Jennings Grove by Jeff Parish

Chapter 12: Fourth Night, Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 15:43:00 +0000

Ethan grabbed the flashlight and set a brisk pace through Alexis’ room and into the master bedroom. He walked around the bed and stopped on the far side. Vernon stood beside him. “This the closet that’s been giving you so much trouble?” he asked, pointing with the light. Shadows crowded away from the illumination. Vernon watched them brood in the corners and nodded. “Alright then. When I come back out of there, I hope you’ll actually listen for once.”

Vernon grabbed his arm. “Ethan, don’t!”

He smiled and pushed Vernon’s hand away. “Don’t worry. Just give me a minute, then open the door. I’ll be fine, and maybe you’ll come around.”

Reaching out, Vernon tried to grab him again, but Ethan shrugged him off and stepped into the closet. He shoved clothes aside, stepped in and turned around. His knees buckled a bit as if something had bumped into his back. “Looks like we’ll need to get an exterminator out here in the morning. Some big rats in here from the feel. Give me about two minutes, then open the door.”

Vernon opened his mouth in protest, but before he could say anything, Ethan leaned out, grabbed the knob and pulled the door shut. Vernon saw the light swishing side to side through the crack near the floor, then it winked out.

Something thudded against the door. Ethan gave a muffled shout. Something clattered against the floor. And silence.

Uncertainty kept Vernon rooted to the spot. He knew he should open the door. But what’s the point? It’s not like there’s anybody in there anymore. He shoved a fist into his mouth to stifle a giggle. “Get a grip on yourself,” he muttered and jumped at the sound of his own voice. He took a deep breath and walked to the door. The knob felt slippery in his sweaty grasp. Vernon wiped his hands on his shirt, grabbed the doorknob, counted to five and yanked it open, taking a long step backward as he did so.

Vernon watched as the darkness rolled outward and went through its usual display of flattening and retreating from the overhead light. A part of him wondered how he could stand there and witness such a thing so calmly. Guess you really can get used to anything. Another wild titter threatened to bubble up. He forced it back down. Once it appeared the shadows had withdrawn as much as they were going to, Vernon took a couple of hesitant steps toward the closet. Ethan, of course, was nowhere to be seen. But a round piece of metal protruded from the darkness. He dropped to his knees and crept forward until his outstretched hand stood a few fingers’ breadth from the shiny object. He stayed still for several moments. Then his hand shout out, grabbed it and dragged it out. He half expected shadows to cling to it like some sort of glue that would snap back and yank him with it. But the flashlight pulled free easily enough and he scuttled backward without any interference. He clutched it to his chest and clicked it on and off a few times to prove to himself it still worked. He kept it pointed at the closet, watching the light drill its way through the darkness. Finally, tired of the game, he shut the flashlight off. Vernon stood, stretched and went into the living room. After a few tugs, he wrestled the door open and walked out onto the front porch.

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Part V coming soon!

Chapter 12: Fourth Night, Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 15:33:00 +0000

Dark gripped his flesh with cold talons. He grabbed the doorframe with his other hand and pulled. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. A tug from the other side jerked him into the room up to his shoulder. The cold crept up his arm. Vernon turned his head. Shadows were trying to cover more of his body. Only the kitchen light kept them at bay. Wonderful. My luck, the lights will go out in just a second. He looked at Ethan, still leaning against the refrigerator. Ethan scratched his head and arched an eyebrow. “A little help?” he grunted, slipping a few inches back. Fingers started to cramp as he tightened his grip.

Ethan shook his head. “Do you really think this little display will prove anything, Vern?”

Vernon gaped at him and momentarily lost his hold on the doorframe. His shirt ripped as it raked across the doorway. Clawing for a new purchase, he managed to halt his progress just as the cold dark reached his jawline. One of his legs had been dragged across the threshold, increasing the pull on his body. He grimaced as the muscles in his fingers and forearm started to cramp. “Come on, Ethan,” he gasped. “Don’t just stand there. Do something!” The fingernail on his pinky ripped free. Tears started in his eyes, and he lost his grip. Wood bit into his arm as he wrapped his elbow and knee around the doorway. Another jerk pulled him a few inches back. Pain flared in his arm. I can’t keep this up. So much for a demonstration. I wonder if Ethan will try to come in there after me. The cramps spread up his arm. His hold started to slip. Vernon closed his eyes and took a deep breath as his grip weakened further.

Nothing dragged him backward. In fact, the pain and tension in his wrist had increased. Cocking one eye open, he found Ethan holding to his arm with both hands. His friend leaned backward, bracing one foot against the doorway just above Vernon’s leg. Muscles and tendons stood out in his neck and forearm. He muttered something through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“I said, let go!” Ethan shouted.

“I’m not holding on to anything!”

“I’m not playing, Vern,” he grated. Sweat dripped from his forehead. “Either let go, or I do. I’m not going to give myself a heart attack over this.”

I think he’s serious. His old friend looked like he might pop a vessel any minute. But for now, he kept his hold. Groaning, Vernon strained to help free himself. He pulled with the leg wrapped around the doorframe. He’d lost all feeling in the arm and leg trapped in darkness, but he tried to make them push, as well. Slowly, inch by painful inch, he scraped past the wall and back into the kitchen. Ethan’s sweaty hands made the progress difficult. Every few minutes, Vernon had to brace himself as Ethan let go with one hand, wiping it on his pants, then repeat the process with his other hand. At least he’s holding on. He slipped half an inch between sweaty palms. For now. Another lunge, and he managed to pull himself halfway out of the back room. He used the wall to support himself as Ethan pulled one hand free to wipe clear. Vernon had only a bare warning before the other slipped free.

He lurched backward, barely able to halt his backward slide. The abrupt stop slammed him into the doorframe. His free arm banged the wall. He heard a bang from the other side, felt his arm hit something. Light flooded the back room. Vernon fell to the floor and laughed at Ethan’s sudden, surprised expression. “Guess I should have tried that sooner.”

Ethan put both hands behind his neck and tilted his head back. “It would have been better if you’d just let go when I told you. I don’t know what you were trying to prove, playing tug-o-war with me like that.” His neck cracked as he turned it side to side. “I’d send you my chiropractor bill if I didn’t already know you don’t have any money.”

“I wasn’t trying to prove anything.” He stood and dusted his pants off. “I told you I wasn’t holding onto anything. Does this look like I’m playing?” He pulled at his shirt, exposing the tears. “Or this?” Blood dripped from his arm as he shoved it into Ethan’s face. Several gashes ran from elbow to wrist. Out of the cold night, the wounds were starting to hurt. Look like I’ve been manhandled by an eagle or something. He kept the other hand clenched in a fist. The pressure helped dull the pain from his missing fingernail. “What do you have to say about that?”

Blowing noisily and shaking his head, Ethan pushed the arm aside and stared him in the face. “Look, Vern, I’ve always tried to be a good friend. Sometimes that means telling folks what they don’t want to hear.” He leaned back against the wall. “I got to tell you, there’s something seriously wrong in your head. I know you’ve been through a lot lately. You lost a job. All your money’s gone. You had to move across the state, and your marriage hit the skids. I guess the stress just got to you.”

“Stress? You don’t know the first thing –”

“I’m not done.” A hard edge entered his tone. “My guess is you just snapped. Your wife and daughter left, and you concocted some sort of fantasy because you couldn’t deal with the fact they’re gone. Look at yourself.” He gestured at the bleeding arm. “You’re hurting yourself to make it true. I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose or if you’re even aware of it. You sure seem like you believe all this, and I don’t think you’d make me bust a gut for some kind of make believe.”

“You still think I’m making all this up?”

“Maybe not on purpose, but yeah.”

“After everything I’ve showed you…” Vernon trailed off and shook his head.

“What have you shown me, Vern? Huh? A table with nothing under it? A cabinet with some mice and roaches in it?”

“That cabinet was empty, Ethan. You know that.”

“Of course it was empty. With all the banging and light, anything in there would have run off. Just because you didn’t see anything doesn’t mean they weren’t there. It certainly doesn’t mean there’s some kind of creepy crawly dark waiting to drag you away. It’s just part of this dream of yours, just like you grabbing the wall in there to pretend the darkness got you.” Vernon tried to get a word in, but Ethan overrode him, turning around to point through the living room. “I’m not sure I even want to know what was going through your head when you were trying to tear my house down.”

“I told you about that.”

“I know what you told me, but what was it really?” He waved dismissively. “I doubt you even know. But you have got to snap out of it, Vern. For your son’s sake if not your own. Face facts: You’re alone here now. Cheryl and Alexis aren’t coming back.”

Vernon laughed hysterically. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Not for the reasons you think. They’re not sucked away into the dark here. Your wife left you and took one of the kids with her. She left the baby with you. Looks to me like she just couldn’t take anymore of the stress y’all had been under and decided to split with her baby girl.”

“I’m telling you, they haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Snap out of it!” Ethan yelled. “Look, I’m going to prove to you there’s nothing here, then we’re going to go get you some help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just come with me.”
++++

Part IV coming soon!

Chapter 12: Fourth Night, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 21:32:00 +0000

Vernon frowned and nodded. He climbed out of the recliner, waited for Ethan to stand and lead him into the kitchen. He grabbed a flashlight off the table and pointed it downward over the edge. “Look down there,” he said, pointing at the floor. His foot sat near the leg. A few cautious, dark strands investigated his laces. Ethan nodded. Vernon clicked the light on. Shadows shrank away from the sudden light, but the glare birthed a strong shadow from the tabletop onto his foot. Unable to move up his leg, it contracted and clamped on his foot. Vernon stumbled as his foot slid under the table. His knee straightened and popped; his thigh bumped into the wood. Vernon hissed in pain and tried to draw back, but it wouldn’t let go. He swung the light down his leg. The beam slashed through the shadow, which parted and retreated under the table.

Panting, he stood up straighter, leaning to the left to favor his injured leg. Vernon clicked off the light and turned to Ethan with raised eyebrows. His friend responded with a frown. “Slip on some water or something?”

“What? You didn’t see the shadows moving?”

“All I saw was you waving that light around and trying not to fall.”

