The Darkening (A Coming of Age Horror Novel) (The Great Rift Book 1)

by Christopher Motz

  “Hey, you wanna drink?” a voice called.

  Danny stopped. A man in cut-off shorts swayed drunkenly in his driveway. Two other men sat with beers in their hands inside the garage. They were all clearly intoxicated.

  “No thank you, I’m good,” Danny said.

  “There’s nothing good about you, boy,” one of the men slurred. “You better drink up now while you still have a chance.”

  “While I have a chance? What are you talking about?”

  “Ah, he’s still wet behind the ears. He has no idea what’s coming.”

  “Got that right,” the man said, downing the rest of his beer and tossing the can onto the concrete.

  The others laughed as the man ducked inside and the garage door rattled closed.

  Danny walked faster, shaking. Is everyone losing their mind?

  As he jogged to Brent’s house, we wondered if maybe he was losing his.

  ***

  “My father was the same way,” Brent said. “Like he didn’t remember anything.”

  Brent, Danny, and Eric sat around the McCallister’s dining room table comparing notes. The story was the same.

  “It’s like it never happened,” Eric said. “Like Charlie never happened.”

  “What are you talking about?” Brent asked.

  “It’s like he never existed. Like there was a world with Charlie, but we woke up in a world without him.”

  “You sound like a nut-job,” Brent said. “That’s what happens when someone dies. One minute they’re here and then they’re not. It’s not a mystery.”

  “Why don’t our parents remember what happened?” Danny asked. “Just because someone dies doesn’t mean they never existed.”

  Brent didn’t have an answer.

  “How did that little girl remember?” Eric asked.

  “And how did she know my name?”

  “She lives a block away from you,” Brent said. “Everyone knows everyone around here.”

  Eric shrugged.

  The death of a child is a hard pill to swallow, the ultimate failure of a society that prides itself on its vigilance. Something like this should have made headlines. Not only would their parents remember, but Charlie would have become a household name. Benefits would’ve been staged, raffles, fundraisers, awareness groups. It’d all happened in Elmview before.

  A four-year-old boy had been looking through the window screen of a fifth-floor apartment when it gave way, spilling him into the street below and killing him instantly. Within days the parks were holding benefit concerts, the churches had bake sales, t-shirts were sold, grief counseling was held at the local YMCA.

  The only benefit Charlie received was not being here to see what was going on.

  “We’re going to his house,” Danny said.

  “What’s that going to prove?” Brent asked.

  “His own mother isn’t going to forget him. We need to talk to her. We need answers.”

  Eric stood and was halfway across the room before Danny got to his feet. Brent grudgingly followed.

  There was no talk on the way to Charlie’s. Not a word was spoken. There was a tension between Brent and the others that had never existed before, and they thought further discussion would become further argument. Besides, there was really nothing more to say until they figured this all out.

  When they arrived at Charlie’s, his mother was standing on the front porch, smoking a cigarette and watering her potted Verbena plants. She glanced dismissively until they paused on the sidewalk and peered up at her. Probably selling something, she thought.

  “Can I help you?”

  “We’re just here to say we’re really sorry about what happened to Charlie. He was a good friend of ours,” Eric said.

  “Charlie?” She set the watering can aside and stubbed her cigarette into the ashtray. Danny had never seen her smoke before.

  “Yeah, your son Charlie,” Brent said.

  “My son? That’s a new one. I’m sorry guys, but you have the wrong house.” She turned to go back in when Danny spoke up.

  “No, we don’t have the wrong house! This is the right house and Charlie is your son and our friend. His bedroom is on the second floor, right next to the bathroom. His father works at the A&P in Ashton. He has a small scar on his right arm where you burned him with a hot pan when he was a baby.”

  “Okay, stop right there. I don’t know who the hell you kids are and I don’t know what your game is, but if you don’t knock this shit off and get off my sidewalk, I’m going to call the police.”

  “Go ahead and call them,” Eric said. “Please Mrs. Maier, we’re not trying to cause any problems.”

