Into The Darkness

by Doug Kelly

  Dylan’s was the last house at the end of the street and he just stood there beside a pile of trash at the end of his driveway. The pile was noticeably smaller than the others were. His home was at a dead end and the lot was next to thousands of acres of county parkland. A stream went through this land to the lake from which they had just got water. The windows and doors to his home were closed. The house appeared abandoned. Kevin and Mary were close by, standing rigid as if waiting for a command.

  “Is this it?” asked Kevin, not understanding Dylan’s silence and apprehension.

  Dylan nodded and appeared confused. His mind was racing with thoughts as he stood at the end of the driveway. He seemed apprehensive, looking almost afraid to walk back into his own home.

  Kevin nudged Mary and they walked to the top of the driveway and set all their worldly possessions down near the garage doors. Dylan slowly emerged from the mental haze clouding his thoughts, pushed the bike and its trailer next to the suitcases, and let it drop over on its side.

  Dylan began to walk around his house. In the backyard, he saw the garden that he had planted before he left for Montana. Worn in the tall grass was a path from his garden to his next-door neighbor Jim’s house. He noticed that the garden had been taken care of, and also that his wheelbarrow was missing. Tomatoes and green peppers were ripe on the vine, and he saw incredibly long vines of watermelon, cantaloupe, and pumpkin. He peered into each window, looking for his family, but saw nothing to indicate that his family was home. After making a full circle of the house, he went to the rock garden by the front door and fumbled through a pile of decorative river rocks near the foundation. From underneath several rocks, he grabbed what appeared to be a gray rock of uniform color, about the size of his fist. He shook it quickly, heard the rattle of a key inside, and turned it over, revealing a false bottom. He slid the metal bottom off the fake rock and removed a shiny brass-colored key.

  Kevin and Mary watched from the foot of the steps as Dylan put the key into the lock of the front door and turned it. He pushed the door open with his boot. The door creaked, opening into an empty, silent house.

  “Hello.” Dylan said, sounding almost unsure of himself. “Hello!” he repeated, with tones of fear and frustration in his voice. No one answered. In his dreams, his wife and children had come running to him. Grabbing him, hugging him, and telling him how much they had missed him.

  Dylan turned away from the open front door. His shoulders were slumped and he did not look up. He took the rifle off his back and leaned it against the house. At the bottom step, he sat down hard, putting his face in the palms of his filthy hands. His knife sheath rattled on the concrete step as he leaned forward. He did not know what to do. His muddled thoughts were pulling him back into the fog and haze of confusion. When he sat down, he felt his pants pull tight around his thigh and he felt something poke him from deep in his front pocket. He removed the object. It was the lucky rabbit’s foot that Kevin had given him.

  He tossed it back to Kevin. “Keep it. I don’t want it.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find them,” said Kevin.

  “How?” asked Dylan. He made an exaggerated motion with his hands, gesturing his frustration.

  “The car is still here, so they can’t be far,” replied Kevin.

  “Where did you think the car would be?” said Dylan angrily.

  Kevin did not respond. He ignored Dylan’s remark and sat down on the concrete driveway.

  Dylan glanced at Kevin. “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean it.”

  Mary sat down on the other side of Dylan and put her arm around him. He did not move, and they all sat in an awkward silence. That silence was broken when, from their left and past the dead end, they saw someone emerge from the tree line of the little creek that ran through the park property. It looked, from a distance, like a man pushing something.

  A man with a wheelbarrow soon emerged from the tall prairie grass of the park and onto the asphalt of the dead end street. The man did not see the three of them sitting in the shade of Dylan’s front yard as he pushed his load of buckets toward Dylan’s house. Just as he passed the front of the house, he turned the wheelbarrow onto the sidewalk, and in doing so, looked up and saw the trio staring at him. The man was startled and almost tipped over the buckets in the wheelbarrow as the wooden handles slipped from his hands. His clothes were baggy and he tripped on the cuff of the pants that sagged from around his waist.