A sharp retort nearly escaped his lips before Vernon could bite it back. Trying to convince him, not get in a shouting match. Besides, it probably did look that way from where he’s standing. Maybe he needs to see it for himself. But he didn’t want to put Ethan in any danger. He sighed and ran his gaze around the room. His eyes stopped on the upper cupboard next to the sink. That might do the trick. He absentmindedly wiped his hand on his jeans and stepped across the room, motioning for Ethan to follow.

Darkness oozed back as he opened the cabinet doors. Vernon eyed the deeper shadows behind the other cupboards to the side. Probably not a real threat – there certainly wasn’t enough room to drag Ethan into even if he was alone – but who knew what mischief they could achieve? He flipped the other doors open and looked again. Too much light. He shut all the doors but one. Fainter than before, but they still looked fairly strong. He waved the flashlight at the shelf a couple of times for good measure. That should work. “Stick your hand in there.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

Ethan shrugged. He stared at the shelf for a moment before reaching in up to his elbow. Vernon flashed the light inside one more time then stepped back. Ethan shook his head with a bemused grin and stood still a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something; his lips curled into a grimace and he tried to pull his arm back.

“Wait!” Vernon lowered his voice and coughed into his fist. “Just wait a sec.” Ethan shuddered, but slowly reached back inside. “Now take a look in there and tell me what you see.”

Squinting, he leaned forward. Vernon could see his arm trembling as he studied the interior of the cabinet. Whatever he saw in there held his attention quite securely. Aside from his eyes scanning side to side and a periodic twitch of his head, Ethan remained stock still. Vernon held his breath. Is this it? He’s acting like he sees something. I wish I knew what he was thinking. He took a step, then stopped himself. Don’t need to interrupt. Just let him figure it out on his own. Shouldn’t be too long now, anyway. He leaned back on the counter, fidgeting with the flashlight. He suppressed a shudder at the memory of little shadows crawling over his hand. How much longer can he stand that? He flipped the flashlight end over end while he waited. He nearly dropped it when Ethan let out a sharp hiss.

“Something bit me!” Drawing his hand from the cupboard, Ethan leaned in closer, then shook his head and examined his index and middle fingers. Blood welled from three parallel cuts just below the nails. “Looks like I need to get an exterminator out here ASAP.”

“An exterminator? For what?”

“Looks like we’ve got some kind of infestation – mice, maybe rats and whatever was crawling up and down my arm a minute ago.”

“‘Whatever?’” His voice rose with incredulity.

“Yeah. Couldn’t get a good look at it. Not enough light; all I could see was something moving in the shadows.”

Vernon snorted. “Fine. I’ll give you all the light you need.” He flipped the doors open one by one, hard enough they bounced off each other, and shined the flashlight inside for good measure. Cups, bowls, plates and Tupperware gleamed back at them. “See anything in there to call an exterminator for?”

“Vern, calm down. With you making all that racket and flashing that light around, it’s no wonder they ran off.”

“What ran off, Ethan? What? Roaches? Rats? Spiders?” He walked closer and shoved the flashlight around the bottom shelf. “Where are they?”

“Like I said, ran off –”

“Oh, come on! Ran off where? There’s nothing in here, Ethan. You’d still be able to see some bugs, rat poop, something, anything. There aren’t even any spider webs.” Ethan shrugged and scratched his chin, but said nothing. Vernon sighed and nodded. “Fine. Have it your way. I guess I know what I have to do. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He walked to the doorway into the back room and reached one arm around. He crooked a finger at his friend. “I’ll need you to come over here, though.”

“For what?”

“To make sure I don’t die.”

Ethan gave an exasperated laugh. “Sure thing.” He walked over and leaned on the refrigerator. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Vernon said and flipped off the lights in the back room.

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Part III of Chapter 12 coming soon!

Chapter 12: Fourth Night, Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 18:07:00 +0000

Ethan Roodschild frowned at his coffee mug. He slouched back on the blue hide-a-bed, his gaze locked on the empty cup, motionless and silent except for periodic murmuring too quiet for Vernon to make out. He’s been doing that for better than half an hour. Why doesn’t he say something? Vernon fidgeted in his recliner, unable to take his eyes from his friend. If he can still be called that.

He had tried to hold back, but Ethan’s arrival had unleashed a torrent of words and bitterness that shocked even Vernon. After Ware’s visit, Vernon passed the remainder of his afternoon pacing through the house. He could feel the fog that had clouded his brain most of the day just waiting for a chance to come back. He found himself standing in the middle of the room staring at walls and windows several times. The only real solution seemed to lay in action. The fog refused to dissipate entirely, but as long as he was doing something, he could hold it at bay. So Vernon got moving. He checked every light and replaced the burnt-out bulbs in the back room. They lit when he flipped the switch. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked to the kitchen, leaving the light on behind him. In the hour and a half before Ethan knocked at the door, Vernon made at least a half-dozen circuits of the house, double- and re-checking bulbs and replacing three others that looked about to go out. He was pondering a fourth when a knock at the door interrupted him. Neither said a word as Vernon opened the door. Ethan stepped inside with a scowl for the damaged wall. His frown deepened as the door wedged shut with a wooden grinding noise. Instead of tearing into his wayward tenant, however, he simply sat on the love seat and watched as Vernon slipped into the kitchen to whip up a cup of instant coffee. He accepted the mug with a nod. Vernon sank into his chair and stared at his hands. What do I say? Where do I even begin? Then Ethan took the decision away with two simple words: “What’s up?”

A deep breath, and Vernon opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he intended to say. Perhaps an apology for the door or missing work. Maybe a comment about how his life was falling apart without his wife and daughter – carefully worded, of course. Or he could have just said that he didn’t know what to say. All perfectly good, safe ways to begin what would be a weird tale regardless of how he spun it. But what came out of his mouth was: “You killed my family.” Ethan’s eyebrows shot up at that, but he stayed silent while Vernon jabbed a finger his way and continued. “You knew this was a weird town. Why didn’t you say something? Even if we didn’t have any choice but to come here, some sort of heads up would have been nice. Cheryl and Alexis would still be here, and I wouldn’t be facing this nightmare alone. But no, you had to keep your mouth shut, and we paid the price.” Tears choked his voice. “Especially Cheryl and our little girl.”

“What happened to them?”

Vernon tried to ignore the question, tried to listen to the little voice whispering in his head that answering it would not end well. But his fear and frustration had found an outlet; he had the bit in his teeth and couldn’t stop now. He jumped from his chair and paced in front of Ethan’s seat. The words poured out in a torrent that offered every detail of the past few nights. Vernon told about their weird reception from Jennings Grove’s residents, the horror of losing Alexis and then his wife. He spoke of Cheryl’s final effort to save Ray and the subsequent nights of battles and narrow escapes. He showed every bruise and scrape he had gained in his struggles with the darkness. Finally, as he got to the morning’s fits and dropping Ray off with Kateri, the flood slowed and he forced himself to a stuttering halt. He dropped into his recliner, which answered with an internal sproing and a crack. Vernon ignored it, leaned back and stared at Ethan, waiting for the angry response. Instead, he got ignored. Say something, anything. Vernon glanced out the window. Night had fallen. He wondered what he would tell Ethan when it was time to go. It might solve a lot of problems if you just let him leave. Vernon shook his head. That wasn’t an answer.

“You know, this is a lot to take in,” Ethan said slowly. Vernon turned his gaze back on his boss and leaned forward in his chair. “You spin quite a tale, and you sure seem to believe it. But I got to tell you, I’m just not sure how to take all this.”

His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. Vernon fell back, which set his seat to rocking. Ethan looked up at the squeaking springs with a small smile, but said nothing. Vernon closed his mouth and pushed on the floor with his feet. His gaze turned to the ceiling, he tried to let the swaying chair relax his nerves even as his mind raced ahead. Ethan almost sounded as though he believed the story, but that seemed rather unlikely. It’s not like this is the most believable story. I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me something like this. Is he playing with me? Or maybe just messing with my head? He chewed his lip. That’s not his style. He’s always been straight with me. Even if he thought I was completely deranged, he wouldn’t do that to me. So what is it? Vernon closed his eyes, tapping his thumbs together. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t find an answer that fit. He cracked an eyelid and snuck a glance at Ethan. He peered back with an expression that spoke of nothing but patience and hopeful expectation. He’d seen the same look on his friend’s face hundreds of times before while he waited for something to make sense. Is that it? Vernon sat up slowly. Metal inside the recliner squealed as he rose. Could it be that he wants to believe me, no matter how crazy it sounds? I just need to offer him some kind of… “Proof,” he said aloud. “You need some kind of proof.”

“It would be nice,” Ethan replied dryly.

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Part 2 coming soon!

Chapter 11: Breakdown, Part V

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 20:05:00 +0000

Shadows wrapped around his forearm as his hand closed on the photo album. With daylight all around, the darkness lacked the strength it would in a few hours, but this shelter gave it enough protection that pulling free proved quite difficult. He owed much of his predicament to an awkward position. Cold pressure on his wrist kept him on his tiptoes; he couldn’t rock back on his heels to get more leverage. Great. A stalemate. But for how long? Daylight was dying. The grip on his arm tightened slightly. Already? Vernon twisted as much as he could, looking for a way out. He frowned at the blinds on the window just behind and to his left, then lashed out with his foot. Pain burned his hip, and the kick fell short. Gritting his teeth, he turned until it felt as though his arm might give out. He hopped up and outward and kicked again. The blinds flew away from the glass. Sunlight skittered around the room. Wild bands flashed through the closet for a brief moment, and Vernon fell to the floor with a thud. Something struck the bed with a faint squeak of springs. Colors bloomed in his vision as his head thumped the hardwood. Fighting to clear his vision, he scrambled to his feet with one hand resting on the bed and the other braced against his knee. He looked up at the shadows swimming around the closet, took a deep breath and screamed.

