by Sara Clancy
“Daddy!” she pleaded. “Please, get me out!”
Dust drifted upon the thick, musky air, barely seen within the muted light. Her vision blurred while her aching muscles became as rigid as stone. All the while, shadows shifted across the slats. Someone demanded they knock down the wall. It was almost lost among her own heavy breathing and the dozens of voices assuring her everything would be okay.
She spotted motion in her peripheral vision. Fingers. Needlelike fingers. Slender and covered with skin so thin the veins and tendons threatened to break free. Fear locked Mina’s joints, completely immobilizing her as the impossible hands continued to grow.
Striking like a snake, they turned on her, wrapping around Mina and dragging her back. There wasn’t anywhere to go. Her spine struck the far wall with enough force to crack the plaster. Dust gushed down like rain, further distorting the light and detailing the motion of invisible creatures. They scurried around her and then over her legs, crawling up the walls and out of sight. Each time Mina tried to focus on them, to determine their shape and size, the creatures would shake off the dust and completely disappear from sight.
It happened so gradually Mina didn’t notice it at first. All the noise from outside the closet drifted away into a series of whispers and sighs. It made the sharp, metallic ping all the louder. The odd notes came without warning, making her jump and push harder back against the wall. It was impossible to move since the sides of the closest were now as narrow as a coffin. Separate notes sped up and joined, becoming a tune. The song of a music box. It drifted to her from the darkness as the ceiling loomed ever closer. The familiar lullaby coursed through her veins like ice water.
Hot, rancid breath gushed over her shoulder. “Come home, Crane. Come home.”
Mina screamed. The door burst open, flooding the linen closest with fresh air and light. Thrashing, sobbing, and gulping for air, Mina realized she wasn’t stuck in a makeshift casket. Instead, she had somehow crammed herself under the lowest shelf of the closet, wedging her body between the wall and a storage box.
“It’s okay, baby,” her father said as he grabbed her kicking legs and dragged her out. “Just breathe. You’re out now. I have you. Just breathe.”
Braced against her father’s chest, the rest of her family came in all at once for a singularly crushing hug.
“I’m so sorry, Mina,” Jeremiah sobbed. “I didn’t see it coming. I’m sorry.”
Mina was vaguely aware of her mother snarling, “I told you to watch her.”
Her focus was on the music box. She had no memory of picking up the cube that she now clutched in her right hand. But it was there. Solid and real and still playing the lullaby.
“No,” her mother whispered.
Jeremiah latched onto her wrist like she was going to be dragged away again at any moment.
“We’ll take care of it,” her father assured her. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
Chapter 3
The Bell Family
Basheba tore off a chunk of her hamburger meat and tossed it across the car. Buck went for it instantly. The Rottweiler only had to bounce slightly in the front passenger seat to snatch the morsel out of the air. Still, it was enough to spray the interior with his slobber.
Basheba quickly twisted to protect her food. “Really, Buck?”
The words came out as a mixture of a whine and a laugh, which would have only confused the dog if hadn’t been so fixated on chomping down his mouthful.
“I know you know how to swallow,” she grumbled.
Too lazy to properly clean up the mess right then, she leaned back in her seat and flopped her foot about. She had learned during the past year that thick hiking socks were pretty effective at mopping long trails of drool off of dashboard vinyl. Once done, she left them up on the dash, positioning them over a heater vent. This was one of the benefits of being four-foot-eight. Cramped spaces didn’t really make it difficult for her to get comfortable. Licking his chops, Buck shuffled closer until his massive head rested upon her thigh. It was hard for Basheba to be appropriately annoyed at the drool dampening her thermal leggings when he gazed up at her with his big brown eyes.
“You’ve had your dinner,” Basheba dismissed.