  He quickly grabbed the handles again, and began to walk forward on the sidewalk, staring at the man on the steps. He stopped again, squinting his eyes and peering directly at Dylan.

  “Dylan? Is that you?” inquired the man, as he set the wheelbarrow down again.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Dylan thought that he recognized the voice, but was still not quite sure who the man was. He did realize that the man had his wheelbarrow, since he remembered that it was missing from behind the house. Dylan stood up, approached the stranger, and stared intently into his face. Neither man said anything for what seemed like an eternity. They just stared at each other. Finally, Dylan looked over at his next-door neighbor’s house and his expression changed from frustration to resolve.

  “Jim?” asked Dylan. “I’ve lived right by you for years and I didn’t recognize you.”

  Jim held up his ragged, baggy shirt to reveal a svelte waistline and a belt with many additional holes added, still not cinched tight enough to hold the baggy pants around his shrinking waist. “I’ve lost a lot of weight.” He rubbed his beard. “And I need a shave, too.” Jim pointed to the wheelbarrow. “Sorry about taking your wheelbarrow. Everyone thought you were…dead.”

  “I don’t care about all that. Where’s my family?”

  “Your wife is gone, Dylan. I’m sorry.”

  “She’s dead?”

  “No, I mean she’s gone. She disappeared. No one saw her leave, but she must have left because your children were alone for quite some time.” Jim moved out of the light of the setting sun and into the shade cast over the driveway by Dylan’s garage. He lifted his baggy shirt to his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “Where are my children?”

  “Michael, the president of the home owner’s association, and his wife Becky have them.”

  Dylan’s jaw clenched tight at the thought of this couple taking care of his children. He remembered the couple as egomaniacs with fake personalities. Michael sold cars and had honed his talent for lying to get that job done. He boasted that he was the owner of a car dealership, when in reality; his father had built the business and then turned it over to him. Michael’s single accomplishment was conning innocent people into buying less-than-reliable used cars. Michael had used his extrovert personality to campaign for the position of president of the homeowner’s association, a position that no one else wanted, but one he bragged about unanimously winning.

  His wife Becky liked to tell everyone that she was a model. She was tall and slim, and wore excessively heavy makeup, but no one had ever seen evidence from a photo shoot. She got her money from a slip-and-fall settlement with a local grocery store chain after faking an injury and claiming that the fall permanently disabled her. She was an adept liar, just like her husband.

  They were an odd-looking couple. Becky was tall and slender while Michael was much shorter than she was and soft around the middle. What they did have in common was their phony facade and ability to lie. They would lie to each other and use their mutual fables to create the charade they lived in and presented to all those that surrounded them.

  “How did that happen?” asked Dylan, coldly.

  Jim took in a deep breath. He did not immediately answer. There was so much to tell Dylan and he was not sure where to start. “Not long after the grid went down, we began to figure out that something really bad had happened. Nobody’s car would start. Nothing was working anymore. Michael went around to all the houses telling everyone that he ‘had a plan.’ He told everyone we had to ‘sti
ck together and share resources.’

  “The neighborhood was meeting regularly to discuss what was happening and he told everyone to listen to him, and he promised to keep the neighborhood together. Every day he would go from door to door checking on people. Some people just left, just went away, thinking it would be better somewhere else. A few people committed suicide. Do you remember the older couple that lived at the top of the hill?”

  Dylan nodded.

  “He found them dead, and others, too. For God’s sake Dylan, we’ve been burying people in their own yards.”

  “What was his plan?”

  “I don’t know. He found your children alone, and at our last community meeting volunteered to take care of them. Not long after that, he quit going around the neighborhood and organizing meetings of the homeowners.” Jim paused for a moment. “I haven’t seen your children since then.”

  Dylan abruptly turned and went to get the rifle leaning against his house. He flung the rifle on his back and walked directly past everyone, not stopping as he spoke. “I’m going to pay him a visit and get my kids back,” said Dylan, hastily, as he hurried past.

