Dread the Dark Read online

  I spent the day as I usually do, collecting cans throughout the city, well, as much of it as I can cover on foot. After turning the cans in for some cash, I bought some food and returned to the park to sit on a bench and eat. After my meal, I wandered around for a bit longer before returning to the park to sleep.

  There have always been stories about this park. Usually it’s about the homeless population, but I can attest that those without shelter are the last thing someone in this park should worry about. If I had any idea that the stories of the yellow eyes in the darkness had any footing in reality, I never would have come here.

  An uneasy feeling rose in my chest as the sun went down today. I felt more exposed than usual on the bench, and decided to return to my spot in the bushes. Being a full grown man, people generally avoid me at night, but something told me I was in danger. Then again, when you have to live without shelter, danger is a constant.

  It didn’t take long before I was fast asleep underneath the bushes, body and possessions tucked warmly into a sleeping bag. I must have only been asleep for an hour or two when the sound of screams blasted me awake. I just about started screaming myself, but luckily I have gotten pretty good about waking up and immediately being on high alert. So instead, I bit down on my cheek, stifling the screams that threatened to pour over my lips.

  Peering out from under the bushes, I could see a woman. Now, if this had been your everyday assault, I would have absolutely stepped in. I know I can hold my own against people, but her assailants weren’t people, at least not like any he had ever met before. Instead, I watched as these monsters tore her apart, piece by piece, scream by scream, until there was nothing left but a wet smacking sound.

  The creatures are massive. They appear to be around seven feet tall, towering over the bloody pile that was the screaming woman. Their skeletal bodies so dark it looks as though a creature shaped hole has been punched in the atmosphere. The only break in the darkness is their yellow, pupiless eyes. The creature’s arms are too-long for their bodies, stretching into too-long fingers, oversized chest balanced on too-tall of legs.

  I watched as they consumed their prey, eventually leaving my line of sight. After some time had gone by, I thought I had stayed still enough, that they had truly left. I needed to pack up my things before I could run. That may seem strange, but it’s all I have, every last cent, of which there are very few. After quietly packing, I put my backpack on, threw the sleeping bag strap over my shoulder, and slowly crawled out from under the bushes.

  ~

  The second I’m on my feet I take a quick glance around, trying to decide which direction to move in. My eyes immediately fall on two yellow orbs floating in a nearby tree. A scream catches in my throat, terror seizing my chest. There’s no way they haven’t seen me. The only thought in my head is run, now!

  I take off running in an arbitrary direction. I can hear them, more than one, they’re following me. As I run I focus in on the shuffling of their feet, the raspiness of their breath, the silence between their steps. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was daytime, or if I had a car nearby for a fast escape. The truth is, my only chance is to outrun them.

  As I make my way across the grass and through the trees and bushes, I step out into a clearing and immediately see that I’m trapped. Ahead of me are more of the creatures, these ones seeming to stretch to twelve feet high. It doesn’t seem things can get much worse. But that’s the mistake we always make, isn’t’ it? We think it can’t get any worse.

  Here I stand, my heart pounding, sweat pouring into my eyes, lungs and muscles on fire, surrounded by monsters. I’ve run out of places to run. I drop my sleeping bag and my backpack, letting them fall to the ground. As much as I need those things, they won’t do me any good if I’m dead. If I’ve been eaten. Because that’s what they did to that woman, isn’t it? They ate her. I heard the crunching of her bones. Part of me wonders if I’ll live long enough to hear the crunching of my own bones.

  The creatures aren’t moving, but neither am I. I can feel the tension building in the air, someone is about to make a move, I just need to decide if it’s going to be me. I can hear their raspy breathes behind me, in front of me, surrounding me. I can feel a scream rising in my throat, the sight of the monstrous creatures threatening my sanity.

  It appears I’ve waited too long, as the creatures have begun to move in. I’m frozen in place, fear seizing control of my muscles. I never understood how people didn’t run from danger, until now. Sometimes the danger is too terrible to run from, sometimes it’s like your legs have grown roots that anchor you to the ground, that anchor you to impending death.

  As the creatures move, I expect the lights in the park to reflect off of their bones, but alas, their darkness swallows the light, revealing nothing under its gaze. They are closing in now, oversized limbs reaching out for him, their jaws opening much too far, to reveal way too many teeth. Time seems to slow as I watch them close in on me.

  Just as they arrive, my feet shed their roots, and I push off the ground to run. But, it’s too late. I feel their long bony fingers close over my arms and legs, holding me firmly in place. The largest of the group arrives in front of me, jaw opening to take a large bite. I can hear someone screaming, and for a brief moment I think maybe they will send help, but only a moment goes by before I realize, the screaming is coming from me.

  Fair

  Her name is Emily. With bright blue eyes and blonde ringlets cascading to just past her shoulders, she captivates the audience at her preschool recital. Her solo is short, but she has a sweet voice, and she bounces on her toes as she sings, the sequins on her bright pink dress catching the stage lights. The audience claps as she finishes her solo and she gives an adorable little curtsy before joining the rest of the class at the back of the stage.