It didn’t dislodge her dog’s head from her lap, but she did at least get to take another bite in peace. Savoring the taste, she relaxed a little more in her seat, eyeing the car’s neon clock. Almost midnight. It was hard to believe an entire year had passed since she had last been in Nashville. The area was pretty enough, especially when ravaged by the coming fall. Some trees stood like bare skeletons, their gnarled, twisted branches clutching at the chilled night air. Those that still had their leaves had shed their summer shades for the blazing colors of fall.
While it was bitterly cold, there was still no promise of coming snow. She cocked her head to the side to better study the sky. If they had any luck, the whole week would pass without so much as a flurry. The passing thought made her snort. Whoever goes in will have a lot more to worry about than the weather. A chill worked its way down her spine. She nudged the heater higher with her toe. The bounce of her thigh made Buck grumble with annoyance, and she rubbed him with her knuckles as penance.
Generally, she loved winter. Even sleeping in her car hadn’t diminished that. All she needed was a good sleeping bag and Buck’s body heat. It was just this one week that made her detest the cold—the 23rd to the 30th of October. She resolved to grab another sweater the moment she finished her meal. Stuffing an intact onion ring into her mouth, Basheba looked out over the parking lot.
It was a stroke of luck that her favorite burger joint also happened to be open all night. This way, not only could she get a decent bite to eat at midnight, but she could camp out for the night with little chance of being asked to move along. She rechecked the clock. Not much longer now. Soon, Katrina would make her selection. Either Basheba would crawl into the back seat and get some sleep, or she’d begin the forty-minute drive north. Back to Black River. To the place where it all started.
Anticipation prickled her skin like a thousand needles. She began to mindlessly eat, shoving the onions rings into her mouth faster than she could chew, her eyes constantly searching the horizon. Tonight, the environment was everything. She needed to make sure her setting was at least somewhat under her control. Somewhere familiar but not isolated. Populated and busy. Somewhere well-lit with little to obstruct her vision or escape.
She had carefully chosen the parking lot of the diner. Towering floodlights filled the nearly barren space, allowing her to watch the steady stream of people come and go. A mixture of stressed college students and people coming off late-night shifts. The bars were far enough away she wouldn’t have to worry about any drunk idiots trying to get into her car. And, if things went bad, the open space would allow her to run for quite a distance before traffic became an issue. The car’s windows were up, the doors locked, everything safely stowed away. Scratching Buck behind his ears, Basheba decided she was as prepared as she could hope to be.
Unable to resist the dog’s pleading eyes, she gave him the last bit of her hamburger, keeping the onion rings for herself. Alternating between devouring her deep-fried treats and slurping down her soft drink, she continued to scan the area. The night pressed in on the edges of the lights, still and dark as coal. It made it impossible to miss the first light flicking off. The spotlight was situated on the far side of the carpark. Without it, the night rushed a few feet closer to her. It was barely anything, but her heart froze.
Buck’s ears flattened as he sat up. His nose twitched and his eyes locked on the distant patch of shadows. They both watched as another light died with a low, electric hiss. The scent of ozone stained the air. Shadows rose up like a surging tide, silent as a serpent. It wrapped around the next light in the row and, with a heavy thud, it died, too.
Darkness rushed forward to claim new territory. It was so dense and complete that it looked as if someone had simply c
ut chunks of the world out of existence. Basheba watched. Waited. The few remaining floodlights kept her little car nestled within a warm orange glow. The neon sign of the burger joint buzzed like a swarm of bees. People continued to come and go, none of them paying the slightest attention to the abyss that existed about a yard from their feet. Glancing away was her mistake.
The darkness crashed forward, consuming everything in its path, coming to an abrupt stop about a foot from the front of her car. Buck stiffened, shoulders hunching and a low growl rumbling within his broad chest.
“Steady,” she whispered to him.
Obediently, he stopped squirming, although his growl remained constant, filling the empty air. Basheba craned her neck to see a little more. Everything was still. The shadows hung before her with razor-sharp precision. She squinted but couldn’t find a single shape in its obsidian depths. Carefully, she reached down and turned the high beams on with her oil-slicked fingers.