The sound ripped through his throat. It echoed in the room’s confines. Fear and frustration welled up inside, fueling the primal roar. Everything I do, every move I make has to be a fight. I’m so tired of fighting. Don’t I deserve a break? Don’t we deserve some kind of peace, even if it’s just a minute? He screamed again and again, until all he could manage was an aggravated hiss. Finally, his rage spent, Vernon flopped on the bed. Something angular poked his bottom. He let it be for a minute. Breath rasped through a throat that felt as though it had been scraped raw. His hands trembled as he twisted around and yanked the item from underneath him. A large binder covered in gray faux-leather pulled free, the word “Album” stamped across the front in gold script. Vernon traced the letters with one trembling finger. He paused at the “m,” took a deep breath and flipped the cover open. A smiling couple in wedding finery greeted him on the first page. He stared, struggling to remember actually ever being that happy. What happened to us? All he could seem to recall was arguments broken only by chilly silences. Even in the worst of it all, there had been at least a few smiles and laughter. Alexis and Ray had made sure of that. It seemed they could always find joy in their children if not each other. But it seemed as though all those pleasant memories had been swallowed by the darkness in Jennings Grove. Perhaps since it hadn't been able to claim him, this creepy little town was turning him into a small piece of darkness from the inside out. He shook his head. Purely crazy -- but then again, what wasn't these days? He flipped the pages, watching the happiest day of his life rush by in a series of fading snapshots.

His perusal halted at photos in a hospital. A smile ghosted across his lips at the sight of Alexis squalling as doctors looked her over. That first cry had been a great relief. She was quiet at birth, and Vernon hadn't been able to get a good look at her with all the nurses and doctors swarming around mother and newborn. He'd been at least half afraid she had been stillborn. The next picture showed Cheryl, glowing, exhausted and proud with the sleeping baby in her arms. She was so beautiful. How could I forget that? Images flipped past: Alexis coming home. Vernon changing his first diaper with an exaggerated look of disgust on his face. New outfits, new toys and a new home. First words and first steps. And smiles abounding. Then Raymond came along. He cried from the start, Vernon recalled. They had taken fewer pictures with him so far, but the ones plastered in their album showed little in the way of smiles once they got home from the delivery, just exhaustion and -- to his eyes -- a growing frustration. The few grins he saw seemed tense and forced. My fault. I should have tried harder. He wiped tears from his cheeks with an angry swipe of his hand. A small voice said the self recrimination wasn't entirely fair; Cheryl had been difficult far beyond what their circumstances warranted. Surely she bore some of the blame. Shut up! Just shut up. He wiped his nose. I certainly didn't help any. I should have done more. Muttering to himself, Vernon bent back to the photo album. A loud boom reverbrated through the house. Vernon jerked upright. The album fell to the floor. He stood and walked to the front door as flurry of knocks rattled the glass in their panes.

"What?” he snarled, yanking at the door. It stuck in the frame. Grasping the knob in both hands, he pulled harder. The door wrenched free with a squeak and thudded into the wall. “What is it?” he shouted in Travis Ware’s face.

“Calm down, Mr. Hamilton.” The mayor spoke in a low, firm voice that held more than a touch of aggravation. “We need to talk.” He started to step inside. Vernon shot an arm out and grabbed the door frame, barring his way.

“We can talk out here just fine, thank you.”

Travis frowned. “There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Hamilton. Now, if you’ll let me inside...”

“Rude? Rude?” Vernon laughed wildly. “What’s so polite about showing up at my house and trying to knock the door down?” He choked on the laughter, coughed and tried to squash the hysteria threatening to escape. “I--” His voice cracked like a teen’s. Vernon cleared his throat and tried again. “I said we can talk out here. Spill it or go away.”

Lifting one eyebrow, Travis shifted his stance as if to push his way inside. When Vernon made no effort to move, he shrugged and folded his arms. “Very well,” the mayor muttered. He coughed and spoke up: “We need to talk about you shirking your responsibilities and taking advantage of the Williams’ generosity.”

“My what?”

“Don’t act all innocent, Mr. Hamilton. If you’re going to sit here and play hooky from work, the least you could do is take care of your own son instead of foisting him off on Kateri with some lame excuses.”

"Lame excuses?" A giggle escaped his lips. "So now I'm ditching work and abandoning my kids just so I can sit here and relax? Just kickin’ it in Jennings Grove, is that it?” With an effort, he forced a frown. This really isn’t that funny, anyway. “Is that really what you think?” Travis lifted both eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Holy cow, you do, don’t you? You’re just warped enough to believe that.” Vernon laughed and slapped his knee. Not funny. But it’s so messed up, it’s either laugh or cry. And I’ve done enough crying for awhile. Splinters poked his fingers as he gripped the doorframe harder to keep from smacking that indignant, smug face in front of him.

“I don’t see anything funny about this.”

“Of course you don’t,” Vernon broke in. “You’ve lived your whole life in a B-grade horror movie. Everything about this weird, creepy little town of yours is perfectly normal to you.” He straightened and poked Travis in the chest. The mayor’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened and closed as searching for a proper response. Vernon didn’t give him the chance. He picked up pace and volume as he continued. “That’s your problem. This is your whole world, and you refuse to consider anything outside of it. Y’all just say, ‘Get over it and get moving.’ I got news for you, buddy -- normal people don’t work that way. I’m not here goofing off, and I’m not trying to abandon my child or my responsibilities. I’m trying to save whatever’s left of my sanity so I can take care of everything. The way things are going right now, I’m lucky I haven’t killed him.”

“Be that as it may, Kateri--”

“Kateri Williams agreed to watch Ray, and she accepted my reasons for leaving him there, regardless of what you think of them. So how about you butt out and mind your own business?”

“I am mayor--"

“‘Mayor,’ right. I believe the first night here, you used the word ‘unofficial.’ Jennings Grove’s not incorporated, is it? I haven’t seen any city limit signs. That means no real government -- and no real mayors. But even if you were, that doesn’t give you the right to stick your nose into every little thing that goes on around here.” The sound of an engine and crunching gravel reached his ears. Vernon stepped back and swung the door partway shut. “I think it’s time you leave. I’m expecting company.”

Travis’ eyes widened. “At this hour? Are you nuts?”

Vernon looked past him and noted with a sort of dull horror that the sun was well on its way toward the horizon. He kept his face smooth and shrugged. “He can stay the night, then.” A car door slammed in the driveway. “You really need to go.”

“Have it your way, Mr. Hamilton. But we’re going to talk about this later. This isn’t over.”
The mayor tromped down the steps and made his way across the yard. He gave Ethan a wide berth and continued on his way home. “No,” Vernon told his retreating back. “I don’t think it is.”
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Part I of Chapter 12 soon!

Chapter 11: Breakdown, Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 19:33:00 +0000

Vernon bit back a retort. He lowered his head to hide the scowl and scuffed his feet until he heard the door shut with a thunk. He lifted his head then and glared at the house for a moment before marching back to his car. His hands vibrated as he dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped into the driver’s seat. “Man up”? “Pull your own weight”? What is wrong with these people? Jennings Grove isn’t a place for anybody who’s sane. Or anyone who has other options. He turned the ignition over and banged his head on the steering wheel a couple of times. There’s got to be a way out of this. Rubbing his forehead, he put the car in gear and turned around. Gravel crunched and popped under his tires as he drove. He was barely aware of his surroundings until he found himself back in the driveway.

He got out of the car and trudged up the steps. Rope still lay on the porch, one end tied between the window door and the other snaking across to the steps. It looked like some monstrous dog had been leashed to the house and tried to tear it down as it made good on its escape. Ethan’s going to have a lot to say about that. He laughed. What’s he going to do? Evict me? He stepped inside, went to the kitchen and retrieved a bread knife. Back on the porch, he paused and watched sunlight play along the long, serrated blade. Cheryl would kill me if she saw me doing this with one of her good knives, he thought as he bent to saw at the thick rope just behind the knot. The strands parted easily enough, but the arm-think cord took time to cut through. Pain lanced through his shoulders by the time he straightened and yanked the rope free. He knuckled his back and set about rolling it between his elbow and palm. He lost himself in the slow rasp-slap of the moving coils until his hand slipped free and the end struck his arm. Vernon blinked and looked out at the yard.

The sun sat noticeably lower in the sky. He shrugged and dumped the coiled rope in the corner of the porch. Turning around, he examined the wall again. It didn’t look as bad without the rope drawing attention to the bulge. A quick tug on the door, and it wedged shut. It refused to latch no matter how hard he tugged, but at least it wouldn’t open the house to the wind. The window was a different matter. Vernon pushed and pulled until the muscles in his arms ached, but it would not shut all the way. A crack about an inch high remained open where the frame twisted outward. Better than nothing. Maybe I can nail some plastic up until I can fix the thing. He stepped back and assayed the structure with a critical eye. She was still a battered old bird. But with the door and window working -- however imperfectly -- it at least looked something like a home instead of a neglected hulk. Vernon swallowed the sudden bile that rose in his throat. A sound that was half whimper and half bitter laugh escaped his lips.

“Home,” he muttered. “Good one.” We had a real home, once. Even with Cheryl griping and nagging me half to death and Alexis annoying the snot out of me, we had a home. He sniffled and shook his head, sending teardrops pattering to the wooden porch. He stumbled blindly into the house.

Still trying to blink back tears, Vernon rammed his forehead against the doorframe leading to the bedroom. He paused inside his room and pursed his lips, trying to decide where to look first. He yanked open a few dresser drawers and found only clothing. A nightstand beside the bed held books and a several nail clippers. Why do we have so many of those things? Shaking his head, he sat on the bed and looked around the room. Still one place he hadn’t tried. Vernon heaved a sigh, rolled across the bed and slid to his feet in front of the closet. The door remained open. Sunlight pouring through the windows drove shadows to the corners. He took a hesitant step forward and peered up at the shelf overhead. Even with the beams lancing in around him, shadows sulked along the shelf like sullen mongrels driven to the last corner of their territory. They shifted and writhed, hiding some objects while revealing others. Three of his wife's shoeboxes jutted in front of him. He wasn't sure if they held photos or scrapbooking supplies or even some fancy footwear she'd never found the right occasion for. There was no telling with Cheryl. The darkness eddied, obscuring the boxes and exposing a pair of roller skates. Vernon reached up and snatched them down before the black tide could wash over them -- or his hands -- again. Scuffed white leather tried to gleam through years of wear. He fingered a long scratch long the arch of the right skate. Cheryl had nearly broken her arm that. It had been their third date, and she stuck her tongue out at him when he asked if her flailing might be due to the fact she didn’t really know how to skate. She’d hit a curb and fell hard to the ground.

