What Do Monsters Fear

by Matt Hayward

  Peter had no response.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Donald said.

  Peter closed the door over without a sound, trying not to attract the attention of Fisher or one of the orderlies. He didn’t know which of the staff members he could trust, if any.

  “Hey,” Donald said. “Somethin’ fishy’s goin’ on here. You know that, I can see it in your eyes. The kid? What’s his name, James? Jamie? He don’t know shit. Just keeping his head down. And that Walter guy? You could put a snake in his room and he probably wouldn’t find it outta line. But you, you and the old man? You got a sense of what I’m talkin’ about. I know a liar when I sees one, and that Jerry Fisher fella, I tell you, he’s one big fat fuckin’ liar.” The word came out liah from the big man’s mouth, but Peter got the message.

  “Donny, Henry and I came up with something. Well, Henry did. He doesn’t trust Jerry either. Now, with this Shelly girl gone? I agree, man, something’s up. Henry wants to keep an eye on Jerry for signs of, I don’t know, something. And I have a feeling we’re going to see that something soon enough.”

  “Hey,” Donald said. “You and the old man got somethin’ goin’, I want in. And I gotta ask you, you think the old man found some booze? Stashed it? I seen the way he was, kid, and if that ain’t a boozer then I ain’t fat.”

  “He paid two thousand dollars to be here, and from the man I got to know, I don’t think so.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Peter didn’t, but to take a page from Henry’s way of thought, call it instinct. Some event clearly haunted the old man, but Peter hoped the hook wasn’t too deep that even Henry, who appeared dedicated to getting clean, would lie to fall off the wagon and lie in the gutter. Despite taking a punch from him, Peter still had hope for the old man. Even after their little spat in the barn earlier.

  “I have to go down,” Peter said. “I can’t wait until the morning.”

  “Knock if you need any help, all right? I’ll be listening.”

  Peter made his way downstairs and found his second surprise of the night. Henry, looking stone cold sober, stood by the library doors with Jerry and Andrew to either side. When he saw Peter, he lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’d like you two gentlemen to leave me alone now,” he said. His voice sounded raw, but solid. “I’d like to talk with Peter.”

  Jerry spoke in a soothing tone. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea, Mr. Randolph. You’ve just had a hallucination. You’re under a lot of stress. Sleep is the best course of action tonight.”

  “I’ll sleep when I’m ready, Jerry. I am not a child, and I am not sick.” The old man looked to Jerry with an unmovable expression. “I don’t trust you. I think you’re a scheming little coward who’s lying to everybody in this house. This man, Andrew, included.”

  Jerry gave Andrew a look that said they all get like this.

  Holy shit, Peter thought. Is this guy for real?

  “We talked about your paranoia today, Henry, do you remember? In our one-to-one? Your little incident, the one about the boy, it’s gotten you stressed out and worked up. You need to go to bed.”

  “Jerry. Leave me.”

  With a sigh, Jerry said, “All right, then, have it your way. But we’ll talk more tomorrow. When you’re feeling more like yourself. Andrew, come.”

  The two men left for the kitchen, taking the built up tension with them. When they were gone, Peter gave a curt nod. “You want to talk? The porch?”

  “The porch sounds good.”

  The snow had decided to stay, after all, it seemed, and the grounds lay hidden beneath an untouched blanket that twinkled in the moonlight.

  Henry shook his head. “We’re stuck here. I had a feeling we’d be stuck here.”

  “You think it’s that bad?”

  “Look at it. I remember back in eighty-seven, a snow not nearly as bad hit. I tried to take my 4x4 down to the local store, needed some bread and such. Going slow, being very careful. Couldn’t have been doing over twenty. Crashed into a neighbor’s fence. The ice got me, packed beneath. We’re at least an hour away from town. We’re definitely stuck here.”

  Then he looked to Peter, his eyebrows drawing together. “I’m really sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  “That’s all right.” Peter’s chest hurt from the sincerity in the old man’s face. He found it hard to understand, but he believed him. “I know you didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t drunk.”

  “Explain that.”

