Closed at Dark

by Rob Blackwell

A thin mist hung over the playground and surrounding trees when Soren arrived the next morning.

  It was early and he wanted to check out the scene before children and their parents arrived. He knew word of Alex’s attempted kidnapping was likely to get around quickly, making any stranger — in this case, him — more noticeable.

  There was nobody there when he pulled up. The air was wet and the playground equipment appeared damp, so he doubted anyone would be coming soon. Maybe it was just because he knew what had happened there — more likely, it was due to the weather — but the playground didn’t seem friendly and inviting. Instead, he thought it was creepy.

  The swings moved slightly in the breeze, squeaking occasionally. The merry-go-round made a moaning noise as it turned. There was a sign nearby that read, “Closed at Dark.” He’d seen signs like that at plenty of parks and playgrounds before. For some reason, he always found it strangely ominous, as if it were a warning to children that this place wasn’t safe when the sun went down.

  Soren had the unwelcome image of monsters waiting until dusk to come out and reclaim the playground as their own. In his mind, he saw a creature with sharp teeth climb up to the top of the net and look out to see if it could spot any straggling children who’d been left behind. The sign now fit with his view of the world. It seemed so promising when he was young, as if it were one big playground. But he’d learned that monsters were real and there was no such thing as safe.

  Soren adjusted the sunglasses on his face and shook his head. He needed to stay focused. He inspected the various pieces of playground equipment. They were different from when he was a kid. For starters, the ground wasn’t dirt anymore, but a rubber base of red and blue that felt like he was walking on a sponge. The slides were no longer metal, but instead were made of sturdy, brightly colored plastic. Every edge was rounded and smooth, to prevent anyone from being scratched in the eye.

  Soren supposed he should lament the old days and feel that kids should be kids, but nostalgia wasn’t his vice. Looking at the playground, it was obvious that designers had put a lot of effort into making the space safer while still being fun. As far as he could tell, it looked like they’d succeeded.

  He was particularly intrigued by the pyramid of ropes. He found it amusing that someone had bothered to try and effectively create a safer tree. But he supposed it was more efficient. The pyramid would allow at least a dozen kids to climb on it.

  He knew he should go back to his car and get out his equipment. His trunk was packed with the latest technology designed to detect the presence of the supernatural, including a full spectrum camera, an electromagnetic field meter and an EVP audio recorder. The only problem was that while he’d had plenty of successes on his cases, he owed precious little of it to the fancy equipment in his car. Every so often the meter had come in handy, but overall the equipment picked up so many false positives it felt like it slowed him down. Soren decided he wanted a better lay of the land first.

  He stretched out his hands and pulled himself onto the rope pyramid. For a half second, he felt like a kid again, deftly moving up the cables as he climbed to the top of the pole. From there, he got a good view of the area, including into the small collection of trees nearby.

  He understood the appeal of the pyramid even better now. A kid could look out and get a clear view of the houses well beyond the playground. They probably didn’t feel like they’d climbed a tree, but a mountain. He smiled in spite of himself. This thing was surprisingly fun.

  His smile lasted until he glanced quickly at the playground below him. A figure was standing near a bench, looking up at him. It was the white-haired man, and he was staring at Soren intently.

  Soren quickly scrambled down the cables, never taking his eyes off the man. The figure remained resolutely still.

  But the instant that Soren’s feet touched the ground, the man disappeared. Soren ran to the spot where he had been standing and even punched the air in case he was invisible, but there was nothing. He suddenly wished he had his full spectrum camera, which was supposed to detect invisible entities.

  He looked around him frantically — and spotted the man further down the path. Soren sprinted toward him, only to repeat the last performance. When he arrived at the spot where the white-haired man had been standing, he was gone.

  When he looked further down the path, he had reappeared. This time Soren opted for a different approach. He smoothed out his jacket and walked slowly toward the man. It allowed him to get a better look at him. Sara’s description was perfect, and matched the drawing he’d seen in the newspaper. The figure was very tall, probably six feet five inches, and his hair was stark white. Soren had assumed this meant he looked old, but that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t guess his age. The man’s face lacked the normal signs of longevity. There were no wrinkles or scars; it was so smooth and pale it might have been alabaster.

  Yet the man was far from expressionless. His silver eyes watched Soren with a mixture of hate and disgust, like he was a particularly unpleasant insect that had wandered nearby. As he came closer, he thought Sara’s description of them as “liquid mercury” was the most apt. The man’s irises seemed to swirl and move hypnotically. Soren stopped several feet away from him and glared back.