Tears fell as he sat down on the bed and stroked the leather shoes. The last time he saw the skates had been just before they moved. Vernon had found them in the bottom of the baby’s closet. Dirt had turned them gray, and dust made the wheels hard to turn, except for one on the heel of the left skate, which had seized entirely. That happened all too often in the last few months. His hand whipped underneath the hardened plastic. The wheel spun freely on its bearings. Vernon remembered waving them in his wife’s face on his way to the trashcan. Why did I throw them away? Fighting, probably, and not speaking to one another. She fished them out and had them fixed. He wanted nothing more right then than to put his arms around Cheryl and hug her until her spine popped. Vernon tossed his head back and sighed. A glance at the closet showed the shifting darkness had uncovered another treasure, the one he’d been looking for. How long had it been sitting there while he played with his departed wife’s skates? Vernon bounced off the bed and lunged for the shelf.

Chapter 11: Breakdown, Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 16:56:00 +0000

Raymond brought him crashing back with a wail. Vernon straightened and turned toward the bedroom. He stopped, wrinkling his nose at an acrid stink. His gaze rounded the kitchen, seeking the source. He sniffed. It didn’t smell like food gone bad. Had some wiring blown? He spun on one heel, torn between going to comfort the crying baby and staying to track down a possibly dangerous emission. Another circuit revealed no source. Vernon shrugged, stepped past the buzzing microwave and walked to the bedroom. Ray stopped crying the instant he lay against his father’s shoulder. His even, slow breathing a few moments later signaled he had gone to sleep. Vernon hugged him closer and smiled. Figures. Guess I didn’t need that bottle after all. His head snapped up. He dashed back to the kitchen.

A thin trail of smoke arose from the microwave. Inside, baby formula boiled furiously inside a bent, twisted bottle. He punched the door button, halting the time at just over fifteen minutes. How long did I leave it in there? he thought as he grabbed molten plastic. His teeth clenched to hold in the shriek that tried to rip free of his throat. He hurled the bottle to the floor. Steaming liquid sprayed across the tattered linoleum. The bottle deformed further at the impact and slid to a halt underneath the table. Whimpering around burned fingers seeking comfort in his mouth, Vernon went to the living room and sat on the edge of the recliner. I could have set the house on fire and not even known it. A shiver ran up his spine. Rather than subside, it spread down his limbs and grew into tremors that chattered his teeth and bounced Ray around on his shoulder. He stood, hoping to walk some of the energy off. He wobbled and pitched forward, nearly dropping Raymond. The baby jerked awake and started crying. That’s it. I can’t do this. Not today. Once his steps evened enough that he could be sure of his destination, Vernon made his way to the bedroom, fished his keys and wallet off the dresser and walked out onto the porch.

The door refused to close. It banged to an abrupt halt inches from the frame. He figured it would be difficult with the damaged wall, but the gap was wider than it should be. He looked down and saw the rope still tied there. He shook his head and shrugged. What’s the difference? Who’s going to break in out here, anyway? He marched down the steps.

His trembling had decreased in frequency by the time he reached the Toyota, ganging together into periodic spasms that made it difficult to secure the belt in Raymond’s car seat. The baby, now quiet, seemed fascinated with the chattering clasp. Vernon finally got it buckled and collapsed into the driver’s seat with a sigh. He stared at the key as it jerked in his grip a couple of times, then rammed it home before his fingers could twitch again. He noted with relief that the fit seemed to be passing. I don’t need to drive off the road. The engine caught on the first try. He dropped the transmission into gear and headed down the driveway.

Despite his returning control, Vernon drove slowly on the gravel roads of Jennings Grove. His hands spasmed a few times on the trip, sending the station wagon toward the ditch. He jerked the wheel back each time before the tires could cross the boundary between gravel and grassy culvert. Sweat poured off his forehead and soaked his shirt by the time he came to a stop outside the Williams’ brick home and killed the engine. He sat for a moment, twitching and staring at the house. When he felt he had gained a measure of control, he took a deep breath, popped the door open and climbed out. Raymond reached up as the door opened and Vernon took Ray out of the car seat. All the twitching seemed to have stopped aside from a fluttering eyelid, and that petered out as he stepped onto the porch. Vernon sighed in relief. I want her to take him for the day, not run screaming to CPS. He rapped his knuckles on the door. Would anyone out here even go to CPS? I wonder what happens to the kids whose parents don’t make it. He pressed an ear to the door, but couldn’t hear anything inside. Frowning, he knocked again. What would he do if Kateri wasn’t home? Aside from his Camry, there weren’t any cars parked in the driveway. Vernon shook his head. She said she planned to stay home and study. She had to be here. He hammered the door.

Locks snapped back from the other side, halting his hand in midair. The door swung open. Kateri leaned against the jamb with folded arms and a scowl on her face. “What do you want?”

“Uh, I know I said I was going to watch him today --”

“You’re right. You did. And I’ve got work to do. So what do you want?”

“Look, I just can’t do this. I can’t stop twitching. I can’t think straight...”

“Try harder, Mr. Hamilton.” Vernon felt his jaw drop. She gave a tight smile at his expression. “What did you expect me to say? He’s your kid. Much as I like him, I can’t take care of him all the time. You’re going to have to man up and take some responsibility yourself.” She looked him up and down. “Looks like the twitching’s stopped, anyway. Good-bye Mr. Hamilton. If you go to work tomorrow, I’ll see you then.”

She straightened and started to swing the door shut. Vernon hitched Raymond up on his shoulder and slapped the door back open with his free hand. Kateri’s eyebrows rose. She pursed her lips and stood with a fist on her hip.

“Man up? You’ve lived here your whole life.” Anger tightened his voice. “I’ve been here three days. I’ve seen stuff out of horror movies take half my family. I’m losing my mind here, and you’re telling me to man up? I just melted a bottle and nearly burned the house down. It may be Ray next; I’ve lost track of how many times I nearly dropped him this morning. Is that what you want?”

Kateri’s mouth opened. From the look on her face, she planned to rip him a new one. She never got the chance. The shuddering returned in one great paroxysm that shook his entire body. The babysitter dove to her knees and caught Raymond as he slipped out of Vernon’s arms. The baby laughed, and Kateri hugged him tight as she climbed back to her feet. “Alright, Mr. Hamilton. You go home and pull yourself together. I’ll watch Raymond. Call me when you’re ready.” She gave him a hard look. “But you’d better do it quick. I meant what I said, Mr. Hamilton. Jennings Grove isn’t the place for people who won’t pull their own weight.”

++++

Part IV coming next week!

Chapter 11: Breakdown, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 18:00:00 +0000

“Time to get moving, Mr. Hamilton. Don’t want to be late for work.” Kateri had one arm wrapped around Ray, trapping him against her chest and holding the bottle in his mouth. He sucked greedily at the formula.

“Oh. Yeah.” He stood and glanced around the room. “Work. Oh, boy.” Tears started in his eyes. “I don’t know...” He sank to the chair and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.” Even muffled, he hated the whining tone of his voice. But he couldn’t seem to moderate it. “It’s just too much right now...”

She patted his shoulder. “It’s alright. It’s hard for those of us born here, too. But you’ll get used to it. I promise.” The hand left his back. Her footsteps pattered away into the kitchen, where he heard the refrigerator door open and shut. She walked back into the living room with a rhythmic thumping as she burped the baby. “Think you can make it to the office today?” Vernon shook his head. Kateri nodded and carried Ray into the bedroom. Her arms were empty when she came back. “He’s on the bed. If you’re going to stay home, I’m going to leave the little fellow here with you. I’ve got schoolwork to catch up on. Can’t seem to get it done when I’m watching Ray. He’s too cute to leave alone.”

Vernon wiped his nose on his arm and climbed to his feet. “OK. If that’s what you need to do. I’ll just stay here and take care of Ray and try to clear my head.”

“That’s a good idea, Mr. Hamilton. Take it easy, and I’m sure everything will be better in the morning.”

“I hope so,” he muttered. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice and dredged up a weak smile. “Thanks for all your help. I don’t know what we’d do without you right now.”

“Glad to do it.” She walked to the door and stepped out on the porch. “Y’all take care. I’ll see you later.”

Sitting back down, Vernon stared at the phone after she left. He glanced periodically at Ray waving his little arms and legs in the air. What was I going to do? He knew it was something important, but the details eluded him. A fog drifted through his mind; thoughts seemed familiar, but their shapes were obscure and distorted. What did Kateri say? Wasn’t there someone I needed to call? Because I wasn’t going to... “Work,” he blurted. Raymond laughed in his nest of sheets and blankets. “I gotta call work.” He paused as he reached for the handset. “Ethan’s going to love this,” he muttered. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t work in this condition. He wasn’t sure how he was going to take care of his son. Vernon’s eyes slid toward the bedroom. The baby’s movements had slowed. He yawned. Vernon smiled. Cheryl should see this. Where is she? He opened his mouth to call for his wife, then snapped it shut. The fog thickened and swirled with his confusion. Tears leaked down his cheek as memory surfaced. She was gone, of course, along with their little girl. How could he forget that? He watched Raymond drift off to sleep. Vernon stared until his aching shoulder brought his attention around. He frowned at the hand hovering over the telephone. Wasn’t I going to call someone? Somebody important? He puzzled over that until the phone rang.

Startled, his hand jerked back as if the phone had grown scorching hot. It blared at him, demanding an answer even as it rebuked him for making it wait so long. He reached out hesitantly and picked up the handset, drawing it to his ear. “Hello?” His voice sounded hollow and cracked, as if it echoed down a concrete pipe.

“Vern? Is that you?” Concern filled Ethan’s voice from the other end. Machinery banged in the background.

“Um.” Vernon tried to clear his throat. “Yeah.” Better.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Fine, fine. Just... fine.”

“Well, then, why aren’t you here? You should have clocked in hours ago.” Agitation edged concern out of his tone.

“Hours?” Vernon laughed. “Good one, Ethan. Look, I know, I’m a little late, but...”

“‘A little late’?” Now he sounded angry. “Vern, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. I’m not in the mood to be playing games here.”

“It’s eleven?” Raymond whimpered and squirmed at the near-shout. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Nope.” Concern surfaced again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not really.” Vernon sighed. “I can’t think. Everything’s just so fuzzy. It’s like someone hit me upside the head with a rubber mallet or something. It’s all just so weird right now with Cheryl gone and everything.”

“It’s okay. I get it. Take the day off. Try to pull yourself together. I’ll come by tonight. How’s that?”

“That’s fine. I appreciate it. I really do.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Ethan spoke in a quiet rush: “Look, Vern, you know you won’t get paid for today, right? I mean, I want to help, but you haven’t been here long enough to accrue any sick leave, and there’s some rules I just can’t break.”