  “I can’t. But I wasn’t. I wouldn’t dream of sneaking booze in here, you have to believe me. I felt drunk, but when I woke up downstairs, I felt fine. No hangover, no nothing. I call that a blessing. The most curious thing . . . I felt obliterated, but I hadn’t had a single sip, I promise.”

  “So, what happened?”

  Henry sighed. “Sit down with me. I have to tell you something.”

  Peter took the same bench he had the first night and Henry returned to the rocking chair. The icy wood made his buttocks clench so Peter slid his hands beneath him for heat. Cold hands seemed better than a cold ass.

  Henry looked out to the still falling snow, his face unreadable. “I came here for one reason, and only one,” he said, his breath coming away in a mist.

  Peter nodded.

  “Twenty years ago, I had a boy. But . . . I lost his mother in the process. I was inconsolable. She was a great lady, Peter. Lauren was her name. Lauren White.” Henry’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Soon to be Lauren White Randolph . . . My fiancée. Peter, you should have seen her. She had the thickest brunette hair you ever heard of, always tied up in a bun, and these eyes that were green as emeralds. Worked at the local pharmacy, loved her job, always had a keen interest in science. Chemistry and physics, mostly. I tell you, the amount of subscription magazines lying around the house would make you laugh. When she had to take maternity leave, she joked that I should be the one pregnant, seeing as how I didn’t have a job and spent my time in the house anyway. An optimist to the end . . . And a wicked sense of humor, I might add. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.”

  Peter let the memory run through Henry’s mind. He saw it, too. Lauren White, the love of the old man’s life, smiling and laughing without a care in the world, her eyes bright and all-too green. Henry sniffled, then he continued. “Doctors say it was eclampsia. She had seizures . . . High blood pressure . . . William was born prematurely, with Down syndrome.”

  Peter stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

  “When things settled down . . . I’m sorry, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to skip the Lauren part . . .”

  “Of course.”

  Henry’s eyes glistened as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his words catching in his throat. Peter decided to help him out. He knew exactly what to say.

  “I’m going to be a father.”

  “You are?”

  Peter smiled. “Yup . . . Beth . . . The only real friend I ever had. Known her since childhood. A while back, she got this new place, wanted me to come over and help her paint, you know? We rarely saw each other because I was off playing shows and stuff, but when she called, I was home. I went over. Things happened, and now this big thing is happening. A goddamn kid, can you believe it? I’m going to be a parent.”

  “You’d make a great father, Peter. And let me guess, this Beth girl, she’s perfect, right?”

  Peter chuckled. “No. She’s not. She’s clumsy, has a donkey’s laugh, gets nervous too easy, and you know what? I think that’s why I love her. She’s real . . . I can be myself around her, just open up. I only hope I’m worth her time.” He sniffled. “So, there’s a reason for my being here.”

  Henry smiled. “Well thanks for sharing. I know it’s hard to do.”

  “But, tit for tat, right?”

  “Right.” Henry’s face fell. “It was just William and I, all the time. People will tell you they love their children no ma
tter what, that they’d do anything for ’em, but I tell you, those people must be saints, because I didn’t know this kid, and as far as I was concerned in my unstable state, he’d taken my Lauren and invaded my home. So, no, Peter, I didn’t love him.”

  There was silence. Out in the night, unseen critters called and shuffled through the inky blackness as snow continued to fall.

  “I wouldn’t ever hurt him,” Henry said, as if deflecting an unheard accusation. “Don’t think I’m a monster. It’s just, if I’m honest, I didn’t love that baby. I didn’t feel for him, not even if I tried. I couldn’t force myself to . . . And so, I took to drinking. A lot. I could still function, get through the day mostly doing the normal-level things, but I was a zombie. Bills began piling up, and I couldn’t stand to be with William. I know that makes me a bad person, but I just didn’t love him and that’s the truth. When he was six months old, he had a brain hemorrhage and died. Just a freak accident, but, Peter, I felt relieved . . . And happy, too, happy Lauren never had to see. She got spared that much. I was passed out on the couch at the time, about a half bottle of bourbon down, and I don’t know if he cried, if he was awake, if he was scared, nothing. Lauren would be sick to her stomach if she knew what I became. And so, I need to change, for her. I need to set it right before it’s too late and . . .” Henry took a deep breath. “What I saw tonight, Peter . . . I saw William.”

