Dread the Dark Read online

  “I didn’t run. I killed you, remember?” I spit back at him. I stare into his featureless face, choking back my fear. I won’t let him rule me another single second, not even in death.

  “I told you what I do is out of love. You need manners, when you act up, as the man of the house, it’s my job to set things straight. I thought you would leave this house after you killed me. I’m so glad you didn’t. Now I have an eternity to teach you how to behave as a wife should.”

  As he finishes his morbid speech, his hands suddenly close around my throat. I can feel his weight now, as if he’s sitting on my abdomen, straddling me. He presses into my windpipe and I struggle to breathe. I try to grab at his arms, but my hands pass through his dark mass.

  My worst fear is being realized. In life I was so afraid he would kill me that I made sure I killed him first. Now in death he will kill me because I cannot fight back. I guess I always knew it would end this way, at least he’s dead too.

  I can hear his voice in my head as I begin to lose consciousness, “I can’t wait for you to get here, this is my world. I’m going to make a good wife out of you if it’s the last thing I do. What are you gonna do about it, bitch? You’ll be stuck here forever with me.”

  In the last few moments before everything goes dark, I laugh and think, Oh, you dumb shit. I’m not going to be stuck in here with you. You’re going to be stuck in here with me. Brute strength doesn’t get you very far when you don’t have a body. The playing field will be leveled and I’m coming for you. I feel his grip loosen ever so slightly, then he steals his resolve and presses harder into my windpipe.

  ~

  It was as though a switch flipped. Everything went dark for a moment, then the room came spinning back into focus. I am standing behind him, watching myself be strangled, however, I’m already dead, so he’s really just wasting his effort.

  He realizes I’m dead and spins around, even in death he towers over me. “I have you now you little cunt! See if you can run away now, we’re both trapped here forever! Now what should be your first lesson?” His form becomes more stable as he beams with pride over my death.

  I chuckle to myself, “Well, I think you’re going to have to rewrite those plans, asshole. It isn’t by chance that you are in this house. Remember when I put up new wallpaper while you were out-of-town?”

  “Of course, I had to beat some sense into you to get you to stop being so fuckin’ lazy and just get it done.”

  “What you didn’t see is that I added something to the walls before putting up the new wallpaper.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck about the wallpaper. We’re dead if you didn’t notice,” he replies.

  “Well, obviously,” I chuckle. “I knew you would likely kill me one day, so I made a contingency plan. Remember on that show I watch, how they paint Devil’s Traps on the floor or ceiling? Once a demon enters it they cannot leave. Well, it turns out after months of research, I found something similar. However, my trap is there to catch assholes, well, one asshole in particular. You see dearest, once I decided I would provoke you to attack me so I could kill you in self-defense, I knew I couldn’t let your angry, hate-filled spirit roam freely.”

  “So, I’m trapped in the house, big deal, bitch.” He clenches his fists, claws biting into the palms of his hands. The angrier he gets, the less defined his form.

  “You obviously weren’t listening. The trap is for you, not for me. In fact what lies under the wallpaper not only keeps you here, but keeps any other entity out, except for me. Although, trust me, I don’t plan on returning after today. I just needed to make sure if I died in the house that I could come and go if I needed to.”

  His demeanor falters, his shape shifting with his thoughts, his anxiety obvious. I didn’t want to die, but man seeing him squirm as he learns his fate is worth it.

  “I’ve also made sure that once I die this house will never be lived in again. It’s paid for, and everything is set up so that it will simply sit empty, forever. Now if you missed it, that means neither the dead nor the living can enter this home. I thought it would be best for all living and dead folks if you stayed the hell away from them. Now you will, all alone, in your precious home, for eternity.”

  He immediately disappears. I can hear him trying to leave the house from different points. He keeps getting snapped right back inside the house.

  He was so obsessed with me, I knew he would come for me, even in death. However, I was hoping he wouldn’t come, and that I could live out my life in this house. Unfortunately, I was in denial that the strange activity in the house was him until about a month ago, which means I waited too long to leave after strange things started happening in the house. Death really isn’t all that bad, in life he could have done much worse to me.

  He’s screaming now. It’s a terrible, deep, menacing scream. He’s still trying to get out. I hear him yell, “Fuck you, you bitch! You’re going to pay for this!”. That sounds like my cue to leave. I don’t know much about the afterlife, but I sure as hell know I’m not spending mine here.

  And with that I left him, a screaming, insane, homicidal echo, destined to spend eternity completely alone. As I began my journey to The Beyond, his screams grow quieter and quieter, until I can’t hear him at all. For the first time in over twenty years, I can’t stop smiling.

  Happy New Year

  As far as I’m concerned, 2017 can go fuck itself. Matter-of-fact, so can 2016, 2015, and really every other year going back to 1987. You see, my life has been nothing but a series of bad years.

  While the world was transfixed by Glenn Close boiling a rabbit, and Regan demanding that the Germans, “Tear down this wall!”, my mother fell pregnant with the waste of space that is me. While the world learned that “no one puts baby in a corner,” my mother learned the hard way the true cost of child-bearing. Her life blinked out of existence as mine blinked in, which was not a fair trade in the slightest.