The darkness peeled back, not fleeing from the headlights in long tunnels. More like a retreating tide, washing back until it revealed a child. Possibly no older than seven, the little girl stood with her hands loosely clasped in front of her, her shoulders down and relaxed, her feet together to give the overall appearance of delicate innocence. The hemline of her floral dress tapped her knees as it drifted in the evening wind. It was the crude mask covering her head that made Basheba cringe.
The dented, peeled dome was forged into a mangled jack-o’-lantern. A deformed smile separated the head. Gaping holes served as eyes. The mask hid all of the girl’s features and left Basheba stunned. Buck’s throaty growl served as her only anchor to reality. Sinking her fingers into his fur kept her from spiraling down into the throes of panic. It wasn’t children in and of themselves that summoned an almost primal fear within her. But when paired with decrepit, old costumes, especially the ones that kept her from seeing their faces, she couldn’t control her instinctual reaction. What terrified her the most, however, was there was only one person left in her life who knew of her rather unique phobia.
“Hello, Katrina,” Basheba whispered, trying to keep her voice somewhat strong, defiant.
Buck erupted into a series of barks, the sudden noise snapping any bravado she had managed to summon. She jumped. Her startled scream transformed into a gasp as her icy beverage drenched her lap. The sensation stole her attention for only a split second, barely a flick of her gaze. But when she looked back, the child was gone.
Buck’s growl was the only thing to break the silence. Gone were the other people, the cars, the general murmur of life that clustered around the all-night diner. The night had closed in while she had been distracted by the single child. It now pressed in around her on all sides, leaving barely an inch of visibility. Buck lunged up, awkwardly shifting his weight around the passenger seat, his nose twitching wildly as he thrashed about. His attention was drawn to each window in turn.
Long strings of saliva dripped from his jaws as his lips curled back from his fangs. His growls turned into savage barks. Leaping and lurching, he twisted around to try and see each window. Basheba turned with him. Despite her dog’s frenzied outburst, it was still possible to hear the sounds drifting in through the locked car doors. Children’s laughter came from the darkness. Pattering footsteps circled her like a shark within the murky abyss of the ocean depths. There was no longer just one, but dozens. Each running wild, making it impossible to track any of them by sound. They came with the fluttering snap of streamers.
The first strike against the window caught her off guard. A startled yelp escaped both her and Buck. Both of them whipped around to stare at the rear door but, in seconds, it was as if the skies had opened. The unseen specters burst free of the shadows to strike the car before disappearing once more.
Childish giggles rose louder than Buck’s threatening snarls. Each child’s head was covered with stacks that could barely be called masks, fitted with molded noses and grotesque frozen smiles. The patches, pale of color, streaked across her vision, followed by long trails of serpentine streamers.
Laughter rang in her ears as footsteps raced across the roof of her car. The vehicle trembled under the force, causing the suspension to squeal. She shrank back against her door, balling herself up tight, avoiding Buck’s now aimless attacks. A hand came down against the glass just beside her head. Basheba spun around, her heartbeat choking her as she found a handprint of condensation marring the glass. A new wave of horror pushed everything else into the back of her awareness. Breathing hard, she reached out. Her trembling fingertip smeared the child’s handprint. It’s on the inside.
“Come home, Bell.”
Basheba threw herself back from the small voice. Wedged against the steering wheel, the loud bellow of the car’s horn broke the night. It covered the sound of the attack but did nothing to diminish the voice of the pumpkin-headed girl. She sat in the back seat, a small living cube of wood and metal set upon her lap, clasped between tiny hands.
“Come home.”
The girl stretched out her hand, the box resting upon her fingers in offering. It wasn’t possible for Basheba to reach it without moving from her seat upon the horn. Still, when she lifted her hand, the box appeared against her palm. Light burned her eyes. She flinched, and it was all gone. The night had returned to what it had been before, filled with people and cars and life as it had always been. All that remained was the box.
