanting to waste another moment.
“Hello?” Jon muttered and coughed. “Hello? Mom? Dad?” He knew they weren’t here. Why would they be if the house looked like this? “Grandma? Grandpa?” His head scanned from the living room to the dining room. Nothing but blackness. All the curtains were drawn, which covered any of the last natural light.
“Is anyone here? It’s Jon! Little Jon! Little Jonny! Hello?” Jon looked down and saw the bloodstains that came from outside. Or, came from inside and went outside. It made his chest hurt on top of his stomach which sloshed the peaches and chicken inside.
The blood trail was all it took for him to turn around and run back toward the Honda to fetch his new Glock from the passenger seat. The trunk popped open and he unzipped the backpack filled with ammo. Black boxes with gold text read MAGTECH. They filled the bag against the seams.
What the hell do I do? Jon’s hands began to shake as he didn’t have a clue on how to load the damn thing. Christ, it’s loaded, isn’t it? He remembered Rusty mentioned to be careful as he walked from the guestroom.
Make sure you handle that thing with care, alright? It’s gotta loaded, full clip. Only point when yer lookin’ to kill. Take it from me. Jon had taken it from him.
Jon entered the house again, closed the screen door, and locked it. Then, he turned toward the living room. The ticking noise continued to fill the room of old furniture and cheap paintings of rural scenery. There were end tables with lamps and a glass dish of M&Ms. Jon headed toward the staircase that came down right in the middle of it all.
“Grandma? Grandpa?” he said, looking up the steps into a dark hallway. It was pitch-black as there was only one window in the hall, at the very end. He thought about opening all the curtains in the house until the thought of the maniacs seeing him through a window came to him.
“Hello?”
No response.
Jon went over to the dining room where an oval table with a glass surface stood with candlesticks on it. Pictures of family stared at him from a shelf just beyond it. Faces and places frozen in time. There weren’t going to be any new additions to the frames anytime soon. He kept moving into the kitchen.
Jon rummaged around until he found a flashlight in a drawer by the refrigerator. Hoping to save battery power on his iPhone, he clicked on a fading orange light that was just enough for Jon to see the bloodstains on the white kitchen floor. They led to the basement door that had a bloodied brass knob. The basement door…oh, Jesus… The sight of the red trail and painted knob made Jon feel like a little boy again, a helpless child. Pure fear was pumping through his veins as he stared at the portal that would transport him to innocent fright.
“No, not the basement. Please!” he would shout to his cousins after he lost a game of rock, paper, scissors, or when they’d dare him to go down. Marie was older, so she’d always push him around and force him through the door. Bobby was too young and too small to intervene, he’d just laugh and clap his hands.
“Lights off! Lights off!” they’d shout. “Don’t let the ghosties get you!” The door would SLAM shut as Jon tumbled down the basement steps and onto the dark, cold cement floor.
You know what you have to do, the voice said in Jon’s head as his hand shook the light beam on the door. He had the Glock aimed down toward the kitchen’s tiles.
You have to go down there.
I don’t know if. . .
Move yourself. Open that door and walk down the steps. Follow the blood. Follow it, Jon.
Ok.
Jon’s feet began to move toward the bloodied spots that led to the basement door. He had the faint flashlight in one hand. Gun in the other. Heavy breathes came from the depths of his throat, almost hyperventilating him. The closer he got, the harder it was for him to breathe. It was as if he was drowning in a darkened pool, losing air by the second.
Jon grabbed the dishtowel from the edge of the sink and used it to cover his hand as he opened the basement door. It creaked its haunting creak as Jon shined his light down the green-painted steps into the cellar. Blood spots were on every other step until they hit the cement floor and trailed off around the right of the stairs. His eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the even greater darkness. Pitch-black. The light helped but it seemed to be fading even more now as the batteries weren’t strong enough to penetrate such an abyss. God knew how long the flashlight had been sitting in the drawer without a battery change.
“Is anyone down here?” Jon asked with fear in his voice. “I have a gun! No sense trying to hide!” He held the Glock forward with the wrist holding the flashlight crossing on top of it. He had seen this move in both movies and video games of SWAT members infiltrating an area.
Bump. Bump.
Jon froze after almost losing his balance. The SWAT stance disappeared. He was only on the second step down. His hand leveraged on the wall with the flashlight. The other gripped the handle of the Glock. The flashlight’s beam aimed back down at the bottom of the steps after Jon caught his balance again, but nothing stirred down there. He couldn’t tell if the sound came from above or below him. His mouth was wide open, ready to say another word, but he was paralyzed from the startling noise.
“He-he-hello?” But it was too soft. A whisper. Jon crept down the steps again.
Bump.
Jon stopped. A weak voice entered the air. It sounded muffled but coherent enough coming from beneath him. “Help me! Please, won't someone help me!”
A jolt went through Jon’s spine.
“Who’s there?” he asked, louder now. The beam of light jumped back and forth, waiting, begging, for someone to appear.
“Oh, please help me! The door is stuck! Oh Lord, please help me!” the muffled voice cried.
