9 Tales Told in the Dark 4

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  “I hope third time’s not the charm.” Sean broke the silence in the car and turned onto 30th. Georgette had not said a word since he picked her up. She looked at him with the same irritation Sean had looked at in the mirror that morning. But today would be the day. Just like Jimmy Dalton.

  “Let’s hope not.” She agreed.

  He thanked her before either got out of the car.

  It was much harder this time. Georgette explained it was because he kept expecting to enter the same way he did before. But that’s not how it worked. Sean’s head ached. He lowered it to the patch in the asphalt and the screaming started.

  He was already there waiting for Sean when he finally returned. He blocked out the sun. His cigarette jabbed in his mouth, his crucifix tattoo showed through his dirty white shirt.

  The murderer.

  Jimmy swung at him. All Sean could do was crouch; trying not to get hit.

  Stay with it.

  Sean started to run. He wanted to die with Jimmy. The murderer finished Jimmy off and came for Sean. The police sirens wailed.

  Let him kill me this time! Sean pleaded, hoping his legs would give out, that he’d tumble and fall. No! I have to see who did it, Sean thought. He couldn’t save Jimmy now.

  “Come on. On your feet.” The officer yanked Sean up. “You on the junk? Look at me.”

  He was eye level with the officer. He hadn’t stayed with it. He had lost the memory, was back listening to Georgette trying to explain.

  Looked mighty suspicious.

  “IDs out now.” The officer said. He reported back into his radio. Georgette looked terrified. Sean let the sweat dry on his forehead and tried to explain enough to let him let Georgette go. Getting picked up by the cops was a death sentence in her neighborhood. Doesn’t matter what for, people jump to conclusions.

  Georgette whimpered, said something and started backing away.

  “Stay where you are!” The Officer said. “On the Ground!” He yelled at Sean. “M’am I am not finished with you!”

  Georgette didn’t stop backing up.

  “He’s coming through.” She said. Her voice trembled and tripped on her own heels. Her eyes looked behind Sean. “I can’t stop him, you brought him with you!” She screamed.

  Sean saw him. Blocking out the sun.

  The officer drew his gun.

  “Stay on the ground!”

  The officer wasn’t pointing his gun at Sean. He saw him, too. The murderer approached the sun silhouetting him, the blood of Jimmy still fresh on his hands. Sean’s mind started to echo, “just like Jimmy Dalton.” He could hear the heavy footsteps behind him. Sean wouldn’t run this time.

  “You, stop where you are, right now!” The officer hit his radio and started calling for back up. He stepped over Sean and headed towards the murderer.

  Georgette sounded so sorry, “I knew this would happen.” She apologized to me, “His evil has stayed here, its here for you.” She ran as fast as she could. The Officer fired into the air. The murderer took no heed to the warning shot.

  Sean closed his eyes and hoped it would be over soon.

  The officer ordered the man to stop one last time. The man was not going to listen. He was there for Sean, finally. He could smell it. It smelled like all those years ago. He laid on the patchwork and waited.

  The officer’s gun went off.

  Again.

  Then again.

  Sean heard the nightstick, holster, and ammo hit the ground. The flop of the officer’s arms came just behind his head.

  Sean was pulled off the ground. He swung expecting the murderer’s foul grin chewing on his cigarette. But it was a tall woman.

  “You’re alright.” She said. She was in a white shirt and navy pants. Sean recognized right away, she was from an ambulance that sat screaming a few yards away. Night had started to press the orange sun below the city. The flashing lights started to encircle the scene. “You’re in shock. You’re alright.”

  There was blood all over Sean’s hands.

  He asked her because he had to know, “I’m dead? Just like Jimmy Dalton, right?” But he knew the answer; he couldn’t escape his real fate. “I got away.” He whimpered. The woman pulled him into her arms. A crowd formed around them until she coaxed him into the back of the ambulance.