  “Then you’re high on drugs. And my name is not Maier, it’s Vallory. I’ve had enough of this nonsense, so get going before I lose my temper.”

  Danny rushed forward to say something else when Brent grabbed his arm and physically pulled him back. Still holding him, Brent started across the street, away from Charlie’s and away from trouble. Eric followed close behind with his head hung low.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Danny shouted.

  “Let’s just get out of here and we’ll figure it out,” Eric reassured him.

  Tanya Vallory lit another cigarette as she watched the boys cross the street. She realized her hand was shaking. As a much younger woman, she’d decided if she had ever had a son, she would name him Charles, after her father. This was several years before she’d found out she was unable to have children. The coincidence was startling. She flicked her cigarette into the street and went back into the house to prepare for her date. She wasn’t about to let a group of creepy kids ruin her good time.

  Danny went home without another word. There was something very strange at play, something he needed to figure out for himself. If Brent wanted to pretend there was nothing wrong, then so be it, but Danny wasn’t about to let it go. For now, he had to make things right with his mother. He couldn’t risk being grounded while the world went insane.

  ***

  “I don’t know what’s going on with him, but he’s losing it,” Brent declared.

  “He’s not losing it,” Eric said. “Don’t you see what’s going on? People don’t just disappear.”

  “He didn’t disappear; he died. End of story!”

  “How do you explain our parents? How do explain his own mother not remembering him?”

  “My parents don’t always remember what we had for dinner last night. It isn’t proof of anything.”

  “That’s your explanation?”

  “She’s grieving,” Brent said. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. People do crazy shit after someone dies. My uncle started talking to his cat after my cousin died, thinking he’d been reincarnated. People get fucked up about death.”

  “It’s more than that,” Eric said. “Something isn’t right.”

  They walked up Broad Street, pausing at the stretch of road where Charlie had been run down, where a crazy man pulled his own eyes from his head. If that’s normal, Eric didn’t want to know what crazy looked like.

  “I’m going to miss him,” Brent said.

  “Miss WHO?” Eric shouted. “The Famous Vanishing Cripple? The Mystery Boy of Elmview?”

  Brent stopped on the sidewalk, looking hurt. “You don’t have to yell at me. Look, maybe something weird is going on and maybe it isn’t, but you’re both jumping at shadows. There has to be an explanation. Can we at least think about this logically before we all wind up in the loony-bin?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. This is insane.”

  “Let’s just go home, we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “You want me to come over?” Eric asked. Dealing with Jacky and his mother was the last thing he needed right now.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Brent said. “I’m going to crash early tonight.”

  Eric realized Brent was hurt by the outburst. If letting him go home and be alone was what he needed, Eric wasn’t going to argue
. He just wished that Brent could see what was right in front of his face, but obviously he’d take a little more convincing. They walked together but felt alone. When they reached Eric’s house, he looked at the door and sighed, wondering what awaited him on the other side.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eric said.

  “Yeah.” Brent walked away without another word.

  Eric hoped he didn’t do irreparable damage to their friendship. He didn’t mean to explode. He was scared and confused and if his friends turned their backs on him, he’d lose himself. They’d done so much for him, they gave him a life outside of his hell.

  He sighed as he crossed the living room, relieved to have the house to himself. He made a cheese sandwich and locked his bedroom door behind him.

  ***

  Brent closed the door and shook his head, still stinging from Eric’s rebuke. He didn’t understand what was happening either, but now wasn’t the time for them to turn on each other. They’d never argued before, not in all the years they’d known each other. Charlie wouldn’t have wanted to see them behave this way no matter how bad things seemed.

  He ate dinner with his parents, feeling awful for telling Eric no. What if he didn’t eat that night? What if all he had to go home to was another fight, another empty belly, another night of tossing and turning between dirty sheets?

  I’m a terrible friend, he thought.

