Closed at Dark

by Rob Blackwell

Sara squared off across the playground with the monster who resembled Richard Frye.

  She wanted to scream, but she forced herself to stop. That was clearly what he was hoping for. His face was hideous to look at, yet still somehow recognizable. His eyes were larger now and had been pushed further apart on his face. Red, angry blisters had somehow burst through his skin, covering his forehead, cheeks and chin.

  The worst features were the two identical gashes on each side of his face. The wounds were roughly three inches wide, and Sara could see blood and tissue underneath, but none of it oozed down his face. Instead, the gashes seemed to pulse with a strange rhythm, growing wider apart and then shrinking again. They reminded her of gills on a fish.

  “I’ve only let Muriel see me this way once,” Richard said. “She was being a real bitch at the time. Oh, how she screamed. She can’t stand the sight of blood. I had to work for weeks to convince her it was a dream, but it was worth it. It kept her from questioning me again.”

  “You are not touching my son,” Sara said.

  “Yeah? How are you going to stop me?” Richard said. “Shout all you want; no one can hear you. Do you even know where you are? This playground is notorious. Three kids died here, all at different times and under different circumstances. Oh, this was a long time ago, in the 1950s. People didn’t get quite so worked up the way they did now. They knew that accidents happened. But after the third death, nobody wanted to come out here anymore. The county never tore it down, but it was abandoned decades ago. There’s nowhere for you to go. Feel free to run, of course, but I guarantee I can run faster.”

  Sara didn’t answer. Instead, she ensured Alex was behind her and set herself into a defensive crouch.

  “Oh, I get it,” Richard said. “You think whatever bullshit yoga class you go to will help. Well, surprise, but I’m not planning to work with brute force here.”

  Richard reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun.

  “I know, a little disappointing, right?” he said. “To see a monster use a gun — it’s too normal. But it is the most efficient route, I’m afraid. So why don’t you step away from your boy and we’ll make this quick.”

  He waved the gun at her, but Sara didn’t move. He pointed the gun toward her head.

  “I said move away,” he said more menacingly. “Unless you want me to blow a hole through both of you.”

  Sara stared at the creature, but didn’t budge an inch. All her instincts said to block Alex, but in that moment she realized that he was her shield, even if he was behind her. If she stepped away even for a moment, Richard would shoot her and grab Alex.

  Richard looked angry, but didn’t fire.

  “Fine picture this is,” Richard said. “A mother hiding behind her little boy. How noble.”

  “If that’s what it takes to save him, I’m fine with it,” Sara said. “You are not laying a hand on him. How’s your aim, Richard? My dad taught me how to handle a gun and I’ve got to say, you don’t seem that comfortable with it. You’re afraid to shoot me because it might hit Alex.”

  Richard kept standing there, holding the gun trained on her. He seemed to be weighing a decision.

  At that moment, there was a shout from the forest.

  “Sara!” a familiar voice called. “Sara, are you out there?”

  Sara opened her mouth to respond, and the gun went off.