  A shiver crawled Peter’s spine. “You saw him?”

  “Clear as day. My baby boy. Right on my bed. I could even feel his weight on my chest. And I know how it sounds, it sounds insane, but I saw him. I did. And I felt drunk as hell, like I’d downed a whole bottle of bourbon in one. But I swear, I didn’t even have a single sip of booze. I heard him laughing, giggling, and when I opened my eyes, my vision doubled, like a tank of alcohol just got dunked into my system. I started screaming and he laughed some more, and then the door opened. he disappeared. Just like that. Gone.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say, Henry . . .”

  “You think I’m crazy? You think I imagined it?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  Peter squirmed in his seat, the cold biting him. If what happened with Henry had been an isolated case he’d have an easier time understanding, but coupled with Walter the night before and with the Shelly Matthews missing, he had no clue. Peter decided to tell him about Shelly.

  “And she was just gone?” Henry asked. “Nothing there?”

  “Nothing there. And I know I didn’t imagine that, because Donny, Walter, and Jamie all heard her, too. She screamed bloody murder. Sounded like she was ripping her vocal chords out. I thought she might need help, and Donny said to check on her. So I did. Just an empty room.”

  Henry looked back to the yard. He stayed quiet a long time. “Remember when we got here and I had a bad feeling? I said it to you because I saw something on your face that made me feel like I had to.”

  “I remember.”

  “It was more than just the fear of detox . . . Something about the farm scared me. Then that fog, it felt like a presence. It frightened me bad.”

  Peter decided to approach the idea of the fog with logic, wanting to cover all bases. “Don’t laugh, but do you think we directed our fear at the fog, as a way of dealing with what we’re feeling? Making something out of nothing to justify our worries?”

  “No.” Henry didn’t pause a second. “Peter, there was something wrong with that fog. And now it’s gone.”

  “Fogs go, Henry. Temperatures change, time moves on.”

  “Do I need to spell it out that much for you? Come on, Peter, wake up. It’s gone, and on the same night, things started happening. Walter saw the ice cream man. I saw my boy. That girl is missing.”

  “Do you believe in the paranormal?” Peter asked.

  “I believe in what I see. And from what I saw, that’s the conclusion I’ve drawn. Do you believe in the paranormal?”

  “No. But I agree something’s happening here. A fog seems a little farfetched to me . . . But I do think Fisher’s up to something. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

  “First thing’s first. We need to question him about Shelly Matthews, because she’s here somewhere in this house. You heard her. If Jerry doesn’t give us a straight answer, we call the police.”

  Peter agreed. Tomorrow, they’d question Jerry. They’d find out where Shelly Matthews had been taken. Because the idea of a third night in the Dawson farmhouse scared Peter half to death.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I WEE’D THE BED BECAUSE I dreamed of the ice cream man,” Walter said. “That’s why I did it.”

  Peter didn’t think the man could any worse than the night before, but somehow he did. His skin seemed to droop from his bones, sagging and lifeless, while the whites of his eyes appeared yellow and streaked with veins. White patches streaked his dyed black.

  He’s scared half to death, Peter thought.

  Jerry closed the morning’s meeting with a clap of his hands. “You be brave now, Walter. Those dreams will pass.” He smiled to the group. “Okay, was everybody happy with their job choice yesterday? Good to go to the same positions again today? Yes? No?”

  The group grumbled an unenthusiastic yes.

  “Good. Then have a good day, and I’ll call you when lunch is prepared.”

  Like damn children, Peter thought, and left the room.

  The group dispersed, Donald and Walter slogging towards the back door while Jamie went to the kitchen to help Paul with dishes. Peter spotted Jerry starting up the stairs. “Jerry,” he called. “Henry and I would like a word with you, outside. Please.”