Jon’s heart leaped as the voice registered as his grandmother’s. A faint and old voice, somewhere in the basement below. Move. He hurried down the basement steps as the wooden stairs squeaked and creaked as he descended.
“Grandma? Is that you? Where are you?” Jon asked with the flashlight bouncing off the wooden shelves of canned food and glass jars. Torn open cases of water bottles sat below. Boxes and cobwebs cluttered every corner. A wheelbarrow turned upside down lay lonesome.
Bump. Bump. “Please, lord. Please!” the old voice shouted.
Jon turned and shined his light on the wooden door that led to the washer and dryer room. The blood spots were beneath a chair propped up against the handle. There were bloody handprints on the legs of the chair. It bumped again and the chair stood, moving less than an inch from the old, brown wood and metal lock.
“I’m coming, hold on!” Jon shouted as he ran to the door, kicking the chair out of the way. He placed the Glock in the back of his pants and pulled the metal lock. The door opened and Jon shined his flashlight to reveal a short, old woman standing in the dark, looking up at him. Her grey hair was stained dark-red and one of her large glass lenses was shattered on her right eye.
“Grandma, are you alright? What happened to you?” he asked, moving in closer and feeling disgusted that someone would treat an elderly woman like this. The left shoulder of her shirt was stained in red as well. She was thin, a kind of thin not healthy for a woman her age.
“Why
did you lock me in the cellar?” she asked, now with the spotlight on her. She started walking up to Jon.
An eyebrow raised on Jon. “I didn’t lock you down here, grandma. I just got here, I came looking for you. You don’t know how happy I am that I found you, but we gotta get you cleaned up. Your head is bleeding, grandma we should get you upstairs.” He went to hug her, but she resisted. “Grandma?” He attempted to touch her shaking hands but when he made contact, she swatted his hands away.
A waft of toilet smell bellowed from the doorway. It smelled like a public bathroom that hadn’t seen a janitor in a while. Urine. Stale urine.
“You LOCKED me in the cellar!” Grandma’s eyebrows curled behind her broken oval glasses with an angered look that Jon had only seen once in his entire life. Back when he and his cousins snuck into their grandparents' room and looked in grandma’s expensive jewelry box, she screamed at the children in a voice they had never thought she was capable of. Grandma Barnes was livid that day, but now that all seemed like a good mood compared to the current state of grandma’s behavior. “You LOCKED me in the cellar and now you have to be punished you UNGRATEFUL BASTARD!” She never swore like that before.
“Oh no,” Jon said under his breath, realizing that she was no longer the sweet and loving grandmother that he spent countless summer days with. She was now one of them. Whatever they were, they got to her and took over. “Grandma, please. Just calm down, it’s me, Jon. Little Jonny, remember?”
But it was of no use as grandma swung her shaking hands at Jon’s head. He blocked it with the flashlight, but she swung again and her long, chewed nails sliced into his skin, causing him to lose his grip on the plastic torch. It fell to the floor and the light went out as the bulb shattered on the cement. Now, Jon stood face to face with his crazed grandmother in complete blackness.
“Gram-” Another claw from his grandmother grazed Jon’s head and he jerked backward, blinking and stumbling.
“You will pay, young man. At the hands of God, you WILL pay!” she shrieked in an unholy voice that sounded nothing like her. “God doesn’t take kindly to those who treat his followers like this. Locking up an old lady in her basement. What’s gotten into you?”
“Grandma, where’s grandpa? Where’s mom and dad?” Jon shouted at her as he pulled his phone out from his pocket, turning on the camera’s flashlight. The Glock was still snug above his butt. The phone shined one hundred times brighter as it lit up grandma’s horrific face. She swung again.
The phone fell hard to the cement and the basement went black again. Jon’s fingers felt around the cold, hard floor until he felt the iPhone. As he grabbed it and shined it back up, his grandmother was closer now, scowling at him with her religious exclamations.
“The wicked go down to the realm of the dead, all the nations that forget God!” she howled.
“Stop it!” Jon said as he scooted backward with every closer step she took toward him.
“They will be punished with everlasting destruction and shut out from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might!”
Bible verses? Are these Bible verses? If they were, they weren’t the ones that his grandma shared with him over the years. Not exactly a message to instill in a young, developing boy.
“They will throw them into the BLAZING FURNACE, where there will be weeping and GNASHING OF TEETH!” she shouted as she bent down to grab Jon’s legs. He kicked her away with a weak thrust, reluctant to cause any harm to her.
“Gram, that’s enough! Stop! What are you doing?” Jon said as she began to stomp down on his feet. First, she got his knee, then the bottom of his foot. Somehow, it hurt. This time, Jon pushed her off a little harder and scrambled himself up to his feet.
“Depart from me, you who are CURSED, into the eternal FIRE prepared for the DEVIL and his ANGELS!”
Jon maneuvered himself back to the stairs and began to climb the steps backward almost reaching the top, keeping the light on his grandmother. His hand hovered behind him above the Glock’s handle. Please don’t make me do this. Lord, God, Jesus, please! Her arms flailed and whipped at Jon as she quoted what sounded like the book of Revelations. Jon wasn’t sure. This wasn’t a time for Bible study.
