Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror

by Talbot, Michael

“What are the rest of them doing?”

  “The fact that most of these things are sighted in window areas doesn’t necessarily mean they originated in the window area. Maybe they’ve been wandering around for years, centuries even, and are just drawn to window areas. I mean, maybe the reason they are sighted most frequently in these window areas is that that’s where they congregate.”

  “But why would they congregate in window areas?” He shrugged as he balanced the pencil between his finger and the table. “Who knows? Maybe they derive some power out of being in window areas. Or maybe even they themselves don’t know. Maybe they’re just drawn to window areas in the same way that night-flying insects are drawn to certain colors of light.”

  “But why are they here?” she asked. “What are they?”

  “Well, as you can imagine, there are a lot of different theories that attempt to explain that. Some people believe they’re from other planets. Others think that they’re some kind of nightmarish projection of the collective human unconscious. But I don’t really believe either of those explanations.”

  “What do you believe?”

  The uneasy Gary Cooper part of his personality came out again. “Well, you’ve got to understand, this isn’t exactly a theory I would stake my life on. It’s just something I muse about from time to time. But I think there might be something to it.”

  “I understand!” she snapped impatiently.

  He settled back in his chair as if pleased that someone was at last providing him a forum in which to air his beliefs. “Well, virtually all of the world’s most ancient religious texts speak of a time when both man and supernatural being walked the earth together. According to these ancient traditions, this free intermingling of mortal and supernatural beings ended when a great war broke out between the forces of light and darkness. The powers of light won and the supernatural and mortal realms were separated, but on occasion things supernatural and evil return to walk the earth once more, and in some strange way the war between light and darkness still goes on, unseen but ever raging.”

  “What ancient texts?” Lauren asked.

  “Probably the most explicit description of the war between the powers of light and darkness comes from an ancient pre-Christian work known as The Book of the Secrets of Enoch.”

  “Oh, my God.” Lauren froze with shock.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “We found a room in the house that we think was Sarah Balfram’s bedroom, and in it was a copy of The Book of the Secrets of Enoch

  “Well, there’s nothing really that strange about that. The book is well known to anyone who has a serious interest in Christianity. In fact, parts of the Bible are actually more like term papers compiled from bits and pieces of other books, and Enoch is one of books from which the Bible was taken. Entire passages from the Old Testament book of Genesis are lifted straight from it.”

  “But Sarah Balfram didn’t have a copy of the Bible in her room, or even a copy of the Old Testament. The only book she had a copy of was The Book of the Secrets of Enoch, and she apparently revered it so much she even had it mounted on a little altar.”

  “Well, that is strange,” Gordon murmured. “I’ve never really heard of anyone worshiping The Book of the Secrets of Enoch as his sole scripture.” He lapsed into concentration, and after a few moments he suddenly started to get excited. “You know, I just thought of something. The reason that Enoch, the pre-Christian prophet who wrote the book, was able to describe what had happened during the great war between light and darkness was, he said, that two angels appeared to him one day and took him on a trip through heaven. He said that during this trip through heaven he was given a series of visions that told him all about the war between good and evil, the fall of the angels, and everything else that he wrote about. Those were the ‘secrets’ he mentions in the title of the book.

  “Well, I believe the story about Sarah Balfram goes that when she was a little girl she had a series of visions. I’ve never really been able to find out what her visions were about, but maybe the reason she was so drawn to The Book of the Secrets of Enoch is that she thought her experiences and Enoch’s were somehow similar.”

  The idea galvanized Lauren. “You think maybe she believed there was still some kind of war between good and evil going on?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Do you think her beliefs had something to do with why she built her house the way she did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is there anything in the book that sheds any light on why she had such kooky architectural ideas?”

  He shrugged and sighed. “No, there’s not really anything that talks about houses or designs for buildings or anything like that.” He paused. “But you know, there is something in the book that stuck out when I read it. I mean, I can’t imagine how it could be tied in with any of this, but I’ve always thought that it meant something, or at least meant more than a simple reading of the book makes one realize.”

  “What’s that?”

  “According to Enoch, in addition to the powers of light and darkness there is a third force at work on this planet, a class of entities he calls ‘Watcher Angels.’ As he explains, when the great war between light and darkness broke out, some of the forces of good actually went over to the side of evil. These are the dark angelic forces the Bible now refers to as fallen angels. But some of these fallen angels, it seems, did not really surrender themselves completely to evil, and after the war was over they were caught, trapped, left behind on the earth and frozen in a strange limbo somewhere in between the powers of light and darkness. These are the third class of entities Enoch refers to as the Watchers.”

  Garrett had been hypnotized by everything Gordon was telling them, but the mention of the Watchers caused him to sit forward with a jolt. Although he did not know quite how, he knew with abrupt and intransigent certainty that the being in the house, the thing whose identity he had puzzled over for so long, was a Watcher.

  “But are the Watcher Angels good or bad?” he asked.

