The Night Library

by T L Barrett

  The doorbell rang. Charlene scurried to answer it. At the doorstep, a rat-faced little man stood, dressed in a rat-gray uniform. His beetling eyes looked her over. Charlene realized that she had never changed from her nightgown.

  “This is 1666 Ridgewood Terrace, isn’t it, ma’am?” the man asked in a rat-like voice.

  “Yes, 1666 Ridgewood Terrace, that’s right.

  “Because, I thought I just heard someone yelling about…” The man shifted his rat-eyes.

  “Oh, well, that was me, you see. I called your company, because of my rat problem. They seem to be getting into my house somewhere at night, and I don’t know how.

  “Oh, I see. Do you have any of the pellets?” he asked.

  “Pellets?”

  “Droppings, Fecal Matter. I could tell you what you were up against if you could just show me.”

  “No. I don’t,” she admitted.

  “Okay, I assume they’re raiding your larder?”

  “No,” she said, quite flustered. “I hear them.”

  “Okay. Where do you hear them?”

  “Everywhere,” she said, and it felt good to finally be talking about this with someone.

  “All right, I’ll take a look, ma’am.” The little exterminator walked about the rooms of the house, poking at this or that. Charlene followed behind him.

  “Well, I don’t see any obvious signs, but-“

  “You didn’t check the clock, in the hallway. You need to check the clock,” she said and took hold of her arm and pointed toward the hall. He looked at her hand on his arm.

  “All right, I’ll check the clock,” he said and looked it up and down. He patted it. He peered behind the clock.

  “It is a clock, ma’am,” he reported dryly.

  “No, I believe they come from there somehow. I don’t know how they do it, but every midnight the clock rings and in they come, all white and touching everything,” she said with a shudder.

  “Rats are usually gray ma’am, but I don’t think you have a problem with them coming from your clock,” he said with the patience one shows the feeble-minded.

  “Will you open it and check?” she asked.

  “All right.” He opened the large cabinet front slowly. Charlene held her breath. He poked around in there for a minute and then shut it.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with the clock, except that it doesn’t work. Probably hasn’t for years.”

  “That’s a lie,” she said. “It works just fine. And they come! I tell you; they come! I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”

  “Right, I’m leaving,” the man declared.

  “Don’t you think I’m afraid?” Charlene pleaded. “Don’t you see that I’m alone with this?”

  The man twitched his nose and backed toward the door.

  “Ma’am, in all honesty, I see someone who needs the help of a mental health professional. I’m an exterminator,” he said and scooted out the door.

  “Go then!” she yelled from the door stoop. “I’ll find a way to stop them. They won’t get me again, that is for damn sure! You hear me, mister?

  She went to the kitchen and brought back a wicked looking butcher knife. She placed the knife on her nightstand beside her bed.

  “Oh, Reggie, I wish you were here,” she said.

  That night, Charlene tossed and turned fitfully in her bed. Shouts came through her window from next door. These sounds were followed by the sounds of dishes breaking. Charlene turned on the radio. The serene voice of the weatherman drifted over her.

  “…Look for clear skies tonight, with the lows in the mid-sixties. Be sure to keep your eyes out. There is supposed to be some interesting lights in the sky tonight…”

  The gloom of night deepened. Charlene passed lightly into sleep.

  Charlene awoke of a sudden, her body in a sheen of sweat.

  “Good evening,” a deeper and hypnotic voice said from the radio. “This is Vermont Public Radio bringing you through the dark hours of the night. Strap in and check your ignition switches, we are heading out on a four-hour journey to cosmic vistas with this edition of “Space Music”. Odd and discordant sounds plunked and throbbed from the radio. Charlene looked around herself with wide eyes.

  The grandfather clock began its nightly countdown.

  Charlene sensed movement, snuffling and shuffling from the hallway. Drawing upon every reserve of courage, Charlene sat up and could see the little huddled pack of the things there in the hall.

  “Oh, no!” she said defiantly and reached for her knife. Her fingers found the worn handle and gripped down. She rose quickly. “You won’t be at me again!”

  She ran forward at the awful visitors in the hall. As she bore down on them, they chattered a pleading hum like strange insect children.

  “No!” she shrieked, and went right into the midst of the things and stabbed from on high over and over again. “No!” she shouted and stabbed. The creatures shrieked and screamed their terrible voices into her ears.

  ***

  The soft sounds of morning drifted Charlene from her sleep. She awoke on her bed, feeling a new found confidence.

  Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed plaintively

  “Reggie”, she asked. As usual, there was no answer. She pushed herself up in the bed and looked at the shut bedroom door. When had she shut it? She ran a hand over her wrinkled cheeks and then saw the staining there: blood. Beside her, the knife lay upon the nightstand. She lifted it. It too was gummy with red.

  Charlene got out of bed and went to the door.