  Her parents and all four grandparents are seated in the audience. They each wear giant grins as she performs, her grandfather fumbling with a camcorder. The Tinks are an ordinary family. They love each other endlessly and irritate each other incessantly.

  Underneath all of the Tinks’ smiles and applause, there is an undercurrent of anxiety. These events always make them nervous. The world is both amazed by Emily and terrified of her. Both blonde hair and blue eyes disappeared from the gene pool long ago. The fact that Emily has both makes her one in a trillion. Most people are shocked by her appearance and charmed by her sweet disposition. However, there are times when people are obviously disgusted and more often, terrified of her.

  The recital makes them nervous because she is exposed to more people. They cross their fingers that no one makes a scene, says anything stupid, or asks any stupid questions. They just want Emily to feel safe and included.

  Luckily tonight goes well, the kids and their families able to enjoy their recital in peace. Tragically, the rest of the night wouldn’t be quite so easy.

  ~

  Tucked into her bed, Emily is wearing her pink pajamas and holding her favorite stuffed animal, Flopsy the rabbit. The rest of the small town of Warwick is sleeping, short of a few town drunks who meander through the streets, fighting the fog to get home. The night is quiet and still until the moment the clock strikes three in the morning. As soon as the minute hand ticks over, all of the power in the town goes out. This wouldn’t usually wake anyone up, however, in this case the power outage was accompanied by an ear piercing screech. The power outage and the screeching sound only lasted for a matter of seconds. When it was over it left the townspeople disoriented, confused, and flooded with adrenaline.

  Once the incident is over, most parents go to check on their children. The screeching sound scared the hell out of the adults in town, so they assume the children are petrified. It is then that the town comes roaring to life. Every single child from the town is gone, including adorable little Emily. Parents search high and low, every cabinet, every nook and cranny, but they are unable to locate any of the children.

  By four o’clock, most of the town and the entire police fo
rce are out sweeping the town looking for their children. The only sounds are of walkie talkies and parents softly sobbing as they search. They continue the search until ten o’clock, when police and volunteers from surrounding cities arrive to assist in the search efforts.

  It is a strange case. Neither the children nor the suspected abductors left any evidence whatsoever. The doors and windows on most homes are still locked, and there aren’t any signs of forced entry.

  The search effort begins at the center of town, spreading outwards in all directions. The police set up barriers so no one can leave the town during the search. Although it’s a fairly small town, there are eighty-five children missing; every single child under the age of twelve vanished in an instant.

  ~

  In the months that followed, the town held its collective breath. It soon appeared they would suffocate before there was any good news, or any news at all. The town had been searched by law enforcement and volunteers over and over again, yet they never found any clues. They didn’t find a single slipper, stuffed animal, sock, nor any signs of violence.

  The town, the police, and the FBI were completely stumped. Each child’s face was broadcast on national and local news across the country. It was all over the internet, tons of shares on social media, billboards, even radio. They had thousands of calls to the tip line, but nothing ever panned out. The media began referring to them as the “Lost Boys” in reference to the children who would never grow up, made famous by Disney’s Peter Pan.

  Although the missing children held the nation’s attention for longer than missing children typically do, after six months or so, interest began to wane. However, the children stayed fresh in the minds of the authorities, the families, and the conspiracy theorists. While the FBI and police investigations were ongoing, the parents kept searching, and the conspiracy theorists kept theorizing.

  There were many theories proposed. The first, and most popular among believers, was that aliens abducted the children and had taken them to their home planet. Some believed this was to raise the children on the alien planet, then send them back as adults to try to build a bridge between the aliens and Earthlings.

  Other theories included government experiments, radiation poisoning, gas leaks, cult activity, ritual sacrifice, and a town-sized cover up. Some locals even theorized that Emily had been responsible, as it’s a typical human reaction to accuse those who are different from themselves.

  The most popular of these theories is that the children were sacrificed during a cult ritual and the act was covered up by the town. It’s a small town, and the families have all been there for generations. This gave way to the ignorant, creepy, small town stereotype. This allowed some groups to quickly jump to conclusions about what really happened. Regardless of what people believed, it appeared this would remain a mystery, and that the families would be cursed with never knowing what happened to their children.

  ~

  The one year anniversary of the disappearance, there was a bump in news coverage over the incident, but beyond that the world marched on, as if nothing had changed. For the town of Warwick, it seemed as though they were trapped in an endless nightmare. Everyone in the town knew the chances of finding any of the children unharmed had become essentially nonexistent. However, parents were resigned to finding the truth. Most parents, even if they didn’t admit it out loud, only expected to find their children’s bones, the grotesque remains of what was once beautiful potential.

  A makeshift memorial had been formed in the town center. It was in front of a large water fountain that featured the town’s founding father, William Warwick, on a rearing horse, the reigns in his left hand, and a pistol drawn towards the heavens in his right. The fountain was adorned with photos of the missing children, stuffed animals, letters, flowers, and other trinkets. There were often people sitting and crying nearby, or sometimes a grief stricken parent would try to sleep at the memorial all night. Usually the town police gave them a ride home.