  “You’re alive,” she said. He had heard those words before. He looked all around. Saw his hands. They were those of a child’s. Covered in blood. His parents looked over him, eyes sad for Jimmy, sad for their scared son. Jimmy’s father punched the back of an ambulance, Jimmy’s mother screaming for her baby. Everyone asking him what happened. Sean screamed.

  “Hey! Hey!” The rescuer shook him and he felt his adult hands clutching the blanket she had wrapped around him. “You’re okay.” She signaled to her co-worker. Sean had slipped back out of his memory. Still couldn’t’ recall the killer’s face. He had let a killer get away all those years ago when he hadn’t looked, and now, even face to face he couldn’t remember what he looked like.

  “He got away again.” He grinded his teeth. He could hear the police radios calling back and forth the reports of the man, the murderer, Jimmy’s murderer.

  He was free.

  Sean sat on the back of the ambulance and watched, something was happening. The police took care of their fallen comrade, as others started to search the outlying area, but Sean just stared.

  The smell of that day was still strong, as if it had settled in his nostrils. The greasy flesh of the murderer hung in the air so thick Sean was afraid to reach out and touch it. The words of Georgette starting to echo over the thought of Jimmy, “You brought him with you.”

  “You brought him with you.”

  Sean started at the voice of a boy. He twisted knowing it couldn’t possibly be who he thought it was. Before him stood the bloody and mangled Jimmy Dalton.

  “You brought all of them back with you.” Jimmy shook his head in disappointment, fighting the pain of his injuries.

  Sean wanted to tell Jimmy it was all for him that he wanted to help his friend. But it hadn’t been, it had been for his own salvation, his own peace of mind. He wanted to get Jimmy to a hospital, but Jimmy had turned and was walking away.

  “Wait!”

  Jimmy’s jaw fell to his shoulder, sagging off stripped tendons, “You should run, Sean. Get as far away from here as possible. You opened the gate, and they’re all coming. Run, Sean, run.”

  THE END.

  THE GARDEN by Nathan Hystad

  Dean had lived in the house for almost a year and still felt like a stranger in it. When he’d moved in, his wife’s things had been everywhere so he’d felt an instant connection. Funny thing was, once the initial comfort of her things was gone, he felt only pain in seeing them. How many times had he touched her hairbrush or held her cell phone. He even elected to sleep in the guest room so he wouldn’t compromise the small indent on her mattress. Dean knew he would never wash those sheets; her smell would imbed them as long as possible.

  He sat at his office desk and recalled the day his phone had rang and brought the life changing news. His wife was dead. Dean knew that people thought it strange that he’d wanted to move into his wife’s house instead of staying in his. Their separation wasn’t a surprise to anyone but when she wasn’t there anymore he felt a huge empty spot in his life. She’d said she needed space. Now there was more space between them than he’d ever thought possible.

  A calendar alert sprung onto Dean’s laptop reminding him that he needed to get Halloween candy. It was only three days away; three days from the night Helen had died. He choked back a cry, and settled for an anguished sigh instead. It was time he got on with his life. He now thought that moving into her house had been a mistake but being there made him feel like he still could cling to a piece of her. On nights where it was really quiet, he felt like he could still hear her whispering to him. He could almost hear her footprints walking down the hall; bare feet slapping the dark hardwood. He knew his mind was ju
st playing tricks on him but his love for her had only deepened in the past year. More than once he’d thought about ending his own life in the hope he could see her again.

  His cell phone vibrated, bringing him out of his daydream. Who would be texting me at this hour? He tapped in his password and touched the message icon. He didn’t recognize the number and when he read the message he was sure it was sent to him by accident. ‘I miss u. We should be together’ it read. Dean glanced at the time and figured anyone sending this message at two-thirty a.m. was looking for a booty call. He replied ‘wrong #’.

  When no reply came he set the phone down and went down the hall to the bathroom. He still made sure to brush his teeth every night, and he wore his night-guard. God forbid a man grinds his teeth when no one is sleeping beside him. But something made him do it as if Helen could see him still and he was seeking her approval. He went to his room and lied down on his twin bed. His nightstand light was on and he was reaching for the book beside him when his phone vibrated again. “not the wrong #” it read. ‘Who is this?’ Dean typed and hit send. ‘u know who it is’ came the reply.