  The siren suddenly loudened; Charlene startled. Recovering, she held her nightgown tight against her and opened the door.

  In the hall, the two small neighbor children lay, slaughtered in the hall. Charlene, in a daze walked to them, bent and lifted one tiny hand. She held the dead child’s arm in disbelief.

  The sirens were very loud now.

  “What have I done?” she wondered. She looked up and saw that the door to the outside world hung ajar.

  Ninja Blade

  Tyler’s life changed when he discovered Ninja Blade on the free play site. His parents did not understand the feeling that followed this discovery. Tyler himself could not have explained it; he didn’t have the words to describe how playing the old-style quest video game colored his reality in some new way. If he did have the words to describe it, it might be that he had stepped out of a dimly lit cubicle in an industrial park outside of Jersey City, and into a vast baronial and baroque hall lit by candelabras that had borrowed their light from the very stars themselves.

  Needless to say, the nine year old had just survived an unbearable week without the sweet nectar of electronic stimuli. He had made the unforgivable mistake of talking back to Mrs. Doone, his fourth grade math teacher. But, as soon as the spinning and somersaulting ninjas appeared on the screen, Tyler knew the good times were here again.

  When forced to attend to dinner, bathing, or anything else that might have the cursory attention of the grownups, Tyler’s mind still raced with strategies and images from the world of ninjitsu violence and grace. When forced to respond to questions or conversation, Tyler would inevitably bring the conversation back to how amazing such and such scenario had been, or what points he needed to advance to the next level. Tyler’s parents would exchange a look and try to steer the subject back to what they believed was an appropriate topic for a well-developed nine-year-old. Often if Tyler persisted, they would abandon the attempt at family experience all together and find other things that needed to be done in other rooms. This left Tyler free once more to invade the enemy dojos in the flashing electronic world of Ninja Blade. Carefully, he did not overdo these rambling uninvited monologues. He knew that talk of Ninja Blade would bring him sooner back to his beloved activity, but that too much of it would force his parents to label the game as an unhealthy obsession.

  Tyler so obsessed and attended to the endeavors of his black pajama-clad shadow warrior that he did not even notice the adverti
sements on the site for the first week of play. He couldn’t even say for sure whether there had been advertisements before. Only after achieving fourth level, getting up to dance and punch the air many times and sitting back down did Tyler’s eyes catch the advertisement for Real Ninja Gear!

  A real throwing star accompanied the little banner. The beauty and symmetry of the engraved shuriken astounded Tyler. The minute he saw it, he was filled with a kind of worshipful awe and painful agony. It was a new experience for Tyler, one he would not come fully to terms with until five years later when he would squeeze blackheads and watch the upper-class girls saunter through his high school cafeteria. To have one of those in his hands would complete his life.

  Tyler clicked on the shuriken, and a screen opened and revealed all kinds of weapons with the throwing star in the center. Tyler clicked on the shuriken and watched it expand so that the gentle curves in the engraving were clear. He hadn’t noticed before that it had some kind of strange language that was etched onto the shuriken. Was it Japanese, Chinese?

  Tyler knew that his parents could not afford and would not buy him such an expensive and dangerous item. Instead of pining, he settled on wistful study of the throwing star. He imagined how one would hold it and how one would best throw such a weapon. He also studied the engravings which ran along each curving line, sure somehow that if he studied it long enough, the meaning of the letters would become clear.

  Tyler’s mother interrupted this study with the news that it was time for bed. Tyler, in a daze, turned off his computer and allowed his mother to perform the nightly rituals of bedtime preparation.

  That night Tyler entered into dreams the like of which he had never had before.

  Tyler walked down a long staircase carved into the earth. Ornate lanterns lined the walls. As Tyler descended he ran his hand along the carved sigils that resembled those upon Tyler’s beloved throwing star. The air vibrated upward toward him in waves of strange heat. He knew something or some things great slept below him.

  After a long while, Tyler saw a figure lying on the stair below him. It made strange sounds as he neared. Tyler approached with caution until he saw that it was a grown man who slumped against the wall of the stair and writhed in great pain, great humor, or both. The man wore a very fancy suit which was being rumpled greatly by the man’s distress. Bills of money lay scattered around him, but he took no notice of this. This fact disturbed Tyler, but moreover, the man’s face, streaming with tears and gaping like a loon made Tyler most hesitant.

  Just then a hand fell on Tyler’s shoulder. Tyler turned in shock, having heard no figure approach, nor saw he any shadows cast by the many lanterns. A stern looking Asian man wearing the outfit of one of the Ninja masters of Tyler’s beloved game stood behind him.

  “Student, come away from there,” the man said.

  “But, Sensei, I must go and see the sleepers at the bottom of the stair,” Tyler said. The sensei’s face wrinkled with a proud sadness.

  “Perhaps, someday you will do so, young one, but not today. You have much training ahead of you.” Tyler bowed his head in submission, and the Sensei led Tyler back up the stairs and around the bend.

