“Hi, I’m Lilly, what are you doing here?’
“I live here.”
William was aghast, “Y…Y…You live h…here? I di…didn’t think anyone ever li…li…lived here!”
“Oh yes, I have been here for a very long time.”
Lilly was perplexed, “What are you talking about silly, you are younger than us. What is a very long time?”
“I’m not sure; but it seems like a very long time.”
“But where is your bedroom, where do you play?” He eerily pointed towards the basement. Lilly wanted to know more, “What is your name?”
“My name is Balin, and I want to be your friend.” Balin’s name offered no significance to the children. William glanced at Lilly; curiosity killed the cat.
“Wh…Wh…Where are your pa…parents, where d…d…doo you g…g…go to school?”
“I don’t go to school; and my parents? They’re dead. They’re all deaaaad.” As he stressed every ominous syllable, he giggled. The sweetness began to wane, and his pleasing little laugh morphed into a villainous cackle.
“Then wh…wh…what do you d…do all d…day?”
“Do? He wants to know what I do.” His voice dropped a few octaves; this was no longer the voice of a six-year-old,
“I did my master’s bidding…they said.
I kept his secrets for such a long, long time…they said.”
He accentuated each and every syllable, “I stole from the dddeaddd…they saiddd.”
As he continued in a slow, methodical drone, the childlike façade began to disintegrate before the children’s eyes. His youthful, bright skin became dull and ashy-pale. It became thickened and scaly, his eyes were lit with a vacant, murderous glow, and his mouth now wore a quivering insipid grin. The true horror of who stood before them became a reality. An enchanting melody of a siren’s seductive singing could barely be heard off in the distance;
Go to sleep my little baby…
Oh, Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones…
And be my forever lovin baby… (7)
The cracks in the child’s allure revealed his deformed skull, his body released from the confines of beauty that was an enticement, became gnarled and distorted. His handsome suit of pale blue and white turned to darkened, soiled rags, and his skin became cadaverous. His altered lips turned a deep dark purple, his eyes were lifeless and opaque; the sockets became dark and black. He was no longer that beautiful young boy, he was a monster, and as Balin continued, he moved closer and closer to them, the drone of his voice paralyzed the children. Balin sensed the opportunity, his gnarled right hand reached for them, “I tore babies from their dead mother’s womb…they said.”
Go to sleep my little baby…
He had backed the children into a corner, terror as black as midnight swept through them. Lilly’s violent tugging at William’s arm brought him back to his senses, “Oh m…m…my God!” That was their signal to run for their innocent young lives.
As they ran back down the hallway, the door slowly opened allowing the pair to flee the mansion, but why? Why was the evil allowing witnesses to escape its clutches? No matter, they would live to tell the tale. As the sight of William and Lilly faded away, there was a faint echo emanating from the halls of the mansion…
Go to sleep my little baby…
CHAPTER 9
JANE MUELLER
“See that you do not look down on any of these little ones.
For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see
the face of my Father in heaven.”
-Matthew 18:10
Jane had picked up the frantic pair only a few blocks from her home. They were scurrying along, without any sign of stopping. Neither could catch their breath, “What’s going on with you two?” They were both white as a ghost. Lilly glanced at William (don’t say a word) and then flashed a smile for her mother, “Oh nothing, just racing each other, that’s all.”
“That’s all huh?” Knowing these two, she suspected that they had done something wrong that went awry.
After escaping the clutches of the mansion, Lilly and William had made a blood oath, not to tell a single soul, (pinky promise) even under the threat of imminent death, or even worse; having television taken away for a week!
Jane always made enough dinner for one more, but he just wanted to go home. After dropping William off, Jane felt confident she could pry the truth from her little daughter (not even for a sno ball!), but Lilly’s mouth was as tight as a clam. “Dear, are you sure you’re feeling ok, it’s not like you to not eat your dinner. I made spaghetti, your favorite.”
“No Mom, really I’m ok.”
Lilly knew there was no way in hell that her mother was going to let it go so easily. (If I tell her, she probably won’t let me out of the house till my high school prom) Lilly was frightened to death by what they had witnessed, and right now, carving pumpkins was the furthest thing from her mind. But Lilly knew that if she didn’t, it would set off a three-alarm fire.
(Ok, pumpkins it’ll be)
Jane had picked out pumpkins that her daughter could easily handle, although Lilly would have been much happier with the largest monster in the patch. She had also bought a special one for William (oh well, I’ll give it to him tomorrow). When she dropped him off, he looked as white as a ghost.
(Hmm, maybe I can drag it out of him tomorrow)
(These damn kids will be the death of me)
Jane cared for William as though he were her own, Lillian had been her best friend from childhood. They had gone through everything together; puberty, prom and all that came in between; and then their joyous childbirths.