  His mind reeled as he thought who it could be. For an instant it was as if someone was in the room with him but he knew his mind was just playing tricks again. The number that showed up was a random assortment of digits, so it looked like a hijacked number or a spammer of some sort. He wasn’t going to be fooled into giving any information. ‘Have a good night’ he typed and turned his phone off.

  #

  Dean drank his black coffee and pondered the past few days’ events. The mystery texter hadn’t stopped messaging him and even though he blocked the number, the texts still came through. He scrolled to the latest message. ‘Dean it’s me – Helen’

  He didn’t know how to reply. His wife was dead; dead one year tomorrow and whoever was playing this game was seriously screwed up. He remembered the day he’d spent in the police interrogation room. It was tough, but the spouse is always a top suspect, especially when there are no other suspects in play. The good news was he had the ultimate alibi. He was teaching a night class on literary classics at the community college and had a dozen witnesses confirming this. The idea that anyone could think he had harmed his wife hurt after a year he could admit the police were just doing their jobs.

  ‘I don’t know who this is but it isn’t funny’ he typed back; hands shaking.

  ‘It’s not supposed to be funny. I died a year ago and for some reason I’m getting stronger.’

  Could it be true? Could his wife really still be there communicating with him? Goosebumps rose on his arms as he thought about all the whispers he’d heard and the footsteps. Had he heard her favorite song quietly playing while he slept? Could her energy be there still? Dean was always open to these possibilities. It was part of the reason he moved here in the first place. It was said that people who died in violent trauma sometimes stayed anchored to the place of their death, looking for revenge.

  ‘If you are my wife, where did we first kiss?’ he typed. Before he saw the answer he feared he knew what the reply would be. ‘It was after our second book club. We’d read Canterbury Tales. We went for a walk and you kissed me under the street light.’

  He dropped his phone and cried; cried like he hadn’t since he first moved here. Tears streamed down his face and his breathing came in deep gulps while his throat tightened. His phone buzzed again and he looked at it through bleary eyes. ‘Dean, come to me tomorrow…where I was killed. There I will be strongest.’

  They’d discovered her body in the back garden. The police had found no leads at all. Her body was barely recognizable. She’d been choked, beaten and wrapped in barbed wire, then hung from the apple tree. Dean had been shown pictures. He still saw them most nights when he closed his eyes. They told him the attack was most likely a home invasion or just the random workings of a psychopath. He doubted a home invasion gone wrong would result in such a disturbing death.

  He typed his reply, ‘How is this possible?’ but he didn’t get an answer. He would have to wait until tomorrow, Halloween; the anniversary of his wife’s death.

  #

  It was getting late on Halloween and Dean still hadn’t had any communication with Helen. He held on to his phone for dear life and repeatedly checked it to make sure it had enough battery power. The messages from the past couple days had disappeared that morning. The logical part of his brain told him there never were any messages; that he was just going crazy on this sad anniversary. He wanted so bad to see his wife again that his mind was playing tricks on him. The emotional part told him she would be there today, in the garden and they would talk and hold each other.

  The doorbell rang and he could hear little ones yelling, “Trick or Treat”. Looking at the time he decided this would be his last batch of ghouls and goblins for the night. He passed an excessive amount of mini-Snickers to the little princess and her companion, Superman. As he shut the door and locked it he felt something cold, as if he’d just stepped into a cooler at the beer store. Dean Dean Dean. He swore he could hear his name being whispered in the air and the light footprints were back, walking away from him down the hall. She’s here. Finally my wife is here. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he suppressed tears as he followed her to the back of the house. The rear kitchen patio door opened by itself and he walked through it, as though he was in a dream.