  Jim watched Dylan walk and then jog away. After a moment, he turned to Kevin and Mary to introduce himself. “I’m Jim. I don’t know either of you, do I?” He extended his hand toward the couple to greet them.

  Kevin stood, helping his wife do the same. He extended his right hand to Jim and gave him a firm handshake. “No, we’re strangers to the neighborhood, but friends with Dylan. I’m Kevin, and this is my wife Mary.”

  “Where have you and Dylan been?”

  “That’s a long story,” said Kevin, as he grinned at his wife.

  Jim looked at the bike laden with bags and the suitcases on the driveway and asked, “How did you get here?”

  “That’s a long story, too. Help us move this stuff inside and I promise to tell you the whole tale sometime.” Kevin pointed to the pile of their belongings.

  “We should hurry. It’s getting dark and I don’t know if there are any candles in your house,” said Jim, as he gripped the closest suitcase and began to roll it into the house.

  The house was quiet and dim. It had a stale smell from being closed so long. Mary opened the windows and a small breeze wafted through the house. They placed the bags of food in the kitchen, and Mary immediately recognized double doors to the pantry. She opened the doors and stepped inside. She quickly emerged from the large but empty pantry, looking confused.

  “It’s empty!” exclaimed Mary.

  Kevin looked at Jim.

  “Don’t look at me. I took the wheelbarrow and haven’t been in this house.” Jim looked around. “The windows and doors haven’t been broken into.”

  Kevin systematically opened kitchen cabinet doors and did not find any food. He saw kitchen supplies, and in a bottom cabinet, he found a large black metal flashlight hidden under a deep pan. He retrieved the flashlight, pressed the button and discovered that it worked.

  “We need to tell Dylan. Can you take us to him?”

  “Sure. If he’s at Michael’s house, I can take you there.”

  Kevin pointed the flashlight toward the front door. “Let’s go.”

  Dylan had stopped in front of the house that he thought was where Michael and Becky lived. Although he had never been in their house, he thought he remembered seeing him there in the front yard. His eyes squinted in the dim evening light. There was an expensive foreign car in the driveway with a dealer license plate above the back bumper. This had to be the house. He could see a faint orange glow from a flickering candle through a lower level window. Dylan knocked on the door with a clenched fist. He would have preferred to just kick the door in. Almost instantly, he heard a voice from behind the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m here for my children.”

  The door opened partially, still attached to a safety chain. A man’s face peered through the opening. Dylan recognized him. It was Michael. He still combed his hair back, but it was longer now, and his cheeks were round and full, like a chipmunk storing nuts. Michael did not say anything, almost as if he was in shock. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

  “May I have my children now?”

  “Your wife is gone. I thought you were dead,” said Michael, speaking in disbelief.

  “Obviously, I’m not,” Dylan firmly stated. “Any idea where my wife is?”

  “No. Nobody does.”

  The door shut. Dylan heard the small chain rattle, then the door completely opened.

  “Hello, Don. It’s good to see you again.” Michael motioned to get his wife’s attention. “Look over here, Becky; it’s my good friend, Don.”

  “No, it’s Dylan, and I was told that you have my two children here.” Dylan looked past the living room and into the kitchen. Becky was standing behind their kitchen island preparing food by candlelight. She heard Dylan, but did not make eye contact. Dylan stepped through the front door into the living room and stood near the steps to the second floor. He left the front door completely open. It was dark upstairs and Dylan did not hear the sound of young children from anywhere in the house.

  “Brad! Jennifer! Where are you?”

  “Hold on, she’ll get them for you,” said Michael, smiling widely as he motioned for Becky to go upstairs. Becky held a candle and nervously edged past Dylan. He smelled her expensive perfume. She said nothing to him, and still avoided eye contact.