It was just large enough that she had to stretch her fingers to keep it in her palm, and it was cold to the touch. The polished sides were an intricate pattern of glistening metal. As if awakening to her touch, the pieces began to move, sliding and clicking into new positions. Basheba’s eyelids fluttered closed as a slow melody filled the air, simple and repetitive, like a child’s lullaby. Buck nuzzled his wet nose against her, whimpering with concern. The touch startled her. Suddenly the horn was blaring painfully in her ears. She shifted back into the driver’s seat, one hand clutching the box while she rubbed at Buck’s neck. He nuzzled into the touch, inching closer until his thick head was pressed against her neck.
“It’s okay. We’re okay,” she whispered.
He didn’t believe her. Smart boy. Feeling the eyes upon her, Basheba finally managed to take action. She secured the box carefully in the glove box, put on her seatbelt, and peeled the car out onto the main street. Buck kept his head rested upon her forearm as she took the exit to Black River. It was time to go home.
Chapter 4
The Sewall Family
“Ozzie?”
Osgood Davis glanced up from his phone as his mother opened his bedroom door, and froze, trying to look as innocent as humanly possible. It was hard to make the aesthetic look convincing after having been caught in clear defiance of her order to go to sleep. She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, her Manolo Blahnik pumps clicking loudly against the marble hallway floor. It was a clipped sound that had always preceded a grounding. He had always suspected that’s why his mother insisted on wearing them in the house. It was all an intimidation technique.
“You were supposed to go to sleep an hour ago.”
“I had homework,” he declared.
The well-used excuse was his only shot, since his education was the one thing she would put above everything else. He could come down with the black plague and she would still be quizzing him on the periodic table.
“Can’t let that fancy private school go to waste,” he pressed with a smile.
Her eyes narrowed. “Osgood Davis, don’t think for a second you’re too old for me to tan your hide.”
He blinked at her. It was always a little strange hearing Texas slang with a Korean accent.
“I swear, ma. I was turning in right now.”
The tapping continued as she narrowed her eyes. “You better. Or I’m taking away that phone.”
“Got it.”
“And your Porsche.”
“What?” Ozzie snapped, springing up to give her an appropriately horr
ified look. “A bit much, don’t ya think?”
She scowled. “Ya? Am I raising a yokel?”
“You,” he corrected swiftly, barely squeezing the word in before she continued.
“I’ve never felt comfortable with you having that thing. It’s too much power for someone just learning.”
“Everyone else has got one, ma.”
“I’d rather you practice on the Mercedes,” she dismissed. Releasing a long sigh, she smiled at him, seemingly forgetting all annoyance. “You haven’t heard the scratching tonight, have you?”
The question instantly shifted the mood in the room. What had started as an annoyance had become something to keep him up at night. About a week ago, he had first heard the scratching, gnawing sound on the walls of the pool house. He hadn’t thought much of it. Dallas, like any major city, wasn’t really known for its abundance of nature. So it was pretty common for whatever wildlife around to make their way onto the Davis property, filling up the lakes and running about the spacious lawns. He hadn’t thought much of it. That was until he had heard it against the living room wall, then just outside his window on the third floor. Then inside the walls.
They had hired three different pest control companies. None of them had found anything, and the sound had grown worse. Long scrapes that trailed from one side of the room to the other, that crossed above his head while he was trying to sleep.
It probably wouldn’t have bothered him half as much if it wasn’t for his parents’ reactions. Cue a lot of whispering, skulking about, and heated shouting matches with an old family friend, Percival Sewall. That alone was strange; everyone loved Percival.
Ozzie shook his head, dread becoming thick in the pit of his stomach as he watched his mother sigh with relief.
“Good. That’s good.”
“What am I missing?”
His mother straightened and forced a smile. “Nothing, baba. Nothing but a good night’s sleep.”