  A stone pathway led through the backyard to a garden. The rear fence was lined by a nature preserve; trees hung over, casting shadows in the moonlight. He swore he heard a light giggle as he neared the vegetable patch. It was empty save for a few rotting pumpkins. He couldn’t bring himself to spend much time out there so the garden never got worked on. He stepped onto the dirt crossing over a small white fence and as soon as both feet were planted on the ground he saw her. He stretched his arms out to embrace Helen but the spirit that reached back was not his wife. Its face was wrinkled and sagging, with beady black orbs for eyes. A dark grey robe hung loosely from its skeletal frame and it began screeching loudly. The sounds were ragged and threatening. Terror coursed through Dean’s body as the being clawed at his face. He tried to move but fear froze him in place. At first the long talons passed through him but within a few seconds they became more solid and began cutting into his skin.

  Dean focused and tried to shake off the initial shock as the onslaught continued. He had to get out of there if he wanted to live. This thing must have lured his wife back here a year ago. He ducked and tried to push the spirit off of him. His hands passed through its torso and he fell forward into the dirt. With a crash, his face hit a rock and he scrambled to get back on his feet. There she is, she’ll help me. A vision of his wife was hanging from the tree, but she wasn’t about to help him. She was dead. Her spirit had moved on from this place.

  The spirit screamed and came at him, floating over the ground. Its face was horrifying as it came within inches of his own face. The eyes peered into his soul and it smiled at him. Breath reeking of rotten meat blew into his nose. For a moment he knew true evil. He tried to block its blows but he couldn’t, and he could feel his ribs breaking under the assault. Bones dug into his lungs and his breath became labored. He felt long fingers close around his neck and they squeezed hard. His vision blurred and blood dripped down his throat while his heart beat frantically. Then, the pressure eased and he fell to the dirt in a lump. He was rolling and pain shot through his body as something sharp repeatedly poked through his clothing and into his flesh. Everything burned and his throat ached from the choking. He gathered enough energy to open his eyes and all he could do was stare in horror. His body had been wrapped in barb wire like a cocoon. His head was the only part of him unwrapped in the tight steel.

  The spirit laughed and floated over him. It grabbed him by the collarbone and dragged him to the apple tree. Images of his wife hanging from the same tree in black and white photos spread across the police desk filled his head. Dean tried to scream but his throat burned too much. He h
oped someone would hear his ragged calls for help. Maybe a late night trick-or-treater…but no one would be out. It was after ten, the moon was high and bright in the sky. He calmed as he thought that soon he would be with his wife. The pain would be over and they could be together. Rope rubbed against his neck and within seconds he was dropping towards the ground. He stopped just shy of the dirt with a snap.

  #

  Jerry hesitated as he walked up to the front door of the house. It was said to be haunted and that two Halloweens in a row people were found mutilated there. He knew it was just a bunch of BS but why else was this nice house boarded up and not being lived in? Sarah stood beside him, reminding him there was no way he could chicken out of this. It was Halloween night and they’d planned this for weeks. She wasn’t the type to reward a coward, he was sure. For some reason she was into ghosts and stuff like that. He didn’t quite see the attraction but she was hot so that was enough for him.

  “Come on Jerry, let’s go in there.” Sarah looked too excited.

  “Sure thing, babe. Let me just pry this window open,” he replied.

  He cracked the latch and soon they were crawling through into the dark room. Sarah pressed her body against his and put her finger on his mouth. “Shh,” she whispered. “I think I hear something.”

  Jerry strained his ears and thought he could hear a faint giggle in the distance.

  “I’m going out back. You check upstairs and we’ll meet in a few minutes,” she said.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, splitting up. You know how that goes.”

  “Jerry, don’t be a baby. This isn’t the movies. I’ll see you in five.” She got up and crossed the hall towards the kitchen.

  He decided he had to look tough so he started up the stairs. When she was out of sight he sat on the plush carpet and waited. I’m not going up there alone. He heard the back door open and shut behind Sarah. A minute or two passed and Jerry began to worry. Was that his name being whispered? There was no way Sarah had come back into the house, he would have heard it.