During the throes of pregnancy, they shared an array of fanciful cravings that drove their better-halves bonkers. They’d often take over a corner of Pepperjack’s and stuff themselves with cheesesteaks till one of the husbands came and rescued them. Once a week, the local Landau’s would have a sale on Ben & Jerry’s. In the mid-to-late-stages of their pregnancies, they’d religiously make a pilgrimage, nearly buying out all the Chunky Monkey and Strawberry Cheesecake in stock. They’d stash a ziplock full of plastic spoons in their cars; each polishing off a pint or two before getting back from the supermarket. These were extremely happy days for both families.
Casper rubbed up against Lilly’s calf and gave a long, pulsating purr, offering a cat’s sweet nothings. Lilly ignored the gesture as she struggled with her pumpkin (my hearts’ just not into it). Caspar made two more futile passes, and still being ignored, he raised his nose in the air, flicked his tail and scattered off. Lilly was in a daze, she just couldn’t get into the Halloween mood, although Halloween meant being scared and that she indeed was. The image of the child in the mansion was haunting her…off in the distance, Balin was calling.
Caspar was a blue-eyed Himalayan who nightly shared her pillow. He was a tannish kitty with a dark face that told you; sorry, I just can’t be bothered. Despite her staunch profession to William to live by their code, that is; all things ghosts, goblins and monsters; when the time came, Lilly opted to name her cat over a friendly specter. Unlike most feline, Casper could be sweet and docile. He often surprised house guests by nuzzling into their laps and spending the afternoon as an ornament. Caspar was a sucker for Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. When her mother wasn’t watching, Lilly would slightly melt it and put it in her Go Kitty dish, placing it at her feet—resulting in happy child and a chubby feline. Lying by the door all day, he’d wait for Lilly, the end of his tail flicking back and forth, seeking the rodent that would never come and seemingly guarding the house. And guard he would, you see, Caspar could sense much more than just rodents and ice cream.<
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After spending a few anxious minutes speaking to her father on the computer, Lilly abruptly excused herself and went to bed. Her father seemed shocked, and a bit annoyed, “Jane, what’s up with that? When was the last time you didn’t have to drag her kicking and screaming to bed?”
“It’s nothing; she and William were up to something today. Sooner or later, you know I’ll hear about it. I love you sweetheart, can’t wait till you come home.”
Jane never complained to her husband, soon after she told him that she was pregnant, he was deployed to Riyadh. Thom was on his way to Bagdad when Lilly was born. He was now on his third tour of duty, she wished she loved the military life as much as he did. She felt like a single mother, raising, disciplining and generally being the heavy for their daughter. She was deeply in love with Thom, nothing could make her resolute any stronger, but she’d often lie in bed and ponder a slightly different life. What were the advantages to the military? The money wasn’t that good; she found herself often pinching pennies just to get by. She lived with a constant fear of someone coming to the door and telling her that her husband was dead. It was Russian Roulette; it just seemed as though, if you stayed in the game long enough, your number was going to be called.
Jane didn’t wear her religion on her sleeve, but she often prayed, silently. She hoped that her periodical worshipping could somehow keep her family safe. She never was the type of mother to force her daughter to say her prayers (if she wants to; great, but I’m not going to push her). Often, after fretting over all her trials and tribulations, she’d do what she did every night; burying her head into a good romance novel and read herself to sleep (sometimes accompanied by a few tears). She knew things could be worse, amusingly she thought; instead of counting sheep, I’ll count my blessings.
. . .
The antique clock that had graced the corner of the Willowsby family room for a century, stuck twelve. Its enormous pendulum swung back and forth, ominously resembling an ax. Its dial above the face kept track of the seasons, tiny dancing ghosts and goblins depicted on it informed that Halloween was near.
That night, as both Lilly and William lie restless in their beds a forest apart, a frightful autumn storm whipped-up. Their senses were on edge, ever observant and fighting the impending slumber. The wind outside began to build to a low pitch scream that continued all through the night. The wind chimes on the Willowsby front porch went from their ordinary clicking and clacking earlier in the evening to sounding like a run-away doorbell. Outside, the leafless branches adorned the night sky like giant letters in a mysterious alphabet. Overhead the clouds had blotted out both the moon and the stars. Soon it would begin to snow. William glanced at his clock; it was nearly 1:00 a.m. He peered out his window as wintery flakes swirled around, weightless and beautiful. He found their gracefulness hypnotic; his eyelids became heavy and cumbersome. He turned over in his bed, snuggling under the covers. It was so warm, so good. His eyes did a once-over before fading off to sleep, but Frankenstein caught his attention. That glow-in-the-dark life-size figure that adorned his door had seemingly moved. Yes, it did! He was sure of it. He looked harder.
