Deep Night

by Greg F. Gifune

  “Christy. Who the hell is Christy?”

  “This girl,” he said, eyes still closed. “She just appeared out of nowhere, running toward our camp and covered in blood like some madwoman. She was terrified and in shock and told us this local guy had kidnapped and abused her and that she’d killed him in self-defense. But from the moment she came over that ridge, nothing made any sense, nothing was ever right again.”

  “You never mentioned any of this to me before, why—”

  “We took her in, tried to help her, but—but we didn’t know, we didn’t understand.”

  Flashes of his dream came to him—

  Lightning...lightning between the trees…blood in the snow.

  —then receded, left him covered in the dark and terrible memories of that night.

  “There was a snowstorm coming, a bad one, and we were trapped there with no clue as to what was happening,” he continued, eyes clenched. “Raymond knew more than the rest of us, of course, but I don’t think even he completely realized what was happening, at least not at that point. Even he didn’t know what was out there yet, what was coming for all of us, infecting us…and what’s still asleep in me now, trying like hell to come awake.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Christy walked slowly and with a degree of effort, her legs neither as strong nor steady as they needed to be, but still capable of carrying her. As if to be certain they were still there, she gave a final glance over her shoulder at the men then slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her…

  “You’ve been awfully quiet through all this, Ray,” Seth said. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’ll go have a smoke.” Raymond moved toward the door, cigarettes in hand.

  “Great,” Louis cracked. “Thanks for your input, man.”

  Ray shook a cigarette free from the pack, rolled one into the corner of his mouth and lit it with a Zippo. “Storm’s already here, snow’s already falling, what’s there to talk about? Like Seth said, nobody’s going anywhere anyway.” He extinguished the flame with a quick snap shut of the lighter then pulled open the door and stepped outside. “Least not any time soon.”

  “I guess he’s right,” Seth said. “Not much else we can do at this point.”

  Louis swatted at the air between them. “Fine, but I don’t have to fucking like it.”

  “No, you don’t,” Darian agreed. “None of us do, but it’s the way it is, so we better deal with it. Like it or not that storm’s not going to accommodate us, Lou.”

  “True enough.” Louis slapped Darian on the shoulder and headed for the door. “Come on, man, let’s get whatever else we need inside, straighten up camp and hunker down before it gets real bad out there. Seth, you keep an eye on her.”

  Once they had left him alone, Seth stifled a yawn, realizing he had begun to crash rather suddenly from the earlier adrenaline rush. He walked to the bathroom at the rear of the cabin. He’d expected to find the door fully closed, but it was ajar enough for him to see inside. Though he glimpsed only shadows he looked away quickly so she wouldn’t think him intrusive. “Christy, are you OK in there?” When she didn’t answer he stepped closer and looked up, this time focusing on the room beyond the door. “Christy?”

  She stood in the center of the small room, staring at him. The bloody shirt she’d been wearing was tossed on the edge of the basin sink, and the sweatshirt Seth had given her to change into was clutched in both hands and pressed against her chest in an attempt to cover her breasts. She had not yet pulled it on.

  Their eyes met.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Christy slowly dropped her hands, bringing the sweatshirt with them. Though she was nude from the waist up, at that moment there was little erotic appeal to her presence, and it struck Seth that the frail and terrified girl she’d been earlier was now cold and somewhat detached in an almost predatory way. Yet she seemed altogether ill at ease in the role, as if she had little choice in the matter.

  “Get dressed,” he said in what he hoped was a fatherly tone. “You don’t have to do that sort of thing here, all right?”

  Making no attempt to cover herself, Christy moved toward him, her legs still shaky.

  Seth reached out and slowly closed the door, but before he moved away he heard her on the other side, her breath heavy and loud, as if her face were pressed up against the casing. “It’s OK,” she whispered to him. “It’s OK to scream.”

  He backed away, and though he was not certain he’d heard her correctly, there was no mistaking the chill than rippled across the back of his neck and down across his shoulder blades. Obviously the poor girl had been through hell and might even still be in some form of shock—he couldn’t be sure—but there was an undeniable uneasiness he felt toward her he hadn’t previously. Something had changed. Or perhaps he’d only just then noticed it.

  It’s OK to scream.

  Why would she say that? She wouldn’t. Surely he’d misheard her.

  He walked back to the main room and stood near the stove to warm himself. Through the windows, he saw the snow—like tiny kernels of salt blowing about the sky—the kind of snow that always signaled an incoming storm of enormous proportions. The worst blizzards always began that way, with barely perceptible flakes that slowly mounted then suddenly grew to impenetrable walls of snow and ice within minutes. That’s how nature often behaved, it seemed, slowly at first, lulling the world to sleep and then striking rapidly, mercilessly. Perfect, really. Perfectly deadly…but perfect nonetheless.

  Seth watched as Louis closed up the SUV and grabbed the last of the essentials from it. Darian gathered the wood he’d been carrying previously, but had dropped upon Christy’s arrival into camp, and headed for the front door.

