The Taking

by Becky Johnson

  Look to the left. Look to the right. Nothing. She listened. The rustle of leaves was a quiet background hum as the wind slid through the trees above her. A cricket sang its song. Everything was normal.

  Sarah twisted the knob behind her back and stepped into the house, pushing the door shut in front of her.

  6:31 p.m.

  Matt drove slowly, headlights off. The engine he was proud of rebuilding himself was a soft purr in the darkness. He idled down Third Street and turned onto Main.

  Main Street ran the length of the town and was the only road to exit Heritage on the east side of town. Here to the west, Main ran into First with the Town Council building at the apex of the T. First Street circled Heritage in a large block and turned into 17th street where it bisected Main on the east.

  Now driving down Main to the west every shop, home, and municipal building Matt passed was dark. Ahead the Town Council building was a low black block against the blacker backdrop of the night. Matt knew there were people inside. You couldn’t attend the council meetings until you were twenty-five, but Matt knew what happened there. Each family was represented, and a sacrificial lamb chosen at random. Or at least it was supposed to be random. It seemed to Matt that some families took the brunt of sacrifice while others were never touched.

  With a grunt of disgust at his world in general Matt turned off Main. Henry wouldn’t head this direction toward the town center. He wanted to leave Heritage. Anyone who had spent more than five minutes talking to him knew that.

  His truck rumbled quietly down Second Street. The park and school seemed the best place to start looking.

  6:37 p.m.

  The room was silent after the Mayor's announcement. The faint echo of "Anderson” still hung in the air. Everyone, not an Anderson, swiveled to stare at the family clumped together in the back of the room. Everyone, not an Anderson, let out a breath of relief while the family in question crumpled. Someone began weeping.

  Paul never took his eyes off the Mayor. The Mayor stood at the front of the room with an oddly pleased sheen to his eyes and an appropriately mournful expression affixed to his face. He watched the Anderson family begin to process their pending loss. After a suitable pause, he raised his hands to quiet the group and focused their attention back on him.

  It took a few minutes for the room to settle as all eyes focused on the Mayor. He only began to speak when he was sure he had the complete attention of the crowd.

  "Our sacrifice keeps us safe. Our sacrifice protects us all." Paul wanted to scoff. Our sacrifice. The Mayor didn't sacrifice anything.

  The Mayor continued, "We owe a great debt to every sacrifice that ensures our safety. At times this tradition may seem to require a sacrifice greater that we can give.” The solemn room was quiet as they absorbed the Mayor’s words.

  "We understand the distress of those called to sacrifice. But we thank them, all the same. They are our saviors."

  Behind the rousing echo of the Mayor’s voice, someone in the Anderson family wept. No one else in the room even turned their head. The Mayor’s second-in-command stepped up again with a different box. Now to choose the individual member of the Anderson family who would step outside and offer themselves to the Takers.

  The Mayor stopped. Looking over the crowd, ensuring he had everyone’s attention, he reached a hand toward the box. With one last pause for dramatic effect, the Mayor slid his hand into the box and withdrew a paper.

  He looked down and then up at the waiting crowd before announcing. "Carol."

  Suddenly, the room was blinded by light.

  6:37 p.m.

  Sarah sat in the mudroom of her house with her back pressed to the wall and her gaze fixed straight ahead. It was dark, but she could still see the stars and the tops of the trees through the six window panes in the door. Despite her heart banging in her chest, she didn’t see any sign of the Takers. No sign of anything dangerous at all.

  Sara drew her breath in and then out in a long rush. Slowly her heart stopped banging against her ribs and returned to its usual steady thump. Eventually, she was able to tear her frightened gaze away from the panes of glass that separated her from the outside. Forcing herself to stand, she pressed up to her feet. She didn’t exactly feel comfortable, she never did the night the Takers came, but at least her hands were no longer slick with sweat, and her heart was no longer trying to break free from her body. At least she was in her usual state of anxiety and not falling apart.