  Gordon looked perplexed at Garrett’s question. “That’s just it. Enoch doesn’t say. That’s why I’ve always found them so intriguing. Enoch goes to such great lengths to describe where the Watcher Angels came from and what they’re called, but he never explains whether they’re good or evil.”

  Lauren looked up at the walls of Lake House. “Well, it doesn’t really tell us anything about the house, does it?”

  “I guess not. For some reason I just thought I should mention it.” He glanced again at Garrett, and for a moment something in his gaze made Garrett think that Gordon suspected something. But then whatever mote of awareness was in his eyes vanished.

  “Well,” he said, draining the last swallow of his lemonade, “I’ve already taken up more of your time than I should have.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Lauren said perfunctorily, but too preoccupied with everything Gordon had said to be fully alert to the significance of his leaving.

  For Garrett, however, Gordon’s announcement had quite a different effect. Despite the enthusiasm with which he had greeted Gordon’s macabre litany of anecdotes, he was more frightened than ever at the idea of remaining in the house for another night. From the way his mother had responded to his suggestion of asking Gordon to drive back and pick them up, he knew he would be making a mistake if he brought the matter up again in front of Gordon. But he was desperate to get her to consider the option again.

  To his delight, his opportunity came when Gordon suddenly jumped up and descended the steps. When he did so, Garrett quickly leaned over in his mother’s direction.

  “Are you going to ask him if he’ll go get his car and come pick us up?” he whispered.

  But to his dismay his mother still screwed up her face. “Garrett, I can’t ask him to drive us all the way to New York.”

  “Then ask him if he’ll drive us wherever he’s going. Then we can get a ride to New York from there.”

  But sti
ll Lauren resisted the idea.

  “Mommmm,” he pleaded in a hush.

  “Garrett, please! Take this inside,” she said tersely and loud enough that Gordon turned around to see what was going on.

  Garrett reluctantly took the tray with the lemonade and glasses back into the house, and Lauren went to the top of the steps. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Gordon,” she said politely.

  Her reluctance to ask Gordon for assistance was not because the idea didn’t appeal to her. Nor was it due even to any lingering mistrust of Gordon, for during the course of their conversation she had become quite impressed with his overall character, had even perceived in the flashes of personality that he had allowed to shine through his shy and reserved exterior that he was probably a pretty nice guy.

  “It certainly was,” Gordon said, searching her eyes briefly as if he sensed her uncertainty. “Thanks for the lemonade.”

  “You’re welcome,” Lauren returned, but even as she uttered the words she found herself walking down the steps. “I’ll walk you to your bike,” she said, formulating the explanation as much for herself as for him.

  When they reached the bushes where Gordon’s bicycle was parked, he slipped his arms into the straps of his backpack and hoisted it up onto his back.

  But as he readied to depart and she noticed how long the shadows were becoming, she wondered if she was making a mistake. As she did so, a storm of doubt and uncertainty rose up in her, and once again she considered broaching the subject of a ride with him.

  But still something stopped her, some unconquerable hesitancy, and she found herself trapped in silence.

  He was just about to get on his bicycle when suddenly he stopped and stared intently into the distance.

  “I’m not sure, but I think there’s someone standing in the bushes over there,” he said unexpectedly.

  Alarmed, Lauren looked in the direction in which he was staring. “Where?” she asked nervously. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Over there,” Gordon said, pointing.

  But before she had a chance to say anything further, he called out. “Hey, you! What are you doing in there? We can see you, so you might as well come out!”

  To Lauren’s surprise, although she still saw nothing, suddenly the bushes started to move and a man stepped out into the drive.

  As he walked slowly toward them she felt a tide of gooseflesh move up her arms and across the back of her neck. But when he got near enough for her to see who it was, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, realizing it was one of the men who had applied for the job of running the generators. “Have you come to replace Mr. Foley? He seems to have disappeared and left us without anyone to run the generators.”

  “I...” Elton Fugate stammered. “Yeah... I’ve come to replace him.” For a moment he appeared almost nonplussed, but then a strange sort of astonished amusement seemed to creep into his expression.

  “You know this man?” Gordon asked sharply.

  “Yes,” Lauren said, nodding. “He’s one of the men my husband interviewed to work here.” She looked back sternly at Fugate. “So where is Mr. Foley, anyway? Why did he leave us in the lurch like this?”

  Fugate’s amusement was once again replaced by nervousness. “He had to leave,” he said without elaboration. “He asked me to come.”

  “Well, I assume my husband showed you where everything is?” she said in a businesslike voice.

  “Yup.” He gave a twitch and then smiled.

  “Then you might as well go on up. The generators are already acting up, and I think you’d better get to work on them right away.”

  He gave a funny, jerky little nod of compliance and then shuffled by them.

  As he ambled past, Lauren noticed that Gordon was still watching him intently, and for a second she almost thought that he perceived something in the man’s manner or appearance that troubled him. But then he appeared to dismiss whatever it was and looked back at her.