  As his chill dissipated, Seth moved closer to the window and scanned the area for his brother.

  Raymond was leaned back against the woodpile in one of his typical casual cool poses, a large ax in his hand held down against the side of his leg and a burning cigarette dangling from his mouth. Through the bursts of snowflakes, Seth found his brother’s eyes, and realized they were looking directly into his own.

  “Come on,” Louis said, waving at Raymond. “Get inside before we start really getting shit-hammered.”

  Raymond smoked his cigarette, said nothing.

  “There’s already plenty of wood inside, Ray,” Darian called from the front porch. “And I’m adding this to the pile so we should be fine.” He raised the pieces cradled in his arms to emphasize his point.

  “And long as Lizzie Borden’s visiting,” Louis quipped, “leave the ax outside.”

  “Jesus, Lou, she might hear you,” Darian snapped. “Be quiet.”

  “I don’t have to watch what I say in my own place, Mother.”

  “It’s not your place. And a little common decency wouldn’t kill you, would it?”

  Seth’s eyes remained locked with Raymond’s as Darian and Louis crossed into the cabin, still bickering.

  Darian carried the wood to a large bin near the stove and dropped it in. “Besides, that’s nothing to joke about,” he said quietly, “a man’s been killed and she’s the one that did it. She’s been through an ordeal we can’t even begin to imagine, show some sensitivity, for God’s sake. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  Louis, carrying a cooler and other assorted supplies, flashed Darian an annoyed look then turned to Seth. “Your brother having a seizure out there or is he just being his typical rude motherfucking self?”

  Seth ignored him as well, and continued watching his brother. Raymond had an odd quality that often surfaced in times of extreme stress or trouble, something he’d developed once he’d left childhood behind, and something Seth had seen many times over the years and developed a talent for spotting. Unlike the frenzied horror of his night terrors years before, as an adult, Raymond tended to react quite differently. Rather than outwardly lose control, he’d become spooked—the way w
ild animals often do in certain dangerous circumstances—and while in this state remain calm and composed, the terror contained, hidden.

  “Must run in their family,” Louis said, placing the cooler on the floor next to the table.

  “Sorry.” Seth finally broke eye contract and acknowledged him. “Just let him be, Louis, he’ll come in when he’s ready.”

  “Hey, whatever, he can freeze his hog off out there if he wants, I don’t give a shit. But it’d be nice if we could close the fucking door at some point before spring sets in.” Louis took up position next to the stove, slapped his still gloved hands together, shuffled his feet furiously and cocked his head toward the bathroom. “What’s she doing in there?”

  “Changing,” Seth said absently.

  “How long does it take to change into a sweatshirt?”

  “Maybe we should check on her,” Darian suggested.

  Seth was about to tell them he already had when the bathroom door opened and Christy stepped out. She approached them slowly, self-consciously. “I wanted to…I just wanted to thank you guys for helping me.”

  “It’s the least we could do.”

  Everyone turned in unison to the front doorway. Raymond stood watching her.

  An awkward silence fell over the cabin.

  “Yes—well—once the storm passes we’ll sort all this out,” Darian said suddenly. “For now, none of us are going anywhere so let’s just try to make the best of it.” He went to the wood stove and removed the cover from a large pot on one of the burners. “The stew’s almost done. Another half hour or so and we can eat.”

  Louis pulled a chair out from the table and collapsed down into it. He found a beer in the cooler next to him and opened the tab with a loud pop. “Until then, I suggest we all start drinking heavily and get knee-deep in some good poker. Who’s in?”

  “I’ll play,” Seth said, doing his best to relax. He went to his suitcase, grabbed a small jar of change and joined Louis at the table. “Toss me one of those beers, too.”

  “Is it OK if I lay down for a while?” Christy asked. “I still don’t feel very good.”

  “Of course,” Darian led her back to the bed where she’d been previously. “Get some rest and I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready. Some hot food will do you good.”

  She settled into bed, allowed Darian to cover her with the blankets and smiled at him appreciatively. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, smiling back. “Just rest, OK?”

  She nodded.

  Darian gave her a quick wink then took a seat at the table. “Deal me in.”

  “How about it, Ray?” Louis asked, shuffling the cards. “Feeling lucky?”

  “Not a minute in my life.”

  “Maybe today’s your day, man. Never know.”

  Raymond looked at him as if to say: I know. Believe me, I know.

  After a moment he closed the door, secured it and walked casually across the room to his duffel bag. He rummaged through it until he found a bottle of Jack Daniels then went to the fireplace, turned the chair there so it was facing the beds, and after taking a long pull from the bottle, sat down. “Think I’ll sit this one out, fellas.”

  Louis stifled a laugh. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be too obvious about keeping an eye on her,” he said under his breath.

  “That was the plan,” Darian muttered.

  “Well, at the moment he’s about as subtle as a bean fart in church.”

  “You are a piece of work, Louis,” Darian laughed, “a real piece of work.”

  With a wide, shark-like grin, Louis dealt the cards.

  Seth glanced over at Raymond. He was watching Christy, a dead look in his eyes.