  My father couldn’t handle the darkness that followed her death. I imagine he looked at me with disgust and hatred. He should have just drowned me when he had the chance. He was a grieving widower, he could have made it look like an accident, no one would’ve suspected he choked the life out of me with his bare hands. Had they understood what a complete waste of space I would be, they probably would’ve given him award for getting rid of me.

  Instead my father became an alcoholic, leaving me in the care of his sister and brother-in-law. This is where therapists have told me that at least I was still with family. They say horrible things can happen to children that go into the foster care system. The truth is, horrible things can happen to anyone that has contact with me. I’m a walking omen, a bad omen. Instead of fearing black cats who cross one’s path, it should be me who is feared. If they knew how terrible I am, rooms would clear when I entered. But, alas, they don’t understand what I am, who I am, or what I bring with me.

  I was born in the blood of my mother, and that is when the devil claimed me. He marked me forever, making me a bulldozer of all things good and happy and pure. I grew up as a millennial, although we did not yet have the term. I always felt different from those around me. I was quiet and withdrawn. I didn’t collect Pogs and Pokemon cards like the other kids. The doctors said it was the trauma that made me so...me.

  When I was four years old, my aunt tripped over my toy fire engine and fell down the stairs in our home. I remember hearing her tumble down the stairs. I was too afraid to move. There wasn’t anyone else home, and when everything was silent, when I didn’t hear her getting up or yelling out in pain, I went to check. Her neck was broken, her head spun halfway around on her shoulders, I still dream of her twisted body each night when I close my eyes.

  My uncle blamed me for her death, they had told me a thousand times not to leave that damn fire engine out. He spent the rest of his days punishing me for the death of his wife. I feel I paid my penance each time he had his special playtime with me. I was only four, but I knew what he was doing was wrong
, on the other hand I also knew that I had killed my mother and my aunt, and driven my father to drink. I deserved it.

  The devil continued to watch over me. When it was still I could hear him whispering in my ear. He told me things I already knew, things that were my fault. On my eleventh birthday I finally had enough special playtime for an entire lifetime. When my uncle locked me in his room, I slipped a large kitchen knife out of my waistband. I didn’t remember putting it there, but the devil whispered in my ear and told me what to do. I was seated at the edge of the bed, my uncle standing in front of me, working his dick out of his pants. Once he pulled it out, I sank my knife into it. He screamed and retreated as blood sprayed my face and chest. I didn’t stop there. I stabbed him 42 times. I don’t remember much of it.

  In the legal proceedings I was found to have acted as an abused child, as it was obvious what was happening. It turns out my uncle’s best friend and his wife knew what he had been doing to me all of those years. They didn’t think it was their business until he was dead. It’s because of them I ended up in a psych ward for kiddos. When I got older I found out that they had only lived another month before leaving this world via murder-suicide. My uncle’s best friend slaughtered his wife and child before disemboweling himself in their living room.

  I spent the next seven years of my life surrounded by other children who were also damaged. No matter how much medicine they gave me, how many therapists and psychologists I talked to, the devil was still there, whispering in my ear. He’s the one that told me I should have my way with the catatonic girl in room 301. “She’s not even there,” he said. “She won’t even know it’s happening, not like you always knew exactly what was happening.” I don’t know whether he was right or not, but I fucked that comatose girl for five years. Eventually she died, they said it was as if that last flame of hope had finally flickered out.

  I killed time in the nuthouse by reading and sometimes by making friends with the staff. There was a nice woman, her name was Tanya. She truly thought I was a victim, that I did what I thought I had to do to my uncle. She didn’t see a single shred of evil in my eyes. I think she was under the impression if she was a positive person in my life, that maybe she was helping me. I liked talking to her. As time went on she would tell me more and more about her life. One night she shared with me that her husband had left her. That night we sat together while she cried and I whispered in her ear, just as the devil whispers in mine. The next morning they found her hanging from the ceiling fan in her office.

  ~

  When I turned eighteen they kicked me out on my own. It’s been a bit of a struggle, but the devil has always been with me, whispering wisdom and guidance in my ear. In my time as an adult I’ve tried to make a few friends. My first friend worked at McDonald’s with me, he ended up face first in the fryer after a long chat we had one night. The second friend was a homeless man who slept nearby the shelter I stayed in. He told me stories of his life before the street, of his time overseas fighting in some pointless war. He told me of his family, his children, his wife, and of the PTSD that kept them all away from him. The devil whispered wise words in my ear, and I whispered them in my friend’s ear. Later that night he simply stood up, and stepped in front of a bus.

  When people get close to me, they tend to have accidents, so I stopped trying. Just when I thought I was destined to live my life only in the company of my whispering devil, along came Michelle. We met when we were both hired to do seasonal work at Macy’s. When we met she was all love, light, and laughter. She understood me and didn’t mind the devil that I carried with me. I don’t think I’m actually capable of loving someone, but I felt as strongly for her as I am able. I even moved out of the shelter and into her apartment. She would cook for me and sing songs as she busied herself around the house. When I was with her the devil was quiet, she drowned out his whispers.