  It was here that the town decided to have a gathering recognizing the one year anniversary of the disappearances. As the sun began to sink into the horizon, the mayor stood on the lip of the fountain, microphone in hand. Looking through the audience he couldn’t help but be stricken by how few children there were, just a few infants who had been born after that terrible night, and a few older teens.

  “I have been wrestling with what to say for weeks. I finally realized why I was having so much trouble writing a speech. There aren’t any words I can say that will bring your children back. There isn’t anything I can say that will take away the sting, that will heal broken hearts, that will mend lives forever changed.”

  Pausing to take a deep breath, the mayor continued, “One year ago tonight, our children were taken from us. The doors were locked, children tucked safely in their beds, yet they were taken. There is nothing any of us could’ve done to prevent it, and we will continue to search for them until we have answers. However, I suggest today, on the one year anniversary, that we focus on something different. Lets try to focus on their bright smiles, the sound of their laughter, and all of our good memories. We have been searching for a year, let’s take a break today to cement them into our memories, to shed tears, to lift each other up. Tomorrow we can resume our search. I wish I had something more motivating to say, but I won’t downplay this tragedy and what it means for each and every citizen of Warwick.”

  I encourage everyone to light a candle for your child, and to place it on the rim of the fountain. Share stories, laugh, cry, whatever you need to do, then go home and get some rest, for tomorrow we continue our search.” The mayor stepped down from the fountain and began helping the townspeople hand out candles while music played softly in the background.

  ~

  That night the town was once again silent, just as it was a year ago. The Tinks poured themselves into bed, having spent hours in Emily’s room, trying to will the universe to bring her back to them.

  At three o’clock on the dot, the entire town of Warwick lost power. The townspeople’s ears were immediately accosted by screeching sound so loud it felt as though the windows of the houses would shatter. Once again, this only lasted ninety seconds, and out of habit most townspeople ran straight to their child’s room, not really understanding why they were checking on a child that isn’t there.

  The Tinks were no different, they sprang out of bed and almost knocked the door down getting into Emily’s room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, blonde ringlets down just past her shoulders, wearing her pink pajamas, Flopsy the rabbit in her lap, was Emily. The Tinks collapsed in front of Emily, each pulling her into their arms, to make sure she’s real, to make sure they aren’t hallucinating. As they were each able to embrace her they realized they were not hallucinating, she was really there.

  Emily didn’t say a word. She didn’t embrace her parents as they hugged her. She sat motionless on the edge of the bed, her blue eyes, seemingly staring into the void. The Tinks told Emily how much they loved her and that they never stopped looking for her. Still, Emily was silent. They asked where she had been, if anyone had hurt her, but yet she remained silent.

  Assuming it was the trauma of whatever she had experienced that kept her silent, Mrs. Tink stayed with Emily while Mr. Tink called the police from another room. When he returned several minutes later, he said he had trouble getting through, but once he did he found out reports of returning children were flooding in from all over town.

  ~

  By morning the FBI had arrived, followed shortly by the media and by fringe conspiracy groups. The town was buzzing with activity and excitement. Both the FBI and the local police went door to door interviewing the families. Each family had the same story, they were sleeping when the power went out and the loud screaming noise started. Upon entering their missing child’s room, they found their child sitting on the edge of the bed. The children do not appear to have aged, they are wearing what they were the night they disappeared. Their clothing is clean,
their hair the same length, it was as if they had been paused in time for the last year. Although strange, most were not overly concerned by these details. What scared them is the demeanor of the children. Like Emily, none had said a single word, they didn’t react to their names being called, to hugs, they wouldn’t eat, and hadn’t yet slept. They just sat on the edge of the bed, silently staring into the void.

  The FBI brought in child psychologists to assist the town. After seeing all eighty-five children, the psychologists came to the conclusion that the kids were still in shock from whatever they experienced. The only responses they could get from the children were more blank stares. They suggested ongoing therapy for both the children and the parents.

  The nation rejoyced over the return of the children. The citizens of Warwick rejoyed along with them, but under the surface lies the truth. The children were not the same. They were unresponsive, as if they are just shells of the children they once knew. While amongst themselves the parents discussed the children needing time to adjust, and that they’ve probably been through something scary, in secret they wondered if their children were in there at all.

  For the Tinks, it was Mrs. Tinks, Beverly, who raised the question first. “Todd, what if this isn’t Emily? She looks like her, but she doesn’t move unless it’s to eat or use the restroom, beyond that she just sits here, staring at us. Why hasn’t she aged? Why hasn’t she grown? How did she get back?”

  Todd thought for a moment before responding to his wife. “Bev, I’m worried too. All I know for now, is that our little girl is back. It’s only been a couple weeks. I’m sure she will start to snap out of it soon.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Beverly whispered.