“I know. It’s okay,” Vernon cut him off. “I just appreciate you giving me the time.”

“Alright, then. You take care, and I’ll see you later.”

“See ya.” He set the phone down. In the bedroom, Ray fussed and twisted on the bed. Vernon walked to the door to get a closer look. The boy hadn’t woken up yet, but his brow was furrowed in a frown. Vernon walked to the kitchen.

He found a bottle on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Formula sloshed around the bottom half inside the dark yellow plastic. Vernon grabbed it, shut the door and went to the microwave. He popped the bottle in, punched a few numbers and hit START. He watched it spin a moment. Slapping his forehead, he pulled the microwave open and grabbed the bottle, twisting the top off. Don’t want to melt the nipple, idiot. He slapped the top down on the counter, and the bottle went back in the microwave. Vernon leaned on the counter and listened to the appliance hum. His eyes closed, head resting on the cabinet. He felt like that bottle -- going round and round without actually getting anywhere. And things were getting hotter all the time. How much longer can I keep this up? How long before I break down completely? He let himself drift.

++++

Part III of Chapter 11 coming next week!

Chapter 11: Breakdown, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 22:11:00 +0000

Water swirled down the drain. Vernon watched it flow from the kitchen faucet, an endless stream that vanished almost as soon as it hit the sink. That’s me, he thought, staring at the lukewarm flow. A yellow plastic bottle tapped slowly against his thigh. The nipple sat on the counter next to a can of formula. I keep going and going, but I never get anywhere. Water gurgled down the pipes. He had no idea how long he’d been standing here. I should get the bottle ready. Ray’ll wake up any minute. But he remained still. It seemed safest that way. Everything he’d tried lately had led to disaster. He’d moved his family here, and now half of them were gone. He tried rescuing them, but had only succeeded in damaging the house and risking his son. Better not to move. If he didn’t act, there wouldn’t be any consequences. They’d stay safe that way. Tears trickled down his cheeks to join the small torrent.

“No,” Vernon growled. He swiped at his face with his free hand hard enough to make fresh tears start. He wondered if he had given himself a black eye. I can’t fall apart now. I’m all Ray has. Got to keep going and start making smarter decisions. He jammed the bottle underneath the faucet. Once it filled up, he cut the water off and brought the bottle to eye level. He tipped it over and let some dribble out until six ounces remained. If Ray didn’t eat it all, he could put it in the refrigerator for later. Vernon set it on the counter and padded through the living room to the bedroom door.

Raymond lay on his side, eyes closed with a small smile. Tears running once more, Vernon turned away. He caught sight of the bulging wall. The rope was still tied to it. Cool autumn air blew in through the open door and window. It nearly got me, didn’t it? He ran his fingers across the fractured wood in the doorframe. It came so close. A large splinter stabbed his index finger. He jerked it back with a hiss. Vernon looked back at the baby on his bed and stuck the injured digit in his mouth. He tasted blood. He stepped out on the porch and spat. Pink spittle landed on the boards. The copper tang remained.

Vernon’s lips twisted. He lifted his finger. Red dripped from the wound. He shuddered. The motion became a sharp contraction in his gut. Vernon dropped to his knees as his throat constricted. What little he’d been able to eat the evening before came up and sprayed across the porch. The noise woke Raymond, who started crying. Vernon climbed to his feet and wiped his mouth on the hem of his shirt, leaving a yellow-green smear. He staggered inside. By the time he reached the bed, his son had nearly rolled off. Ray lay on the edge, fists waving as he voiced his frustration. The cries cut off as Vernon picked him up and balanced him on his shoulder, making shushing noises and patting his bottom. The diaper squished heavily. Too much longer, and he’d have wet the bed. Something slurped beside his ear. Vernon craned his neck. The baby was sucking on his fist.

“Hungry, buddy? We’ll get you fed just as soon as we get that diaper off you.” He twisted, running his gaze over furniture and floor. “Where is that thing?” he muttered. Hadn’t he just seen it a minute ago? He marched around the room. His head jabbed forward every time he looked in a corner or around the arm of a chair. He couldn’t see it anywhere. He made another, frenzied circuit of the room. Where? He collapsed in his recliner and sobbed in frustration. He couldn’t even get this right. He turned his face to Ray’s side and wept into his onsie. It didn’t take the baby long to join in with a series of siren-like wails.

A feather-light touch brushed the back of his neck. He jerked upright and nearly dropped Ray as he craned his neck over one shoulder then the other, trying to see who was behind him. Something tugged at his son. Vernon tightened his grip and jumped from the chair with a shouted “No! You can’t...I won’t let...”

“Mr. Hamilton, chill. It’s just me.”

Backed into a corner, Vernon stared out at the room until his gaze settled on Kateri. She stood with arms outstretched, palms up. She looked like someone trying to calm a vicious dog. They stared at each other for a moment; Vernon broke eye contact first as something warm spread across his chest. He lifted Ray away and frowned at the wet stain on his shirt and the baby’s onsie. He glanced around for a diaper.

“I’ll take him, Mr. Hamilton. You can go ahead and get ready for work.”

“Work? Oh, yeah.” His brain felt fuzzy. He let Kateri take Raymond. He kept his eyes on the floor, unsure if he still needed to look for anything. Besides, it was too much effort to lift his gaze. The babysitter’s footsteps and cooing noises faded into the kitchen. Vernon shuffled to the recliner and slowly sank into the seat. He rested his chin on one hand and stared out the window, barely conscious of the cooling, soaked shirt sticking to his ribcage. A flock of blackbirds wheeled, landed and took off again in random patterns. His thoughts followed, fragmenting and spiraling in incomprehensible patterns. Vernon nodded. He shook his head. Got to get going. His gaze drifted back to the birds outside. I'll get up in just a minute. His eyelids drooped.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder and shook him back to the moment. “Huh?” Vernon rubbed his eyes. “Whuh?”

++++

Part II of Chapter 11 coming next week!

Chapter 10: Dawning, Part V

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Wed, 21 May 2008 17:09:00 +0000

It was like being thrown spread-eagle into a sensory deprivation tank. A faint breeze across his skin spoke of motion away from the house, but he felt nothing else save a bitter cold. He heard no wind; even Ray's screams cut off as darkness enveloped him. Vernon sniffed. The air smelled sterile, dead. No grass, no earth, no flowers. He closed his eyes with no discernable effect. He tried to cover them with his hands. It felt like swimming through syrup; he had to fight to move his arms. An attempt at kicking yielded the same result. He took a deep breath and waited for the end. What will it be like? Will I die first, or will I just fade away? At least I'll be with them again. He sobbed. The sound fell dead. I hope they find Ray in the morning. His grandparents will take good care of him. He sniffled and sighed.

Pain wrapped around his waist, driving the breath from his body in a long grunt. His body folded around the red-hot band. Vernon's eyes bulged. He struggled to breathe. Air entered his body, he noticed a new sensation: something tight that quivered around his hips and stomach. He frowned and forced his hand to his side. It moved slowly, but eventually reached his waist and found a rough, wrist-thick cord. He followed it around. His fingers found a bulging knot just above the waistband of his pants. The rope!

Vernon took a breath and forced himself upright. His body moved in harsh jerks, fighting the black current that tried to sweep him along. His upper half straightened first. Then his left heel struck something soft. It took him a moment to realize he'd stuck it into the ground. Vernon gripped the rope tighter and heaved. He could feel his foot digging a divot in the dirt as he slowly turned. Facing the house once more, he planted his feet, grabbed the lifeline with both hands and started walking. He bent nearly double, like a man braving a hurricane. It was a laborious process – digging a foot in, grabbing a new handhold, pulling and stepping, then starting over again – made even harder by the monotony. He had no way of knowing how much progress he made. His feet slipped as much as they stepped. Something that felt like vines and branches snagged at his ankles. Others raked his clothing, hair and flesh. At times, the only thing keeping him in place was his grip on the rope. It was during one such trip-up that something slammed into his shoulders.

It reminded Vernon of his brief attempt at joining the high school football team. He had taken his stance and barely heard the "hut, hut" before two of the largest guys he'd ever seen did their best to drive him into the ground. Vernon walked with a limp for two weeks, and his shoulders and ribs had been sore for three. This blow made that one feel like something out of a pillow fight. His shoulders went numb, and he slid back several feet. He clamped his hands down. When he finally got his feet underneath him once more, he shuddered and took a shaky step. The rope felt slippery all of a sudden; his hands didn't want to maintain their hold. Vernon leaned over further, using his legs to propel himself forward. His progress slowed even further than before. Step after step, he trudged onward. His back and legs ached, and his hands tingled as feeling gradually returned. Is this ever going to end?

His foot caught again. Pain shot through his shin, and his grip on the rope slipped. "Come on!" Vernon shouted, straightening. "Just stop already." His voice cracked. "Please, just stop." He leaned forward but did not take another step. What's the point? I'm not going to make it. It's never going to let me go. He whimpered. Or is it already too late? Is this what it's like to be trapped, always trying to get out but finding no end? A faint cry answered from somewhere ahead.

Vernon looked ahead and blinked. That's the first sound I've heard. Am I somewhere near the end? He lifted his other foot and slipped it forward. All resistance vanished, and it landed on a hard surface. He leaned over further and found himself staring at his own foot resting on a wooden step. He fell forward, collapsing on the porch. His breath came in great gasps. Sweat stung his eyes. He raised his hand to wipe it away and stopped. Red covered it from fingertips to heel, and a ragged gash ran down the palm. He lifted the other hand and found the same. The wounds started burning.

Raymond cried inside the house. Groaning, Vernon pushed himself up and walked to the door. The baby's cries intensified, but he paused and stared at the wall where he had tied the rope. Wood in the window and door frames had shattered. Several asbestos plates from the siding lay smashed on the porch, and that section of the wall buckled outward slightly. He shook his head and set about untying his end. His hands didn't want to uncurl much from a fist, which made working the knot difficult. Blood slicked the rope, further complicating the work. He finally got the last loop out. Letting it drop with a thump, he crossed the threshold.

In the bedroom, Ray had twisted around so his head pointed at the foot of the bed. His arms and legs waved as he wailed. Vernon limped over and looked down at him.