  Jerry flashed a smile that reminded Peter of a shark. “Certainly,” he said, then led the way to the porch. Peter motioned to Henry, and the two men followed the counselor outside.

  Earlier, at the meeting, Jerry had probed Henry about the previous night, but the old man had given as little detail as possible. He never mentioned the baby, or feeling blitzed. A breakdown, he’d told Fisher before the group, that’s all. Then he apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again. Judging by Jerry’s strained smile, Peter knew the man hadn’t believed Henry one bit.

  At least five inches of snow covered the yard and Peter waded through it, wanting to be away from the house before confronting the counselor. He decided to skip pleasantries; he wanted to know Shelly Matthews’ whereabouts, and he wanted to know now. Jerry arched an eyebrow. “What can I do for you, fellows?”

  “Where is she?” Peter asked. “I heard her last night. Donny heard her. Walter and Jamie heard her. Even you heard her.”

  Jerry looked amused. “I assume you mean miss Matthews?”

  Peter waited for Fisher to continue.

  “Well, she was moved to our sister house in Pennsylvania during the night, if you must know. A wonderful place, specialized treatment, care, the works. We removed her from the house while you slept. Didn’t want to upset the group. It’s a lot to take on board, knowing that someone, someone the same as all of you, had to be removed from the house. Especially to those who are a little more sensitive than others. Poor mister Cartwright would keel over with such a stressful thought.”

  Henry stepped forward, narrowing his eyes to slits. “Look out at that road, Jerry. The road that isn’t there. The place is smothered in snow. I know from experience, even in a 4x4, you might get down to town, sure, but there’s no way you’d get back up. Not with how steep that hill is. Now, the bus was here all along, I saw it when I was out in the barn, and it hasn’t moved. I would’ve heard that, I would’ve saw that. Nothing moved, and there are no tracks. Unless you flew a chopper up here, which we would all have been very aware of, then Shelly Matthews is still on this property.”

  Jerry let a moment pass before saying, “Shelly Matthews left for our sister clinic yesterday.”

  Peter’s stomach roiled with disgust. “That’s fine, Jerry. You want to play this game, we’ll play.”

  Without another word t
o Fisher, Peter told Henry to follow and the two men made their way to the barn. Peter couldn’t believe what just happened. Jerry had lied, and didn’t seem bothered that two of the guests were onto him. Whatever that man had planned, Peter needed to know. He could feel the counselor watching them, his eyes slithering over their backs.

  “Can you believe that?” Peter said. “He’s not going to let up. We’re going to have to get the police up here. I shouldn’t have doubted you, Henry. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. Let’s just get to the barn to clear our heads, give ourselves a minute. Then we go find a phone and get the hell out of here. Get our money back, too. And when Shelly Matthews shows up dead, let’s sue this Dawson bastard for all he’s worth. We can detox at my place when I have a pool built.”

  Peter chuckled. It felt good, even though it only took him out of the situation for a moment. “A nice big mansion,” he said. “And a library filled with—” Peter paused. He had an idea.

  “What’s wrong?” Henry asked.

  “The library. It’s the only room we haven’t been in yet, the one beside Fisher’s office. Think she could be in there?”

  “It’s worth a shot. I mean, at the very least, the contents of those books . . .”

  “The contents of those books, what? What is it?”

  “You might think I’m crazy, but please, hear me out. What if there’s something in that library other than psychology books, something about that fog and my hallucinations?”

  “Walter’s hallucinations, too,” Peter said. “I don’t know what we’ll find there but it’s worth a shot. Fisher’s not going to play me for a fool.”

  “Damn right. Smug prick.”

  A scream rose from the house, making the hair on Peter’s arms stand on end. Startled crows took flight from nearby trees.

  Henry panted, a hand on his chest. “What was that?”

  “Come on.”

  They made their way back to the farmhouse, their boots leaving a trail in the snow. Peter jogged at a slow pace to allow Henry to keep up, the old man’s face turning red with the exertion. Donald came to the porch as they reached it, his skin pale, eyes wide.