  “Ante up, ass-munch.”

  He turned to Louis. “Huh?”

  “You’re light.” He indicated the pot. “No pay no play, sailor.”

  “Sorry.” Seth tossed a quarter in and picked up his cards. Full house: aces over tens.

  He should’ve been happy but a horrible restlessness churned through him, playing across his mind like distant storm clouds roiling over an otherwise clear horizon, promising only imminent darkness and the arrival of those that existed within it.

  And come they would.

  * * *

  They played sloppy poker, ate enormous helpings of stew, drank more than was necessary and did their best to laugh and pass the hours. Outside, the storm raged on.

  Christy ate when the stew was served but did little else. Napping in bed beneath a pile of blankets, she came awake only a few times in short intervals while the others played cards. Throughout the evening, Raymond remained in the chair next to the fireplace, smoking a cigarette now and then or taking an occasional quick pull of JD, watching her all the while with the same lifeless look in his eyes.

  After putting the inevitable off long as possible, they eventually decided to turn in.

  Everyone, that was, except Raymond.

  * * *

  At some point after they had all drifted off to sleep, Seth came awake to find Raymond still in the chair near the fireplace. Instead of watching Christy, he had now taken to staring at the fire.

  They had agreed to take shifts keeping an eye on her, but it seemed pointless now, as she had been asleep for most of the evening.

  “Ray,” he whispered, “you OK?”

  He offered a slight nod.

  “I’ll take the next shift. You take the bed, OK? When I’m done I can use the sleeping bag, it’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s OK. Wanted to watch the fire a while anyway. Not real sleepy.”

  He looked over at the bed where Christy lay sound asleep. “You sure you’re OK?”

  “Too much to drink, that’s all.” Raymond held up the bottle of Jack Daniels and gave a feeble smile. He’d had a lot to drink that evening, the bottle was nearly empty. “Go ahead and get some more sleep, I’m cool.”

  “Something’s got you spooked, Ray, I can tell. What is it, what’s wrong?”

  He was quiet for a very long while. “Don’t have a good feeling about this,” he finally said through a sigh. “It’s probably nothing but…” He took another swig of whiskey. “Like Darian said, we can sort it all out come morning. Until then I just feel better staying up and keeping an eye on things, OK?”

  “All right,” he agreed, albeit reluctantly. “Wake me when you’ve had enough and I’ll take over for you.”

  Raymond nodded, his attention again focused on the fire.

  Seth lay back, closed his eyes and some time later slipped back to sleep.

  * * *

  Night. Late Night. Deep Night.

  The wood stove had burned out and the Coleman lanterns were extinguished, but the fireplace still burned strong, filling the small cabin with a thick, stifling heat and a centralized but fair amount of flickering light. The cabin was silent but for sporadic pops or crackles from the fire, and even the wind had softened.

  There in the woods, isolated and alone, they might as well have been on some distant planet, the cabin a solitary man-made intrusion on an otherwise pristine and natural vista. The unique hush of a forest in winter—a quiet stillness unlike any other—fell over the camp as snow spiraled delicately but steadily through the trees, veiling the star-filled night sky, nothing moving in the darkness and soft moonlight but the never-ending cascade of white flakes, curiously beautiful as petite pieces of intricately etched glass.

  Wake up.

  A voice, oddly monotone and hollow—soulless—spoke to him in not quite a whisper.

  Wake up, Seth.

  Echoing softly through his mind, it roused him from sleep.

  Consciousness, if that’s what it was, came to him slowly. His vision cleared gradually but remained somewhat blurred, as if something thick and gummy had been rubbed across his eyes. Patterns on the wall flickered, and he realized he was seeing shadows cast from the fire. He blinked and gently rubbed his eyes, but still saw the world like a camera lens smeared with Va
seline. His arm felt heavy and weak, and it flopped back to his side lifelessly. His head lolled to the side. The chair in front of the fireplace was empty. The bottle of Jack Daniels, also empty, lay on its side next to it on the floor.

  He closed his eyes.

  Wake up, Seth.

  Movement—a quick, scurrying sound—came from somewhere above him.

  There was something on the roof, something moving. Quickly, like a pebble rolling across it from one side to the other, it scraped and clicked across the darkness above him as whatever it was negotiated up one side of the sloping roof and down across the other. But the snow that had surely accumulated on the roof would pad such noises and make them impossible…wouldn’t it?

  Seth opened his eyes. The blurriness had lessened but he still couldn’t see clearly.

  The sound on the roof ceased.

  All sound had, it seemed, and now there was only silence. Impossible silence.

  Can you feel it?

  The wind’s whisper returned, but softly, gently.

  Can you feel us?

  “Raymond,” he said in a gurgling, barely audible voice.

  Shuffling sounds distracted him. He listened.

  The porch, something was moving on the porch just outside the cabin door.

  Shuffling movement—closer and louder, more intrusive, bolder than before—and then a pitter-patter sound like…like children running closer.

  “Raymond?” he said again, louder this time, with more force, his voice clearing.