  She stepped to the mudroom door that would take her inside the rest of the house when the entire world went dark.

  Completely black. Sarah couldn’t see anything, hear anything. Nothing. The stars stopped shining, and the wind stopped blowing. Every trace of light, gone.

  Just as quickly every light in the house flipped on. All at once. The world went from black to blinding bright so fast that she couldn’t see. Just as quickly it went black again. Then light. Then black. Then a flash of light even more brilliant than all of the others. A flash of light so bright it seemed to bring with it a distressing electric hum almost outside the normal range of what she could hear. Like whispers from another room. She knew there was a noise, but she could’ve never identified it.

  The light intensified again until it felt as though she was standing inside lightning. Light that was so bright it burned. Then a soundless pulse. A pressure in the air. And the world was normal again. Or at least as normal as it ever could be in Heritage. The soft glow of the stars outside gave gentle light to the mudroom in which Sarah crouched. Outside an owl hooted. There was nothing to show that this night was different from any previous Taking, nothing but the pounding of Sarah’s heart.

  6:37 p.m.

  The creature remained frozen directly in front of Henry. The body of the creature faced forward down the street, but the head was turned toward the boy hiding beneath the bleachers.

  The darkness inside the creature’s hood was a featureless vacuum, but Henry felt the weight of eyes upon him. He didn’t dare move, somehow feeling sure that if he stayed still the creature wouldn’t see him. The other creatures moved on. A slow glide down the deserted street. But the one standing across from Henry was still as a statue. Even though the air moved against Henry’s face, no breeze ruffled the creature’s long black cloak.

  A high-pitched whistle started as a gentle whisper that grew in pitch and intensity until Henry slapped his hands over his ears in a desperate bid to block the terrible sound. The second his hands covered his ears the world went black. Completely and totally black. Henry felt the scream tighten his throat, but before he could give it voice a crack sounded in the air, and a blinding light seared his eyes. His hands moved to cover his face, but even with his hands clamped tight over his eyes the brightness burned. Just when he didn’t think he could take another second, the world turned black again while a high pitch noise rang in his ears. He shook his head, but the whine didn't change. Another flash of light. Then black. Then white. Again.

  It might have only happened a few times or a thousand times. Henry could only react. Each switch felt more intense than the one before. So bright or so dark it was painful and oppressive. And in between each flash, in between the two extremes, Henry saw something even worse. The creature was facing him.

  6:39 p.m.

  The light burned his eyes, and Matt pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal in reaction before he was able to pull back and switch to the brake. His foot stomped down on the brake and what should've been a squeal was silent as the truck rocked to a stop.

  Inside the cab of the truck, Matt pressed his hands over his ears and clenched his eyes shut as he winced under the pain of the light and the ringing in his ears. When the light and the noise faded, and the night returned to normal Matt still sat in the truck with his hands clamped over his eyes and his foot pressed down on the brake pedal. The rapid pants of his breath filled the cab of the vehicle and mixed with the pound of his heartbeat to create a constant drumbeat of his own terror.

&nbs
p; Matt could hardly see through the halos of light that still echoed in his eyes. It felt like he would never see right again. When his vision finally cleared he saw his truck was sideways in the street, up on the curb, with the steel bumper almost hitting Mrs. White's mailbox. The night of the Taking or not, if he hit it, he would never live that down.

  A quick glance around the truck showed the same dark night that existed before the anomalous flashing light. The street was quiet. Dark curtains didn't even twitch with the fingers of curious observers. It was as if the peculiar light never happened.

  Matt sat in his truck, staring straight down the street as something in the distance caught his eye. He squinted into the dark of night as he saw something move across the street. Was there someone down there?

  Matt allowed the strangeness of the lights to leave his mind. If there was someone down there, then there was a good chance it was Henry. And if it was Henry, Matt had to try and catch him. Matt put the truck in reverse and quietly backed away from Mrs. White's mailbox before turning down the street toward the movement he thought he glimpsed.