"Hey, buddy. How you doing?" The baby looked up and stopped crying. Vernon thought his look had an air of expectation about it. "I'm sorry. I couldn't get them." Ray smiled. He sat on the bed and lowered himself until he lay next to his son. "I guess they didn't want to be saved."

Raymond drifted off to sleep, but his father lay awake much longer. He kept going over that last statement. Is that true? Do they really want to stay out there in the darkness? He found it hard to credit. Who would want that? Why wouldn't they want to come back to their family? Realization slowly dawned. They're part of the night now. "No," he muttered. But the denial lacked any force, even to himself. Tears leaked down his face. They're gone.

____

Part I of Chapter 11 coming next week!

Chapter 10: Dawning, Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Wed, 14 May 2008 17:06:00 +0000

He had no idea how long he sat there, staring at the dark and weeping into his arms. The night shifted and probed at his bright shelter, but mounted no major offensive. He doubted he'd care much if the porch light went out right then. All that planning to save her, and I drive her away. The rope's heavy weight mocked him. He pounded a fist into the porch. I should have gone out there after her. Why else did I tie this thing around myself? He tugged on the cord. It whacked against the porch, loud in the still night. Scowling, he started twirling it jump-rope fashion. The rhythmic slapping set up a harsh beat in his head as he continued to berate himself. Coward! Coward! Coward! The rope spun faster and faster.

What if she didn't want to be saved? The rope smacked to a halt. He shook his head, but the thought wouldn't go. All Alexis wanted to do was play. She kept appearing and reappearing, taunting him and, he had to admit to himself, frightening him. It's like she was trying to get me out of the light. He shook his head again. Surely not. But people here kept saying over and over again he shouldn't talk to the figures when he saw them, that no good would ever come of it. Vernon grunted. He couldn’t believe that. What did they know? They were too scared to even try. They've lived here forever. Wouldn't they know something about it?

Bouncing to his feet, Vernon kicked the flashlight and whirled to face the darkness. He found Cheryl staring back at him.

She stood left of the steps, a few feet back from the railing. She had her arms crossed, and her foot tapped on what might have been the ground, but Vernon thought was probably several inches above that. She looked fainter than her earlier apparition, but had enough detail for Vernon to read her posture as one of impatience. She had looked the same on their honeymoon, standing next to their luggage while he argued with the hotel manager that yes, he had indeed made a reservation. It had taken nearly an hour to get a room; by the end of it, his new bride had looked ready to smash both his and the manager's heads against the marble countertop.

He stepped forward hesitantly, afraid she might flee or start taunting him. Cheryl remained in place. Wish I could see her face properly. Her dim features made it difficult to tell if she was smiling or frowning. He could barely tell she even had a mouth. Only her eyes possessed any solidity, and they tried to pin him to the wall. Probably not smiling. He cleared his throat.

"What do you want?" No response other than an increased tempo in her foot. He reached the top step. "Come on, Cheryl. Say something. How am I supposed to know what to do if you won't tell me?" He wished he could have the words back the instant they left his lips. She'd never liked that sort of argument. Figure it out for yourself, she would always respond. She blurred and started to fade as he talked. He stopped on the second step and held his hands palms out, just short of the darkness. "Wait! Just wait." She sharpened a bit. "Thanks."

He took a deep breath, then plunged ahead in a rush. "Look, Cheryl, I'm going out of my mind here. You and Alexis are gone, except for these weird visions – or whatever they are. I'm trying to take care of Ray and figure out a new job. I spend every night trying to keep the darkness from eating me and the baby. I can't sleep. I can't even get any rest." His voice hitched, he hiccoughed, and a sob ripped free of his chest. "I can't do this anymore. I need you. Please, help me. I just want us to be together again, as a family."

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He leaned on the railing and wiped his eyes. When he looked back up, Cheryl floated a couple of feet from the rail. Her figure had grown more defined and the steely gaze softened. She made no sound, but unfolded her arms and extended one hand. Vernon reached out.

A wail sounded from inside the house. Vernon twisted toward the door as Raymond started crying. His foot slid underneath the porch step, and he fell. Flailing, he tried to snag Cheryl's hand. His arm passed through hers with tingle. She dissipated like wind-blown smoke, and something else caught his hand. He hung, frozen in mid-fall with his arm in the darkness and his foot wedged under the step. Then the grip on his wrist pulled. Vernon's shoe came off, and he tumbled over the railing and into the night.

____

Part V of Chapter 10 coming next week!

Chapter 10: Dawning, Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Wed, 07 May 2008 17:04:00 +0000

Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he straightened, glanced at the red stain with a shudder and returned his attention to the darkness in front of the stairs.

A small face appeared right in front of his, its sketchy, smiling features full of glee.

"Boo!"

Arms flailing, Vernon fell backward. Wooden boards scratched his back and smacked his head. Spots danced in his vision. He rubbed the back of his skull and sat up. A knot rose where he'd hit the porch. Alexis floated in the darkness at least a couple of feet off the ground. He climbed to his knees and paused, panting and grimacing. Once the pain in his head subsided, he stood and turned what he hoped was a stern look on the girl hovering before him. Sweat ran down his cheeks.

"Alexis, you get on this porch right now." Vernon found himself surprised at his own steady voice.

She shook her head. "I want to play." Even though he heard her, he couldn't see her lips move other than to bow in a sulking pout.

Vernon swallowed. "Not now."

She shook her head.

"You do what I tell you, young lady. Now get down here!"

She slowly descended until her feet rested somewhere near where he thought the ground should be. Alexis held out one hand. Vernon stepped forward with his own hand outstretched. He hesitated on the steps. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and reached for her through the darkness. Cold slid along his skin. He shuddered and extended his hand, but felt nothing. He frowned and opened his eyes. Alexis was gone. He glanced at his arm, which had disappeared to the elbow, and pulled back.

Vernon managed to get his arm free before dark fingers reached out and tried to grab him. They snagged on the sleeve of his shirt, ripping fabric as he scrambled back up the porch. He watched the white tatter flutter in the breeze and disappear. Why didn't it try to pull me in before? He shook his head. More questions. All he ever got out of Jennings Grove was more questions. I almost had her. Where did she go? Tears burned his eyes. He turned and rested his head on the doorframe. Wet tracks coursed down his cheeks. Why did she leave?

"That was fun, Daddy."

Whirling around, he found his daughter standing before him again. He took a step. She retreated, winking out then reappearing a few feet back. Scratching his chin, he backed up a step. She advanced to the shadows' edge. He jumped forward. She vanished. Vernon hurried back against the doorframe. Alexis slowly materialized out of the darkness like ink spreading through water. She still wore that playful smile on her face.

Vernon thumped his head against the wall. The blow bumped the goose egg already growing there. He winced and clutched the back of his head. Giggles sounded from left and right, the sound mingling in front of him. Breathing heavily, He slapped his thigh in frustration and stomped a foot on the porch. His ankle clipped the flashlight sitting there and knocked it over. It threw a bright arc across the porch as it rolled over the boards and came to rest pointing at the steps.

Light splashed over Alexis. A shriek drilled into Vernon's ears. The girl threw her arms across her face and fell back. Night rolled in around her like a blanket. The echoes bounced across the yard for several seconds before dissipating. Ears ringing, Vernon kicked the flashlight away. It spun off into the darkness as he called his daughter's name. She did not answer. He scanned the darkness for any pale flicker, but saw only hungry shadows that lashed out for him whenever he got too close. He dropped to the porch and hugged his knees. What happened? Where did she go? "Alexis," he whispered, "please come back."

____

Part IV of Chapter 10 coming next week!

Chapter 10: Dawining, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Thu, 01 May 2008 17:00:00 +0000

He took a couple of steps forward with hand outstretched. The figure retreated a few feet. Vernon blinked. He hadn't seen her move; one moment, she was at the bottom of the porch and the next she stood a couple of steps away. He backed up. She advanced again. More laughter. Vernon paused. He hadn't considered this. How could he rescue them if they wouldn't even let him approach? He frowned at Alexis, who tilted her head and smiled back. Her features were hard to read, but he thought the grin looked a tad mischievous. Just like when she doesn't want to take a bath. His daughter usually liked that part of getting ready to bed. She'd splash and play in there for better than an hour if they'd let her. But every now and then, she would decide it wasn't time yet. She got that same little smile on her face and ran off. Cheryl and Vernon would give chase while she ran away, shrieking with laughter. The girl was hard to catch once she got going. A house offered nearly limitless hiding places for someone her size, and with a child's boundless energy, she could keep going long after her parents got winded.

"I don't have time for this, Alexis," he muttered. A single long stride took him off the porch and onto the first step. The girl vanished.

Vernon halted, eyes narrowed as he tried to peer into the night. Darkness flowed around him. Slender tendrils slipped out and brushed his face. He jerked back and let them die in the porch light, but stood his ground while he searched. Where did she go? A titter sounded from his right. His neck popped as he turned his head sharply that direction. Only shadows met his gaze. A breeze blew from his left, carrying a soft voice to his ear.

"Come find me, Daddy."

Goosebumps broke out on his arms, and the hair on his neck stood. He slowly backed up on the porch. Holding the rope out to one side, he pivoted on his heel and walked toward the door. He caught a pale flash out of the corner of his eye. Vernon waited until he stood on the threshold, then spun right and bounded across the porch. Alexis' pallid figure flickered like a light with a short, her eyes wide with surprise. She disappeared, then reappeared at the edge of his vision. Vernon turned right. He kept turning, trying to keep the strobing form in view. She reached the other side of the porch, then winked out.

"Can't get me."

"Come on, sweetie. Stay still, please. Daddy just wants to talk."

High-pitched, childish laughter slid across the yard, echoing oddly in the night.

Vernon moved back to the steps. He growled and shook his head. Why did she have to make this so difficult? Maybe I should go out there after her. He leaned forward and hesitated. Shadows reached for him, and he snapped upright. Maybe not. No point in going out there until he had something to grab hold of. He heard a loud whirr. Something pale swooped out of the night and perched on the porch rail.

"Alexis?" Vernon leapt onto the porch and headed toward the figure. He halted halfway there, his wide-eyed gaze drooping as it met the round, yellow stare of a large owl. It hooted and ruffled its feathers. The bird clutched the bloody ruins of some hapless rodent in one claw. Vernon cocked his head to the side. "How on earth did you get out here?"