(My God, one of its boots has slid forward!)
He pulled the covers up, nearly hiding his view. The monster now raised its foot, painfully slow and took a plodding step. Its body lurched forward, silently pulling away from the door. William’s shrill scream was stuck deep in his throat; the fright tensed every muscle in his body. The monster turned towards him; its heavy, half-seeing eyelids shadowed a lifeless stare. It began taking one ponderous step at a time, STOMP, STOMP…STOMP. Its ashen limbs reached for him. Its mouth; rigid and cold, was moving, but not a sound could be detected. Its dead hands stretched for him, the monster’s blackened nails only inches away. William yanked the covers over his head and closed his eyes tight; he didn’t want to witness his own demise. A few minutes passed, all seemed quiet, maybe too quiet. Was the monster’s touch only inches away? He gingerly peered out of a corner of his blanket (whew…thank God). He was safe! Somehow the monster had returned to its rightful place on the door.
Was it all just his imagination? Two monsters; this was too much fright for one day even for our budding ghost hunter. Sleep was a distant memory; he rolled over countless times, fearing the nightmares that awaited him. While he dared not peek outside, flakes of snow swirled and danced around his window as if they were part of an autumn ballet. The long sleepless night was nearly over. As the sun peaked over the horizon, a pair of ominous ravens perched out on the front porch squawked furiously; a gurgling type of caw-caw-caw, announcing to the new day that the fresh snow had arrived. In Brunswick, these sinister avian berth were well defined; a mediator between life and death; its mimicry signaled impending doom…a cackling creature of bad omen.
Just as the sun began to warm the valley, utterly exhausted, William found himself finally dozing off. A whirling haze of webs and back eddies welcomed him to his own subconscious. What only lasted a few minutes seemed like an eternity within the dream world of William’s imaginative mind... He was wandering alone, it was a brilliant, sunny morning. He found himself walking along a body of water that seemed like the Poesten Kill. He looked around, but there was no other living being in sight, neither a bird nor insect alike. The sounds of the flowing river were muted, he leaned down, and oddly the water had no temperature. He swirled his hand around, looking for a fish or tadpole. He dug down deeper into the water, reaching for the bottom; maybe he could find a crayfish, but still nothing. He glanced up again to see if there were any birds overhead, and suddenly a mighty hand came from the depths of the kill, yanking him into the water. Terror’s sharpened talons dug deep into his soul. He tried to scream, but not a sound came out. He reached for a branch to hold onto, but lost his balance and fell headlong into the water…
He sprang from the bed, the moisture on his body did not come from the Poesten Kill; instead it was from the sweat caused by that a frightening nightmare. He was spent; he fell back into bed and closed his eyes, but an excruciating pain caused him to peer over his body. There on his forearm was a distinct bruise, made from a violent attack within his own mind. Did he do it to himself? He shrugged it off (I must have). His mind wandered off into oblivion.
A cheery chickadee landed on the snow-laden sill and pecked at the window. William opened his eyes, good morning to you. The tiny bird hopped around, waiting for a handout. Although William’s father was not a farmer, James would rise bright and early as though he was one. James knew the moment he rose; the smell of his freshly brewed coffee would fill the house and signal his rise. That early sun shone brightly; his father’s steps were curiously different than usual. They were softer, William understood the moment at once. Nothing could have been simpler; the snow had continued throughout the night, just as year William had hoped for all year. With his blanket tightly wrapping his body, he rushed to the window; what a sight. How beautiful, how lovely. The broken white lines, drifting and shifting, whispering and hushing…seething and getting deeper…silenter and silenter.
He wanted to call his best friend and announce to her that the year’s first glorious snow had arrived, but he hesitated. They would have to talk about what had occurred. I don’t want to talk about it, not even to Lilly. It had to be just a bad dream. But how did we both have the same dream at the same time?
CHAPTER 10
SHERIFF TOM
From whom every family in heaven and on earth is named
-Ephesians 3:15
He swung his legs out of bed and when his feet hit the ice-cold floor, an ungodly pain shot through the right side of his entire body. God damn, am I the youngest person in the world to suffer from gout? Tom hopped on one leg to his adjoining bathroom. He popped the top off two pill bottles, filling the palm of his hand with Medrol and Naproxen, and for good measure he downed a few
Ibuprofen. He leaned his head under the faucet and got a mouth full of icy cold water. Damn the water tasted good up here in the mountains. He hopped back to his bed, got back under his still warm covers and waited for the drugs to dull the pain. He’d gone out the night before with a few friends from back in Philadelphia. They enjoyed local trout and then polished off the evening with a few single malts; I guess that’s all it took.
A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters Page 8