  6:39 p.m.

  Henry's eyes were squeezed shut. Tight. As tight as possible. So tight that red flashed in his vision. All he could see behind the clench of his eyes was the figure staring at him.

  For one second his mom’s voice whispered in his head. Just count to five, sweetie. When you’re done, things will look better. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. His mouth moved, but not a single whisper of sound came out. He was too afraid that even the sound of his breath would bring the creature closer to him.

  Eventually, a sound came to him above the noise of his own heartbeat and panting breath. The sound of one leaf brushing against another. No, not one leaf, the sound of a hundred leaves brushing up against another hundred.

  From his left came the rustle of a small creature, of the harmless variety, scampering away. In the distance, Henry thought he heard the low rumble of an engine. The noise felt safe and familiar. Like home. Like all the usual things he was used to that weren’t the events he had experienced so far this night.

  Henry cracked open one eye before gaining the strength to open both. The creatures were gone. He was still under the bleachers looking out at the street, but the eerie heaviness to the air and absolute silence were gone. There were no flashing lights or total night. Most importantly, there were no figures robed in black staring at him.

  Henry unclenched his fists and leaned forward. Looking right and then left, he pushed up onto his knees. He took a quick second to check the seat of his jeans and let out an involuntary sigh of relief when his hand came away dry. He was almost sure he had peed himself.

  With his hands fisted around the straps of his backpack, Henry fought between wanting to run and wanting to hide. The two opposing desires were at war with one another. The end result? He wasn’t moving. In fact, he could barely even think what steps to take next in order to move.

  The low rumble of the engine came to him again on the wind. A gentle purr. The sound was enough to spur him to move. He wanted to get to whatever caused that gentle purr. Somehow, he felt that if he could just get there, he would be safe.

  Decision made, Henry pulled on his backpack and tightened the straps, he didn’t want the bag to bounce on his back if he had to run. One foot in front of the other Henry cautiously made his way to the edge of the bleachers. It didn’t make any sense, but under the bleachers felt safer than taking even one step away.

  With his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack secured he took that first brave step away from the shelter of the bleachers. As he moved, he sang the theme song in his head. He wasn’t afraid. Or at least that was what he told himself. His eyes may have been continuously swinging from side to side, and his heart may have been rabbiting away in his chest, but Henry just kept up the mantra, convincing himself, that this was an adventure. Just like his heroes. His quest? Find the rumble.

  6:40 p.m.

  Sarah crouched in the corner. The light stopped flashing. The night seemed normal, but it was anything but usual. A hysterical giggle percolated in her throat. This was it. She was going to die in her mud room. She was going to die just like her mother, Taken by monsters she didn’t understand. Taken before she ever really had a chance to live.

  In one of those strange twists of reality, the seconds between each breath seemed to last hours, as if the drag of air through her lips and over her tongue was an obstacle course a mile long.

  The house was quiet.

  No, not now. Sarah pressed her hands to her forehead. She didn’t want to remember. She couldn’t remember.

  In the other room, her parents fought in whispers. “We can’t do this. I won’t do this.”

  Sarah rocked. No, no, no. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to remember. Anything but this. No, please.

  “Jane, don’t. Please.” Sarah pressed her forehead to the glass. It was cold and slick against her skin. A marked contrast to the heat of the summer night. The air conditioning was off. Daddy said they had to be quiet.

  Sarah pushed to her feet, running into the living room, running from a memory she struggled with her whole life.

  On the edge of the front lawn, the air shimmered and moved. Sarah sat up and leaned forward. What was that?

  Sarah stumbled through the living room hands pressed to her head.

  An arm wrapped around her stomach and pulled her backward while a hand clamped tight over her mouth. “Get back,” her father’s voice was a harsh whisper in her ear.