  “Who was that man? What is wrong with him?”

  “He is a worshipper of the old ones. In his waking life he aids their purposes greatly, although he is not even aware he is doing it. But, such is not your path. You must always remember.” With this, the Sensei put one finger upon Tyler’s forehead and…

  They stood upon an open field under a sky stained with tea. Many other students stood at attention with him. The Sensei stepped back and bowed. All of the others, from all around the earth, bowed and took the stance of the Ninja.

  Tyler and the others learned many things. Sometimes Tyler was aware of the others beside him, moving as if one being in the fluid movements of jujitsu. Other times, the Sensei spoke directly to Tyler’s understanding, to his very mind, answering questions before Tyler could ask, giving Tyler feedback on actions he had not yet undertaken.

  The dream shifted yet again, and it was as if Tyler viewed life through a computer screen. He was shown many images all of which had great import which he must remember. He understood that the main purpose of the ninja was to do what was necessary so that the old ones could waken again and claim dominion over the Earth.

  He saw a screen filled with different people. He was told that some of them, without knowing it, were enemies of the Old Ones. These individuals gave off a kind of energy that kept the Old Ones trapped in their eons-long slumber. Tyler attempted to find these individuals, with mixed results. Soon, like any game, Tyler began to master the ability to recognize the very aura of those that had this effect upon those whose interests the Ninjas served.

  He was still finding the bright ones behind his eyelids when his mother came in to wake him up for school. He began to notice some of the bright ones, just a few, as the school bus passed them jogging and going in to work. These gave off just a faint glow or vibration which made Tyler rub his eyes and wonder if he had not perhaps had enough sleep, and his mind was playing tricks on him.

  After school, however, when he walked to the youth open swim time at the indoor public pool, Tyler had an experience that reinforced all that he had learned the night before.

  He had just come out of the Men’s locker room, when his eyes fell upon one of the life guards and swimming instructors across the pool watching the children swim. The eighteen year old woman smiled and waved her fingers affectionately at a little girl with Down’s syndrome who was hesitating at the pool’s edge. Beyond and above the lifeguard’s braided dark hair her aura shined like a great blinding beacon. He noticed something very strange then, the girl with Down’s syndrome smiled and her aura brightened. The girl’s helper smiled, too, and her aura brightened.

  It was then that Tyler knew what he had to do.

  Tyler went home and had dinner and talked to his parents about school. Then he asked if he could go outside and play after dinner. His parents, astounded at this change in their son, were more than happy to oblige.

  “Would you like to throw the old ball around, son?” his father asked hopefully.

  “No, Dad, I seriously need to train, you know?” Tyler answered.

  “Train for what, son?” his father asked.

  “Train to be a Ninja,” Tyler said quietly and excused himself from the table. His father groaned.

  “Those damned video games,” Tyler’s father complained.

  “He’s going outside, Jim,” Tyler’s mother said. “That’s a good thing. You can’t be upset if he doesn’t want to play with you.”

  “You’re right,” he sighed. “I suppose we knew this day would come.”

  Outside, Tyler assumed the stance of the ninja. He let his mind drift and became very still; then focusing it like a blade, as his dream Sensei had instructed, he saw the task ahead of him. He saw the tree in the back yard, and before he knew it, before he had time to doubt himself, he ran up the side of the tree, leapt and grasped a large branch. Swinging up he came to his feet and stood perched for a moment there, amazed at his accomplishment.

  He climbed higher and higher, leaping and grasping, reveling in the movements of muscles he had so long neglected. For a moment, he let his mind wander, to the pretty life guard and her magnanimous smile. He had taken a few introductory lessons from her the year before, and he now he couldn’t believe that he faced her now as she was an enemy of the Old Ones.

  No, not an enemy, the voice of his Sensei instructed, only an obstacle, always an obstacle to be surmounted.

  Still, it was odd that such a wonderfully happy and enthusiastic lady would be such an obstacle.

  “Nothing is what it seems to be,” his Sensei had proclaimed.

  Distracted, Tyler missed the branch he had meant to grasp.

  He fell quickly, his mind panicking. His foot caught a smaller branch that snapped, and he fell sideways, spinning. The ground rushed up at him.

  He slo
wed time down, as his Sensei had taught them to do, as they had watched a single leaf fall from a tree. He saw the one opportunity he had to save himself and took it. He caught the edge of a branch with his toe and pivoted his body. He swung almost parallel to the ground and clutched a leafy branch with both hands. For a moment, he hung there, swinging and reprimanding himself for his foolishness.

  Distracted, by his own shame he began to feel the regret of mortality. However, he did not think of his mother’s future grief or his father’s disappointment at his spurned invitation to play toss. Instead, he worried over the fact that he might never know the wonders of reaching fifth level in Ninja Blade.