  “Those are good children.” Michael’s fake smile grew wider. A cosmetic dentist had veneered Michael’s teeth to make them look perfect. “You did a good job raising those kids.” Michael slapped Dylan on the shoulder. “I volunteered to take care of them and I wouldn’t have done that for anybody else.” Michael slapped him on the shoulder again and stretched his fake smile even wider. “I told everyone I didn’t care how much sacrifice we had to make, Becky and I were going to take care of those two children.”

  Michael’s false martyrdom did not change Dylan’s opinion of him. Every time Michael slapped him on the shoulder, he felt like grabbing Michael by the throat and strangling him. Becky came down the stairs briskly, with her hand in front of the candle’s flame. She went directly back to stand behind the kitchen island and did not look up. Although she was always thin, Dylan did not perceive her as having a famished appearance, and the same with Michael.

  Dylan heard a noise from the top of the stairway. He saw his children emerge from the dimness like apparitions from a fog. Michael’s eyes nervously darted back and forth between the two children, who were slowly descending the stairway, approaching Dylan.

  As his children came closer, he was shocked to find them appearing gaunt and emaciated. Every slow, weak step his children took toward him made their pathetic condition more obvious. These children were neglected and starving. Dylan was in shock and totally speechless, his mind slipping back into a hazy fog. At the bottom of the staircase, his children stopped, held hands, and stood close to one another. Dylan began to feel faint, and he dropped to his knees in front of them. Tears formed in his eyes. His children were pale and looked like skeletons, with tightly wrapped, translucent skin. He reached up to touch their faces, and tried to speak, but was not able to. The shock of his children’s condition was overwhelming and when he summoned the courage to hug them tightly he felt the boney protrusions of their skeletons poke back. His arms dropped to his sides. From behind him, he heard the sound of familiar voices piercing the fog that clouded his mind. It was Kevin, Mary, and Jim. He heard Mary gasp loudly. Kevin and Jim were behind her.

  Dylan turned and saw Mary’s eyes wide with horror. She had one hand over her mouth, and clutched the cross on her necklace with the other. She kept repeating to herself, “Oh, dear God…oh, dear God…”

  Kevin knelt beside Dylan and spoke softly to him. “I found this,” said Kevin, handing him the flashlight, “and it works. Your kitchen pantry is empty.”

  Dylan quickly looked up at his children, then at Becky, who was ignoring
what should have been a happy reunion, from her spot from behind the kitchen island. Becky pretended to be oblivious to what was happening and continued to prepare the meal. He looked back at Michael, who was still wearing a large fake smile. Dylan leaned toward his children, gave them each a kiss on the forehead, and whispered into their ears. “These are my friends. They are going to take you home. I will be there in just a minute.”

  Dylan turned to Mary and looked up at her. “Please take them home and feed them something.” Mary did not speak, but she gently picked up Dylan’s daughter and held her carefully, almost afraid she would break the child’s frail body. Kevin held the boy in his arms, and just before he turned away to leave, he asked Dylan, “Are you going to be okay?”

  Dylan stood up with resolve. “Yes, I just need a minute with these two.”

  Kevin was the last out the door, closing it behind him.

  Dylan turned back toward Michael, looked past his cold smile, and locked eyes with the sad excuse for a man.

  “Buddy, there’s no need to thank me,” said Michael. “You would’ve done the same for me. I know it. Everyone says such great things about you.”

  “Do you know what people think about you?” Dylan could feel his blood pressure rise as he began to clench his jaw.

  “What are you talking about, Dylan?”

  “I’m not your buddy and I wouldn’t have done the same to you. If I were taking care of two small children, I would make every sacrifice to protect and feed them. Now, let me tell you what people say about you.” He clutched the flashlight so tightly that he could feel the knurling on the handle dig into his skin. “People think you’re a liar. You’re a fake and a liar.” Dylan firmly pushed him in the chest with the flashlight. Michael’s chest felt soft. He noticed that Becky was paying attention to the conversation now.