  Sarah dropped down in front of the sofa and shook her head against the rush of memory. The past she so desperately wanted to forget. The past she had been promised would disappear. Ever since that night her father and her Sunday school teachers and Mrs. Tooms, her 3rd-grade teacher, had all told her just to move on. Don’t think about it. Don’t acknowledge it.

  “No Jane, don’t,” his voice was a rough whisper. There was a creak of the door opening. The arm around her clenched tight before releasing her. Behind her, she heard footsteps going toward the door. Sarah took one step forward before another. Her fingers brushed the edge of the curtain. She heard the door close behind her. One more step and she swept the curtain to the side.

  Her mother stood in the front lawn. She wore a beautiful red dress. Sarah had never seen her mother in such a beautiful dress. She had never seen her mother in such a beautiful color. She pressed her hand to the glass. Her mother looked like a princess in one of her fairy tales.

  The dark of the front lawn waved and shimmered like light bouncing off a lake. Then a figure materialized. It was taller than her mother and draped in all black. Sarah squinted, but she still couldn’t see it clearly. It was off. Not quite real. The figure stepped forward. Once. Then again. Each step made it more and more real until it stood in front of her mother. Her mother was shaking, her entire body trembling.

  Sarah’s hand tightened on the curtain. Something was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This figure wasn’t right. She couldn’t hear anything, but somehow, she knew the figure spoke. It vibrated in the air, a sound she could make out only as a pressure pushing her back.

  Sarah rocked from side to side. She knew what came next. Her mother was gone. Sarah never saw her again.

  6:50 p.m.

  Voices rose and fell, a rumble of panicky noise in the background. The tension in the room was visible on every face. Paul sat in the hard-plastic chair ignoring the frantic whispers and the scent of fear wafting through the room. His gaze was locked on the Mayor, in his gray suit and white shirt with an overly long red tie, at the front of the room, now surrounded by a small group of men. Amid the panic, they remained calm. The bright light that filled this room only moments ago had petrified the occupants. Carol, the sacrifice, now sat across the room with her family around her. Paul assumed it was only a matter of time before the Mayor’s men forced her outside. This respite was temporary at best.

  His fists clenched in front of him.
This stupid town and its stupid leaders. How long was this going to go on? How long before the people in this ridiculous town stopped blindly believing everything they were told?

  The Mayor looked back over the room. A look that could only be described as pleased flashed over his face. This was precisely what he wanted. Panic. Fear. He needed the people of this town to be afraid. If they stopped being afraid they might start asking questions. Questions the Mayor and his band of lackeys didn’t want anyone to ask.

  The Mayor stepped up to the podium, and the panicked whispers slowly died down.

  “We all know the story of Heritage. How our grandparents moved here after the Civil War. They saw what was coming. The end of the world. And if we look at what has happened to the world around us: greed, hatred, murder, lust. The world has fallen apart. Heritage is the last place of safety. It’s the last place we can call home, and the last place to hold tight to our ideals. Truth, honesty, purity.”

  The Mayor dropped his head and sighed, the very vision of piety. When he looked back at his spellbound audience a gleam of tears shimmered in his eyes.

  “There is always a price for goodness. A price for peace. For our town that price came soon after our grandparents settled here. To keep the bad out, we must sacrifice. Those sacrifices have kept us safe. They have kept us at peace.”

  Paul couldn’t help his snort. Fortunately, those around him were so caught up in the impassioned speech of their leader that they missed the quiet sound of derision. Peace. What peace came from terror and death? The Mayor might say peace, but what he meant was power.

  “Tonight, we are again called upon to sacrifice. One of our own has the noble calling to step out and save our town.” Again, he paused and looked out over his captive audience. A weight came to his gaze. “I don’t know why tonight is different than those that have come before. This light that enveloped our town can only be a signal from the Takers. Perhaps this is the last Taking. Perhaps they are telling us that tonight is the final sacrifice. For that reason, I must ask for something that is incredibly difficult. Something I hoped to never ask of you good people.”