  “What are you?” Soren asked.

  The man’s lips curled into a cold smile.

  “Interesting question, coming from you,” he replied.

  Soren had no idea what he meant, but it was obvious the man disliked him. That was just fine with him. Perhaps now he’d come after him instead of Alex.

  “What do you want with the boy?” Soren asked.

  “You do not understand his importance,” the man said.

  “To who? You? His mother knows it well enough.”

  “His mother is weak.”

  Soren felt anger stir within him. This thing had threatened Alex and now mocked his mother. Soren wanted badly to hit it. But he was still standing about fifteen feet away. He took a cautious step forward.

  “You said he was next,” Soren said. “For what? What are you planning to do?”

  “Do not think you can interfere,” the man said. “You are nothing and nobody.”

  “Oh, okay,” Soren replied. “I’ll just give up then, shall I? When they ask me why, I’ll tell them it’s because I have low self-esteem.”

  Soren took another step forward.

  “You are pathetic,” the man said.

  “That really hurts,” Soren said, putting his hand to his heart. “Here I thought we were beginning to get along.”

  Soren took another step forward. The man continued to stare at him balefully. Soren’s goal was to keep him distracted as long as he could and hope he could rush him before he disappeared again.

  “You didn’t answer me,” Soren said. “Why do you want the boy?”

  The man cocked his head to the side and looked at Soren quizzically.

  “Why do you care?”

  “He’s a friend of mine,” Soren said. “That’s all you need to know.”

  “You don’t have ‘friends,’” the man said, the last word coming out as if he’d spat it on the ground.

  “Well, I am ‘nothing and nobody,’ so it’s hard to meet people,” Soren replied.

  Soren took another step forward. He was just eight feet away, almost close enough that he could jump him.

  “Stay away from the boy,” the man said. “He’s mine.”

  “Like Alastair Horne?” Soren asked.

  He was unprepared for the man’s reaction. Soren had hoped to inch a bit closer before throwing himself at the figure in front of him. But as soon as he mentioned Horne’s name, a look of pure, unfiltered rage crossed the white-haired man’s face. He closed the distance to Soren and grabbed him by the shirt. Without apparent effort, he lifted Soren to the sky.

  “How dare you speak his name!” the man yelled. “You have no right to say it!”

  Soren struggled to free himself b
ut the man’s grip was like iron. He clawed futilely at the arm that was holding him. Soren tried to kick him, but the man held him too far away from his body. He felt like a bug on its back with all its legs flailing.

  The man tossed him into the air. Soren landed a moment later with a thud onto the pathway. The wind was knocked out of him, but he was otherwise unhurt. He heard the man still walking toward him, talking the entire time.

  “I should end your miserable existence.”

  Soren tried to get up and launch himself at the man, but he was still out of breath. The figure grabbed Soren before he could attack and hurled him into the air again.

  Soren saw a mixture of trees, blue sky, and pavement before he collided with the ground. This time he hit it harder and nearly blacked out from the sudden pain. He lay stunned as the figure came toward him again. He wasn’t sure he could take another hit like that. But Soren smiled anyway. He had exactly one more trick up his sleeve.

  Soren pulled the gun out of his jacket, aimed it quickly, and fired. He pulled the trigger three times. He didn’t care where he hit his assailant, just that the bullets connected somewhere. But even as the gun fired, the man in front of him disappeared. All three shots missed; there was nobody there to hit.

  He felt hands grab him from behind. He knew what was going to happen. The creature would hoist him into the air and smash him to the ground again, this time fatally. He thought of Alex and Sara. The idea that he would die without helping them was worse than the thought of his actual death.

  Soren was finished. He’d encountered several monsters in his career as a paranormal investigator and always wondered which one would eventually best him. It looked like he was finally finding out.

  He knew it was a lost cause, but struggled anyway. Soren couldn’t see his attacker but threw his elbow back and tried to throw him off balance. But unlike before, he felt the blow connect. He turned to face the figure — and momentarily faltered.

  The person who had grabbed him wasn’t the white-haired man — it was a policeman. And the cop looked very angry. Soren quickly held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought it was...”

  He didn’t finish the rest of his sentence. The cop hit him in the stomach and then clocked him in the face. The gun went flying out of his hands.

  When he looked up, he saw several officers surrounding him. They seemed to come out of nowhere. One of the cops pointed his gun at Soren’s head.

  “Go ahead and resist arrest,” he said. “I’d love to put a bullet into the brain of a child-kidnapping son of a bitch like you.”

  Chapter Five