  After dinner, he helped his mother with the dishes and watched The Cosby Show. He thought about calling Eric’s house but didn’t want to deal with Joan or Jacky picking up the phone. That was a mistake he would only make once. Last time had turned into an impromptu roast, with them both reminding him how fat and disgusting he was. He hung up feeling soiled, like he’d rolled around in a yard full of dog shit.

  He went upstairs at ten o’clock, changing into his pajamas, and taking a leak. As the toilet flushed, Brent heard a soft mewling from behind.

  “Suzie, go lay down,” he said. Suzie was a ten-year-old Maine Coon with a habit of sleeping in the bathtub and watching them use the toilet. Twenty-two pounds of fluffy, voyeuristic charm. Brent brushed his teeth and spit when the sound repeated.

  “Go away, Suzie,” he said again. When he turned he saw he had the room to himself. “What the hell?” He opened the bathroom door, expecting her to be looking up at him, but she was nowhere in sight. The mewling came a third time and Brent turned around, looking into the bathroom sink. He put his hand over his mouth to stifle a scream.

  Something writhed in the white porcelain basin, covered in spit and gobs of toothpaste. Stunted, stubby arms reached out for an unwanted embrace. It looked like a baby, but a thin gelatinous membrane covered its wrinkled flesh. Its head was misshapen, coming to a dull point; thick blue veins pulsed beneath its opaque skin like quivering earthworms. The same wet, mewling whine issued from the sink, causing Brent to cover his mouth and gag. The creature had no lips; its mouth was nothing more than a slimy, toothless hole. Thin flesh covered the space where its eyes should’ve been, and its ears were nothing more than globs of red melted flesh. It pawed at its face with fingerless hands, its stumpy legs pistoning frantically.

  Brent stepped closer, still holding a hand over his mouth. The thing smelled like wet garbage. As it wriggled around, it left a thin coating of pink slime behind. He reached out with a shaking hand and poked at its distended abdomen. Its flesh was sticky and gelid. Brent fell to the floor and vomited into the toilet as the thing giggled through a mouth clotted with thick, yellow saliva.

  He crawled to the sink and reached for the aberration, intent on disposing it in the fouled toilet water. He prepared himself for the feel of its squirming flesh beneath his fingertips, but the imp had vanished. Brent tittered nervously and rubbed the sides of the sink, expecting his hands to come away covered in thick, pink sludge.

  Nothing.

  “I have to stop listening to them,” he said. “They’re making me see things.”

  He went to sleep, convinced he’d imagined the entire thing. It would be his little secret. No sense giving Danny and Eric another reason to keep up with their crazy delusions.

  If they were going insane, they’d have to do it without him.

  ***

  Danny didn’t need to look at his clock to know it was still well before dawn. His room was dark; crickets chittered loudly in the yard. He’d awoken with chills and a full bladder. He hopped out of bed and crept into the hall, the bare wood cool beneath his feet. In the living room, the grandfather clock ticked loudly; the refrigerator hummed; his mother snored lightly behind the closed bedroom door. Otherwise, the house was completely silent.

  He urinated without closing the door or turning on the overhead light. He wanted to make it quick so he could climb back into bed and salvage a few more hours of sleep. He flushed the toilet and turned to leave, stopping in his tracks.

  The doorway was blocked by a shifting wall of black smoke.

  Don’t be afraid, Daniel.

  But he was… terrified, in fact. He stared into the abyss, frozen, afraid to breathe. He’d seen it at the factory, seen it in the school, seen it in his dreams, but never in his own home. Never this close. The frame around the bathroom door grew a fine coating of frost. If that thing was hiding behind the wall of smoke, he couldn’t see it through the churning cloud of ash.

  But he felt it… watching. Smiling.

  Come closer. I won’t harm you.

  “I’m… I’m dreaming, Danny stuttered.

  This isn’t a dream; this is very real. I need to show you things, Daniel, things no one else has ever seen. Other times. Other worlds.