He sidled closer. The owl kept its glare fixed on him, but did not move. As he drew closer, Vernon saw it hadn't made the trip through Jennings Grove unscathed. Bloody scratches showed where feathers had been ripped away, and one of the pointed tufts atop its head had a clipped look. Its beak opened partway, and its wings spread. Vernon halted. The bird folded its wings and hopped awkwardly in place. "Eat it or drop it," he muttered. As if in response, the owl lifted its foot. He gasped and put a hand to his mouth. The bloody mess was what remained of its leg. He swallowed several times, trying to fight his gorge back down. How can anyone call this place home? He reached out to steady the creature. It opened its beak and hissed. He drew back, holding his palms out. "Fine. Have it your way. I was just trying to..."

Black arms unfolded to either side and wrapped around the owl. Wings spread, the bird shrieked and tried to bite on every side. The noise suddenly stopped as the night pulled in opposite directions. The owl ripped in half and disappeared even as a brief crimson shower pattered to the boards. Vernon leaned over and threw up.

____

Part III of Chapter 10 coming next week!

Chapter 10: Dawning, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 16:53:00 +0000

Vernon jerked awake, heart thumping loudly in his ears. The dream faded as consciousness took over, but the dregs remained with him as a feeling of loss and frustration, as if he chased something that fled further the closer he got. He settled into the mattress and stared at the bright ceiling while his breathing and pulse slowed. Dirt streaked away from the light fixture like the brown fingers of a river delta. He made an exasperated noise in his throat and closed his eyes. Cheryl always made him scrub those marks off, usually while scolding him for letting him get to that point in the first place. Vernon hated climbing the step stool; it never felt sturdy enough. Besides, who on earth cleaned a ceiling? He'd argue, he'd find anything else to do, he'd try doing nothing at all. Then he'd give in and do it. She's going to make me move the bed to make sure I get it all. That woman's going to...

Cheryl! His eyes popped open and took in the light overhead. How could I have slept so long? I'm too late... He turned his head toward the window, which still showed it was dark outside. Vernon heaved a sigh and sat up. Raymond lay on his side, snoring slightly between the glowing lanterns. A small smile flitted across his face. Vernon grinned back, leaned over and kissed his son's forehead. Moving gently, he scooted to the edge of the bed and slipped off onto the floor. He grabbed his one remaining flashlight and tiptoed to the living room. Going to have to stop leaving the lights in the kitchen, he thought, glancing back at the sleeping baby before heading toward his recliner.

Resting in a coiled heap, the rope looked like a napping snake. Vernon snatched it up and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He crossed the room, opened the front door and flipped on the light switch. Holding onto one end, he let the rest of the rope slither to the floor. He yawned and leaned against the doorframe. Slapping the cord against the planks of the porch, Vernon watched the night try to push its way in. It rippled along the light's boundary. Deeper blackness shifted and circled further out. Somewhere out there, his wife and daughter waited rescue. Get to work.

Standing the flashlight against the wall on the porch, Vernon stood and swung the rope. It hissed as it cut through the air and whipped through the window. The end drooped over the frame. He grabbed it and pulled. The rope buzzed as it scraped over wood. Gathering a long section, he looped it and started coiling the end around the rope. He worked slowly. His gaze rested on the night outside more than the rope. Will they come? His hands paused. The thought hurt, and he wanted to shy away from it. He tried to push it away. But the thought wouldn't go. I've already seen Cheryl once. What if that's the only time she shows up? Vernon shook his head. He still had Alexis to consider. He'd rescue whoever he could tonight and leave the rope in place until he had them both. What if Ware sees it? He snarled and shook his head. That didn't matter. Let him see it. Let anyone see it. And let them think what they wanted. They can't stop me. All they could do was lecture him again.

He looked down and finished the noose with a few quick jerks on the rope. He nodded in satisfaction. Even if something grabbed him, the rope would only grow tighter. He played out the line until he found the other end and wrapped it around his waist, securing it with a series of square knots. Once he ran out of rope to tie, Vernon twisted the knotted end around to his back. He winced as the snug cord pinched his skin through his jeans. Shouldn't have tied it so tight. At least it won't slip off. He sighed and stepped out on the porch.

Alexis stood at the bottom of the steps, staring up at him. Just like her mother's earlier apparition, she was a pale reflection of herself, but with more detail than the last time he'd seen her figure. She stood hands clasped before her, long hair still despite a breeze blowing across the front of the house. A soft giggle floated to him on the wind.

"Hey, sweetie," he whispered. "Daddy's here."

____

Part II of Chapter 10 coming next week!

Chapter 9: Third Night, Part VII

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 19:20:00 +0000

"Again?" he muttered. Vernon forced the seatback upright and shoved the footrest down. In his haste to stand, he overbalanced and nearly fell head-first on the floor. He staggered forward several steps and stumbled to a halt when his shoulder bumped into the wall. The window rattled around its ancient air conditioner. He turned around and rested for a moment, then shoved himself upright and crossed the room, casting glances at the darkened doorway. Shadowy tendrils wrapped around the frame, and the darkness bulged into the living room. Vernon glanced at the windows and saw the night trying to force its way in there, too. He grabbed the lanterns and headed for the bedroom. He stood in the doorway and watched the shadows balloon and deflate in the light, like jellyfish trying to squeeze their way out of a jar. They pulsed in unison, back and forth, back and forth. He stepped closer to the edge of the door to watch.

A loud snap from behind made him jump back a step as the lights in the living room went out. Another blown breaker? He turned and looked at the closet, where shadows still brooded. It looked like a dark, grainy photograph of a clothes rack. Raymond jerked in his arms. Vernon shifted his grip and bounced the baby slightly, making shushing noises. Do I really need to get them back on? Ray twitched harder, then left his grip altogether.

"Huh?" Vernon whirled, expecting to see the infant hurtling toward the ground. Instead, he floated toward the doorway where darkness bubbled and writhed. One slender arm held the boy aloft. "Oh, no, you don't!"

He lunged and wrapped his free arm around his son. The strand holding Raymond grew longer, wrapping itself around his arm and torso, pinning the hand holding the lanterns to his side. Raymond woke crying at the cold touch. His feet slid across the floor as the darkness dragged them both forward. He spread his legs. His toes hit the doorframe, followed by his knees. Vernon grunted and leaned back, groaning at the pain in his hip. He halted. Aching, exhausted, muscles hummed and cried out for relief. His back creaked under the strain. Slowly, he started leaning forward.

Dropping one lantern, Vernon swung the other with his wrist. Light flashed across his knees and waist, but couldn't reach high enough to break the grip holding them. Come on! He swung harder, his hand flapping hard enough to create a breeze across his uncovered leg. Tears leaked down his cheeks. Please don't let it end. Not like this. He whipped his hand forward with a grunt and let go. The lantern flew up, straight across the arm holding them and into the dark room. It disappeared, but the ebony tentacle snapped in half. Vernon slammed onto his back. The impact drove the air from his lungs. Trying to breathe, he shoved himself backward. More arms chased after them, but withered and fell short in the light. Vernon gasped and climbed to the bed, laying Raymond beside him. He clung to the baby until they both calmed, then stood and grabbed the remaining lantern. He limped to the closet as quickly as he could force himself to move, snarling at the shadows there. He stopped at the door.

"You can't have them," he growled. "Do you hear me? They are mine. You can't have them!"

He shoved the lantern in among the clothing. He grinned at the fleeing shadows for a moment, then turned his attention to the circuit breakers. Hunting through the hand-written labels, he found the one labled "living room" and flipped it back on. He heard a deep, angry grumble that rattled floorboards and looked through the door. Shadows fought the spreading light, grudgingly retreating under furniture and out the windows. After a moment's hesitation, he reached in and snapped the other breakers off, leaving only his room and the living room alight. Maybe that'll stop all this running around for tonight. I'm too tired to keep this up.

Vernon left Raymond on the bed for a moment and walked to the living room, where the lantern lay on the floor. That's a good light, he thought as he picked it up. The wire handle had bent and the glass cracked, but it shone just as brightly. He carried both back to the bedroom, set the lanterns on either side of the baby and collapsed on the bed.

_____

Part I of Chapter 10 coming soon.

Chapter 9: Third Night, Part VI

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Sat, 01 Mar 2008 19:15:00 +0000

The shadow shortened and darkened as he came. It gained strength as it compacted, picking up speed. Vernon fumbled with the switches on the lanterns. By the time he got them on, the shadow's head and shoulders had disappeared underneath the chair. Raymond was not far behind. Vernon threw himself on the floor and slammed the lights down in front of the seat, cutting the shadow in half. He heard a slight growl from the darkness below the chair. Vernon picked the baby up and held him close, kissing his cheeks and forehead. Salty tears wet his lips. Ray quieted, although he still trembled.

"I'm sorry, buddy. Daddy's got you. You're alright." He sat in the recliner and started rocking. The baby's trembling eased, and Raymond buried his face in the hollow between Vernon's neck and shoulder. Just a little break, that's all I'm asking for, he thought. He turned his face toward the front windows, which seethed with darkness just like the one in the back. Vernon clutched his son tighter. You don't need him, and you don't need them. Take your own people. Leave mine alone. The night quivered harder.

His eyes fell on the lanterns glowing on the floor. Shadows cowered under the chair, occasionally lashing out at the light. It reminded him of Grande, his mother-in-law's Chihuahua. The nervous little rat would bark and growl at everyone but her – and run away from anything that actually confronted him. But once your back was turned, Grande would launch from his hiding spot and snap at your ankles. If no one was watching, Vernon would boot the dog back wherever it had come from. I wasn't always so good at knowing when someone was watching. Vernon shifted in the chair and chuckled at the ceiling. On one visit a few months before Alexis was born, he'd sent the pooch sliding across the vinyl floor under the dinning room table and turned with a satisfied smirk on his face only to find his wife staring at him with one hand over her mouth in horror. It wasn't until she started shaking and her lips curled past her fingers that he realized Cheryl was laughing. She giggled through dinner whenever Grande slunk past and kept right on chuckling when they went to bed.

This one's for you, Cheryl. He stood and walked across the room. Hitching Raymond higher on his shoulder, he bent down, tipped the lanterns over and shoved them under the chair until only the wire handles were visible. Something between a squeak and a growl came just on the edge of hearing. Light shone out from underneath the seat, playing across the carpet and wall. He grinned despite the twinge in his hip. That'll teach you. He stared for a moment, then grabbed the handles and fished the lanterns back out.