  I told her I was a virgin, since I had never had sex with a willing participant, I thought it was an accurate description. She was kind and gentle in leading me into what seemed like a normal life. For the very first time in my life, I had a home, a partner, and as always, I still had the devil.

  Michelle made it the longest. She was a trooper. I lived with her for about two years. Her downfall was listening to me talk in my sleep. I had tried not to repeat the devil’s whispers to her, as I was always afraid she would leave me all alone in the world, just as all the others had done. She told me about a week ago that I had started talking in my sleep. She said I told strange stories and sometimes spoke in what sounded like another language. I told her not to listen, to wear ear plugs, leave the room, wake me up, whatever she needed to do. Just do not listen to what I whisper.

  She didn’t listen to my warning, she only listened when I slept. She didn’t see the monster in me. This morning I woke up and she wasn’t in bed with me. I found her on the couch, sitting upright, her head leaned back and resting on the back of the couch. Her eyes were empty, the pupils rolled back her head. Her skin was cold and beginning to stiffen. There was a bloody steak knife in her left hand, and carved into her right forearm were the words “he speaks.” She wore white shorts, now blood-soaked, from carving the name of each of my victims into her legs. They were all victims simply because they knew me. There were twelve names in all, some of which I didn’t know were my victims. It seems I left a putrid cloud of misery and death everywhere I went.

  I sat next to her on the couch, tracing each of the names with my index finger. My father’s was among those names, he had managed to drink himself to death before my eighteenth birthday. Carved into her lifeless body, was my body of work. Each death of people who were once good and pure, until they knew me. The mark the devil left on me is contagious. Its flames spread to everyone I meet. I tried to hold it back with Michelle, but it doesn’t matter, the devil finds a way.

  ~

  Here I sit, it’s been twelve hours since I discovered her body. I’m holding her hand, but it’s cold, and not comforting as it had once been. Earlier I gathered the shotgun she keeps at the back of her closet. I never thought I would go out this way, but it’s become apparent to me that I am the poison in this world. The devil knows my intentions and he is angry. His whispers turn to screams bouncing off the walls of my skull.

  It’s New Years Eve, the time is 11:58 pm. We were supposed to go to a party. I guess Michelle and I will have a two person party, well, three including my passenger. I have the gun ready to go, butt resting on the carpet, muzzle in my mouth, left finger on the trigger, right hand holding Michelle’s left. The lights are off, but the t.v. is on. This year’s ball drop is going to rid the world of me and my whispers. Thirty years is more than long enough for me to plague this earth. I don’t know where I’ll go when I die. I assume I will be sent straight to the devil himself, but as I sit here with the business end of the shotgun in my mouth, I think maybe it’s not the devil’s whispers that I hear, but my own conscience.

  The countdown is beginning, ten...nine...eight... an uncontrollable laughter rises up from my belly, seven...six...five... drool runs down the barrel of the gun, four...three... I finally understand that it’s me, I am the devil, two... and I’m not dying, I’m just going home, one.

  Jack

  Tuesday, January 16th, 2018

  Nephilim, the abomination that results from the union of man and demon. One would think they would be few and far between, if they ever existed at all. However, here I am, living and in color. I look like everyone else, but a bit better, like I’m in high-definition. I tend to get what I want, I can be very persuasive. It’s made for an easy life,

  I don’t think I’m immortal, although I seem to age very slowly compared to humans. It’s my centennial birthday and I don’t look a day over thirty. For humans, one hundred years is a long life, for me it has been short and fast, and plagued with the death of my human friends and family. It’s hard watching those you love age and die. Today, I held the hand of my oldest friend as he blinked out of existence. I
’ve decided this is the last dying hand I will ever hold.

  I used to think that being a Nephilim was the best of both worlds. I had the gift of persuasion, good looks, charisma, outstanding health, and longevity from my demon half. My human half gave me the ability to love, be creative, have compassion, sympathy, empathy, and the motivation to improve and grow. Unfortunately, I’ve grown tired of the sadness and pain that comes along with my human half. I’ve lived one hundred years with both sides working as one, but that’s over now. It’s time to spare myself the pain and anguish that goes along with my humanity.

  I started looking into this process forty years ago. However, I hadn’t really wanted to pull the trigger until I learned my oldest friend was dying. I also didn’t know which path I wanted to take until now. I have four choices. I can either remain as I am, try to find a way to kill myself, remove my demon side, or remove my human side. I’ve been how I am for one hundred years and that’s quite enough for me. I’m not suicidal, I don’t know that the afterlife would be kind to a Nephilim. I’m also not a hundred percent sure I could kill myself if I tried. If I remove my demon side, I have to replace it with something. I’ve already been half human, I can only imagine that being entirely human is even worse.

  My demon side has always been my cool side. The side that always fit in and made friends, that is confident and so sure of itself. It was an easy decision to decide to remove my human side, this way I can lose the pain and gain more of my fun demon traits. The thing about removing half of myself, is that I have to replace it with something. Otherwise I would probably end up some weird drooling vegetable. It took a bit of research to figure out how to replace my human side to match my demon side, but I think I have it sorted out now.