  “It’s going to be dark soon. I guess I’d better get going.” His mention of the impending darkness brought another question to her mind. “You’re going to ride your bicycle in the dark? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

  “I’ve got a light,” he said, pointing to a little flashlight thing he had strapped on his leg. “Besides, there really aren’t that many cars on these roads. You’re pretty isolated up here. In fact, I’ll be surprised if I see any.”

  He got up onto his bike. “Well, nice meeting you. So long.”

  “So long,” she said, waving after him as he started down the drive.

  As she walked back up toward the house, she still felt a good deal of regret at Gordon’s departure, but all of his talk about strange beings and men with glowing eyes had spooked her somewhat, and she was relieved that she did not have to hear any more of it. She took solace in the unexpected arrival of the man to run the generators. (What was his name? She realized suddenly that she had forgotten to ask.) At least that potential nightmare had worked itself out.

  Indeed, for a time, the idea that they might have to spend their last night in the house without electricity had outweighed all her other fears. As she headed back toward the house, she dared to think that perhaps things were going to be all right after all.

  Her good spirits were short-lived. Once she was back inside the house, back inside the somber and all-embracing aura of its power, the dark and tingling depression that had gripped her earlier in the day started to return.

  Fearful of succumbing once again to its debilitating power, she resolved that perhaps just being in the company of another human being might help her maintain a more even keel, and she decided to look for Garrett.

  She found him in the drawing room. Although the television was on, he was gazing despairingly off into space. “Garrett, what is it?” she asked.

  “Why didn’t you ask him to go get his car and come pick us up?” he rasped.

  “I just didn’t feel right about it, Garrett. I—”

  “Well you should have!” he retorted angrily, his mood taking a precipitous turn for the worse. “I don’t understand why you didn’t!”

  Her first impulse was to reprimand him for his rudeness, but then, realizing that the last twenty-four hours had no doubt been hard on him as well, she controlled her anger and reached out to try to comfort him.

  But he only darted away.

  “Garrett!”

  She followed him through the entrance hall and into the wicker-furnished sun porch, and when she caught up with him she grabbed him by the shoulders. “Garrett, listen to me. It’s going to be all right. The car is coming for us tomorrow.”

  “But you should have asked him,” he whined, on the verge of tears.

  For a moment she remained mystified. But then it finally hit her. He was upset about more than just her not asking Gordon for a ride. Something else was bothering him.

  “Garrett, what is it?” she demanded. “What’s really the matter?”

  From the evasive look in his eyes she knew she was right, but still he refused to confide in her. “Nothing,” he said.

  “Come on, Garrett, you can tell me. Now what is it?”

  She saw his eyes dart back and forth as he searched every curve and hollow of her face, could almost feel how badly he wanted to tell her. But still he kept whatever it was inside him.

  “It’s nothing,” he repeated weakly. “There’s nothing else bothering me.” But from the sudden solemnity of his manner she realized that instead of telling her he had decided merely to keep whatever it was to himself. He pulled away from her listlessly.

  “Garrett, I know it’s something. Won’t you please just tell me?”

  “No, you don’t know,” he said, but something about the way he phrased the sentence made her realize that it was more than just a denial. From the oddly tortured and belligerent mien he had assumed she realized also that whatever chance she had had of prying the secret out of him had now passed. She knew
from experience that when he made up his mind to hold something in, nothing, not even the threat of punishment, could get him to open up.

  Feeling too weak to pursue the matter any further, she collapsed onto one of the wicker sofas. As she stared at him in frustration, he once again began to practice holding his breath while he paced out the length of the sun porch. And as she watched him sublimate his panic by indulging in this strange, hyperactive ritual, she herself began to pace, only mentally. Deeper and deeper she sank into an endless vortex of tracking back over everything Gordon had told them, and then every conceivable reason she could come up with to explain Garrett’s perturbed silence.

  As she did so, she felt herself falling. To pull herself back to reality she decided to attempt cooking them some dinner. She got up and was just about to start for the kitchen when she thought of yet another trivial domestic chore she could do to help keep herself anchored to sanity.

  “Garrett, I left the plate with the cookies out on the veranda. Do you think you could get them for me? I’m going to do the dishes.”

  Without saying a word, he marched off toward the front of the house to do as she requested.

  Lauren left the sun porch and went down a hallway leading into the kitchen. When she reached it, she immediately clicked on all the lights and went over to the sink. Glancing out the window, she saw that the first faint strains of twilight had tinged the sky, and an evening breeze had started to rustle through the pines.

  She turned on the faucets and filled the sink with a thundering stream of water. However, it wasn’t until she had finished washing the breakfast dishes that Garrett finally came in with the plate of cookies. And when he did she noticed instantly that his moodiness had been replaced by a new look, an expression of sudden and total bewilderment.

  “Garrett, what is it?”

  He looked up at her, and she noticed that he seemed less frightened and more uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure whether whatever it was that had happened to him during the fetching of the cookies was even worth mentioning.

  “I went to get the cookies like you asked,” he started.