  “You’re a monster,” he whispered. “You killed Charlie.” Tears welled in his eyes as he saw his friend’s lifeless body in the gutter, surrounded by intestines like bloody, coiled snakes.

  I didn’t kill anyone. You saw what happened with your own two eyes. An unfortunate accident.

  “It was not an accident! You murdered him!”

  You poor boy, you have so much to learn. I can teach you things that will set you free from all this suffering, all this death.

  “You’re the Devil, aren’t you?” He cried openly, his knees shaking uncontrollably.

  The thing laughed. It was the roar of a cornered animal, the shriek of a jet engine, thunder carried on the wind.

  Your Devil wasn’t even a bad dream when I first walked this land. He is but a puppy cowering in my shadow, and when the time comes for my true awakening, the Devil will beg me for mercy. Enough of this talk. Come closer. Let me show you.

  Danny inched nearer, drawn into the churning blackness, being hypnotized by the promise of having his pain and anguish taken away forever. No more confusion, no more death, just soothing calm.

  Ah, that’s right, Daniel. Step right up and see what wonders lie beyond.

  In the twisting blackness, two pinpricks of silver light parted the gloom, growing larger and brighter as Danny inched closer.

  That’s it, Daniel, the thing hissed in near ecstasy. Just a little closer and all your questions will be answered. You can see Charlie again, Daniel. Charlie and Mr. Jones and everyone you’ve always wanted to meet.

  “No, no, NO!” Danny screamed. “Leave me alone!” He lunged forward as thin tendrils of smoke reached for him. The silver orbs glowed like dying stars. The air was charged with electricity, making every hair on Danny’s body stand on end.

  The thing screamed. The house shook. Danny dodged a groping black arm and reached out for the wall. “GET OUT!” He flicked the light switch and the pale white fluorescent cylinder buzzed to life. The shadow screeched itself out of existence, disappearing as if it had never been there. Its cries diminished as the wall of black blew itself to tatters.

  It was gone, leaving nothing behind but the smell of ozone. Danny’s head pounded. He’d squeezed out what little urine remained in his bladder, darkening the front of his underwear. He ran back to his bedroom and jumped into bed, hiding under the covers, not bothering to chan
ge his soggy clothes.

  He’d never been so scared or felt so helpless in his life. All the terrible dreams he’d ever had, the nightmares, had suddenly become one, finding their way through the wall of sleep and into reality.

  Danny didn’t move a muscle until the sun peeked above the horizon and the birds broke into their customary morning song. When he was finally capable of rational thought, he dressed and left the house without breakfast or a shower. He wasn’t able to step into the bathroom without shivering, and his appetite was nonexistent.

  The time had come to tell his friends everything.

  Chapter 6

  “I’ve never talked about this before,” Danny said, “but after everything that’s happened, I don’t think I have a choice.”

  Brent and Eric exchanged glances. Nothing good could come of such an inauspicious preface. They sat at a picnic table in the small grove above the ball field. The thick canopy of tall pines sheltered them from the sun. Children shouted in the distance, but for now, the boys had the grove to themselves.

  Danny didn’t waste any time.

  “When I was younger, I had very vivid dreams. Not nightmares, just the normal stuff we all dreamed about at that age. Like the one where you stand up for show-and-tell and realize that you’re not wearing any clothes.”

  Brent giggled. “It would be a nightmare seeing you naked, I know that.”

  Danny laughed half-heartedly and continued. “When I was twelve, something happened to me down at the porn shack by the river. I never told anyone, not even my parents.”

  Eric sighed heavily. Already, he didn’t like where this was going.

  “I wasn’t even going there to look at the stupid magazines, I just wanted to get out of the rain. No one was around that day and I was just wandering, looking for something to do. You know how it is… you just walk around looking for anything to pass the time. I’ve always hated that, like I was wasting a perfectly good day by not having anyone to share it with. It was raining and cold and I didn’t want to get stuck in the house. What was the worst that could happen? Maybe I’d catch a cold. It didn’t bother me.