“Didn’t I teach you, Little Jonny? Don’t you remember what God does to naughty, sinning young men?” Just as Jon was over halfway upstairs, she bolted at him, causing him to trip backward, onto his back. The edge of one of the wooden steps connected with the middle of his spine. The Glock tumbled and, by the grace of God, didn’t fire. Jon hadn’t the faintest idea if the safety was on or not. Either way, no bullets flew.
“Agh!” he shouted as his back arched. The phone’s light danced around the ceiling, flashing the image of his grandmother starting down on him with her old, crooked hands as they wrapped like vines around his neck. Jon squirmed and rocked his body back and forth as the cold grip of his grandmother tightened around him, squeezing the soul out of him. He could feel his butt graze the side of the trigger.
Both scared and surprised by his grandma’s strength, Jon dropped his phone and pressed his hands hard on her chest. Although more powerful than ever, his grandma’s weight remained the same as Jon shoved her off with ease.
“No! Ah! God, please! YOU LITTLE-” she shouted as she flew backwards from the staircase. CLAP. Her old and possessed body fell to the bottom of the basement floor. Jon grabbed his throat, taking harsh gasps. He picked up the phone from the step and shined it down on his grandma who lay still on the ground.
“Grandma?” he said, coughing. His back ached. “Grandma, are you ok?” But her body didn’t move an inch.
With the adrenaline pumping full-time, Jon got up and ran down the stairs. “Grandma, can you hear me?” He propped the phone’s light on one of the shelves behind him. Grandma’s mouth hung open and her tired eyes drooped behind her broken lenses. “Oh Grandma, I’m so sorry!” No breathing. No pulse. Jon’s eyes began to water. He gave her a little shake, but it was of no use. She had passed as soon as her bony body collided with unmovable cement.
There was wetness on the back of her head as fresh blood began to ooze. “Grandma, please!” But no one could hear him. He wiped his eyes with the back of his blood-covered hand.
Jon looked away and grabbed his phone.
The pain in his heart rocked him and almost sent him collapsing to the floor. The basement walls swirled and turned in every which way. My God. My God. What have I done? Vomit rose deep in his throat. Sweats. Harsh, sweats. Jon felt like passing out. Dying. Killing himself by taking the Glock and putting it under his chin and blowing his own grandmother-murdering brains out right here and now. He could end the nightmare once and for all.
Jon couldn’t catch his breath. Wait, just wait. Breathe. Breathe. Calm down. Calm down. His brain felt like it was whipping against his skull, trying to get out by repeating every thought. Relax. Relax. You had no choice. You had no choice. She would’ve killed you. She would’ve. . .
“She would’ve killed me,” Jon said aloud, between gasps. “She would’ve killed me, and she would’ve killed them.” He turned at his grandmother and closed his eyes. “They put you down here because you were going to kill them! You’re sick!” Tears let loose once more, and he pulled himself up from the dirty floor.
In the washer room that smelled sour, he found a big blue blanket with stars and planets on it. Not far from it, he saw stains on the cement where the scent reeked. How long had she been down here? She must have had to use the bathroom. It made him sick. A foul way to live in the darkness, trapped behind a door.
He brought back the blanket over to where his grandma lay lifeless and placed it over her body. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. Tears filled his already soaked eyes as he placed his terrified hand over his covered grandma, saying a silent prayer in his mind. If his grandma couldn’t get into heaven, he didn’t know who could. She had been God’s number one fan and now she was about to get a front-row seat to his afterlife c
oncert.
God and the afterlife had been something Jon struggled with in his recent years. He’d question the Bible and what it stood for. Never arrogantly, he was just curious about the old book and wondered if it was possible for there to be a God, a supreme creator of heaven and earth. Even if there was a heaven, would Jon be allowed in after what he’d done to his own grandmother? Hell couldn’t be much worse than what has now become of the living world.
Chapter FORTY-FOUR
One Last Sleepover
Jon took the beach bag and backpack up to the guestroom. The place where he’d spend summer nights with his cousins, staying up late and being too loud.
Two beds. One by the door and the other in the corner. Trying to jump from one to the other was a classic game played every time the children shared the room. Grandma and Grandpa Barnes were never pleased with that.
He popped in two Tylenol capsules for his back and the last of the lingering head pain that hid behind his bandages. He drank them down with a cup of water from the bathroom sink. Then, he cleaned his glasses and replaced the Band-Aids and gauze on his head for good measure. He looked at himself, staring into his eyes, down into his soul.
What had he done tonight? Unspeakable things.
His facial hair was darker now in its patchy lines. His eyes were dark as they hung above the light of his phone. It looked like death had not only overcome his grandmother but Jon himself. There were black shadows where his father’s eyes once were. He had a filthy face. What had become of Jon now? Who was he?
Jon walked from the bathroom and crossed the hall to his grandparents’ bedroom.
With his light still beaming from his iPhone, Jon guided his way through the room. The bedsheets had a hint of blood. There were spots on the pillows. What happened here? It was clear there was a struggle. The blanket was off the bed and lay in a pile on the foot of the bed.
When the Sky Goes Dark Page 21