Something caught at his foot as he turned to go, and he stumbled around to keep his balance. Light splashed across the room. He looked down and brought the lanterns around once he steadied himself. The shadow hooked around his shoe dissolved. He scowled at it and limped backwards to his recliner. The darkness returned as soon as the light moved out of range. Vernon set the lights on the floor and sat. Why couldn't the light come alive here? Leaning back, he smiled at the image of bright shards stabbing under furniture and into cabinets. Raymond squirmed. He patted the baby's diapered bottom, a series of soft whaps that sounded loud in the still room. Muscles in his shoulders gave a painful twinge. Vernon shifted in the seat and craned his neck, trying to find a more comfortable position. This won't last too long, but at least it feels better for now. He found himself staring over the back corner of the recliner.

The kitchen had gone dark.

____

Part VII coming next week.

Chapter 9: Third Night, Part V

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 13:41:00 +0000

Baby in one hand and darkened flashlight in the other, he walked quickly through the living room while casting glances over his shoulder at the light. One of three bulbs in the fixture had burned out, but the remaining two burned steadily as he passed into the kitchen. Ray snored in his ear. His shoulder and elbow ached with the effort of supporting the kid's weight. When did he get so heavy? It'd be nice if I could put him down and leave him there for a while. He set the flashlight on the kitchen table and shifted Raymond to the other shoulder. Handling the lanterns proved awkward, but finally he got the battery cover off and slipped four new D-cells in each. The box claimed that was good for sixteen hours; even with a manufacturer's tendency toward outrageous claims, he figured that should be enough to see them through the night.

The lanterns swung from his free hand while he looked from the dark room at the back to the rope coiled on the table and back. He shifted from foot to foot and tried to quash a surge of impatience. The microwave clock showed it was not yet ten. Still plenty of time. But why wait? He had no idea how long it might take to find Cheryl and Alexis, much less bring them inside. Vernon nudged the baby with his chin. Ray didn't budge. Moving the lanterns to his other hand, he hooked his forearm through the loop and let it slide up to his elbow. The rope felt heavier than he remembered and kept trying to drag his arm down. He hitched it back up and walked into the living room. He cast a glance back at the blackened window beside the refrigerator as he crossed the threshold. His feet crossed, and he stumbled as he tripped over his own heel. The rope slithered free and landed on the floor in a tangled heap.

Vernon growled and tilted his head back. "Why can't anything be easy?" he asked the ceiling. When it didn't answer, he squatted, set the lights beside the recliner and went to his room, where he grabbed a couple of pillows off the bed. He dropped them on the floor in front of chair and kicked them around until they lay side by side. He laid Ray on top, pausing to make sure the infant wasn't going to wake up. Vernon stood and backed toward the doorway, his shadow stretching in the brighter kitchen light to drape over Raymond. He smiled and turned his attention to the rope.

Grabbing the end, he stood and started winding it around his forearm between the hand and elbow. He'd gotten about half of it done when Ray started whimpering behind him. "You're OK," he muttered. The cries increased as Vernon coiled the rope. He muttered to himself and continued to loop it around his arm. He heard a thump. The crying turned to screams. Vernon tossed the rope on the floor in disgust and turned on one heel. "Oh, come on!" he snapped. "Can't you go five minutes without someone holding you?"

Raymond wasn't there.

Vernon's shadow trailed out from his feet. Long and thin, it had stretched beyond the pillows and grew even as he watched, dragging Raymond across the room by the collar of his onsie. It appeared to be headed for a tall chair in the corner that sat just high enough he might fit under it. The baby kicked and screamed. Breaking into a run, Vernon bent down and snatched up the lanterns.

____

Part VI coming next week!

Chapter 9: Third Night, Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 19:03:00 +0000

The fixture spread uneven light across the room, weakest in the corners. Shadows congregated there, writhing and sliding up and down the wall like black amoebas. Every so often, one would stretch out until it turned a pale gray, then snap back and resumed its race up and down the wall. It wasn't until he caught sight of another shadow mirroring the movements in another corner that he realized what they were up to. They're trying to band together. The room held far too much light for them to succeed, but he found the sight fascinating and disturbing. They looked to have a bottomless reservoir of patience, trying an endless parade of shapes to find one that would work. He stared at them like an unfamiliar machine, wondering what made them tick. Are they independent, or part of the darkness outside? That seemed unlikely; he had barely escaped in the back room, but these shadows hadn't once tried to attack him or Ray. Then again, their movements were far too organized to be a collective of individuals. And they didn't stand a chance if those patches of darkness actually succeeded in overpowering the light. Is it just a change in tactics? What's controlling them?

He twisted his head and stared at the closet. No movement visible there, but the shadows inside had deepened. He could barely see the clothing anymore. The darkness radiated a sense of brooding. Hope I don't have to go back in there any time soon. He glanced at the light. Had it just flickered? He stared for a few minutes before deciding it had not. Still, I need to go ahead and go get those things. Spine crackling, Vernon sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. He grabbed a flashlight, stood, stretched and turned to go when movement outside the window caught his eye.

It was Cheryl. Not a fully detailed figure, but much more so than the previous night. He could make out the lines of her clothing and the ghostly sketch of her face. She smiled and spread her arms, beckoning him to come join her. He took one step forward and slammed his shin into the metal bedrail. He stuffed a fist into his mouth to muffle a yell. Raymond cried out and jerked his arms, but did not wake.

Cheryl still stood there when he looked up. Her smile had faded, and she waved franticly, as if telling him to hurry. Vernon turned to walk around the bed to the window and fell when his right foot refused to move. The flashlight dropped to the floor and rolled.

Shadows under the bed had grabbed the toe of his shoe and the first couple rows of laces. He felt a tug, and he slid a fraction of an inch. More darkness jumped out and latched onto the sole. It pulled again. His foot disappeared to the ankle. He pushed with his hands and braced his left foot against the bed frame. Cold crept up his leg, and his pants rippled across the calf. Shadows filled the holes in the denim except where light shone directly on the skin. Another wrench on his leg, his left heel slipped, and he skidded a few more inches. His leg wedged mid-shin, but the pressure kept building, and the icy grip crawled toward his knee. His calf muscle ached with the strain, and he thought his injured hip might pull free. I can't fit under there. It pulled again, and he flopped on his back. Grimacing, he looked around the floor. Not in one piece, anyway. The flashlight lay to his right. He grabbed it and clicked the switch, shoving the light under the bed to shine on his foot.

Vernon pulled free and stood. Cold still climbed up his leg. Shivering, he hooked his fingers through holes in the fabric and ripped the fabric. The tear spread around his thigh, and the pants leg came free. He yanked it off and tossed it on the floor. A dark arm shot out, grabbed the denim and dragged it under the bed. He looked out the window. Cheryl was gone.

"Not again," he muttered. Why would she leave just as I got free? Tears trickled down his cheek. He would have thought she'd wait for him; she seemed so frantic. Unless she was just trying to distract me so it could grab me under the bed. He shook his head, but the thought refused to leave. Everyone says that's not really her. What if they're right? What if she's just some sort of illusion?

"No," he growled. "That's my wife and daughter out there, and I'm going to get them back." Raymond woke crying. Vernon suppressed a groan and lifted him from the bed. "Let's go, buddy."

_____

Part V coming next week!

Chapter 9: Third Night, Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 13:23:00 +0000

Vernon struggled to stand. His right leg quivered as he straightened, and he fell back to the carpet. He rolled left and grabbed the other flashlight. Sitting up, he flailed with both while scooting backwards. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his hip and focused on the darkness before him. Every pseudopod the light touched broke apart, only to reform the instant he swung at another limb threatening to snatch him again. Several brushed his hair and bleeding ear before he managed to dispel them. Others hooked through his clothing; his shirt and pants hung in tatters by the time he dared a look over his shoulder and groaned. He had only crossed about half the distance to the bathroom. Ray had finally quieted and was staring at him with wide eyes. When something slid across his scalp, Vernon quickly turned back around and screamed. Every arm the thing had snaked toward him.

The light flared above and the bulbs went out with a twin pop. The darkness flattened under the flash, seeking refuge out the window and under furniture. Vernon struggled to a crouch and lurched toward the bathroom as night came flooding back. He collapsed on the floor next to Raymond and pulled himself into a ball around the baby, making sure they both had plenty of light around them.

When the pain in his hip subsided somewhat, he scooped up Raymond and climbed to his feet. He shoved the flashlights under his arm. He kept most of the weight on his left leg, using the right one to steady himself. Black shadows pushed in on the band of light. He carefully placed each hobbling step in the center of the path and crossed the corner of the kitchen into Alexis' room. He staggered to her bed and dropped on the pink comforter. Rubbing his hip, Vernon laid the baby beside him with a sigh.

"That was a little too close, buddy." His voice trembled, but he couldn't suppress a wry laugh. "We just about get eaten by some kind of monster shadows, and I'm talking about it like it was a car accident. And to a baby at that." He shook his head. "This place must get to you after awhile. What do you think? Is Daddy cracking up?" Ray sneezed. "You think so? I hope you're right." He lay still for several moments, one arm around Raymond until the infant went back to sleep. The pain in his leg settled to a dull throb, and he felt himself drifting off. He turned a heavy-lidded gaze toward the door. Darkness pulsed and fought against the light in the back room. That's three rooms you've been driven out of tonight. Do you really want to go to sleep in here right now? He groaned, sat on the edge of the bed and lifted Raymond to his chest.

The lights in here looked steady enough, but then they had in the other rooms, too. The less power the house is drawing, the more stable the other lights will be. The breakers should only start flipping when we're using too much. It was a basic principle, but this old shack had worse wiring than any machine he'd ever seen. No telling how that might factor into it. I need to get those lanterns. He frowned, and his brow furrowed. Are they still on the table? In the dark kitchen. He sighed and stood with a long grunt.

Vernon walked into his room and placed Raymond on the bed. He limped around to the closet, still open after the morning's episode. He clicked on both flashlights long before he got there, keeping the beams trained on Cheryl's clothing. What shadows still remained between the clothes scuttled away toward the back. As he approached, he moved the lefthand flashlight to his shoulder and tilted his head to hold it in place. He reached in a shaking hand, wrenched the hangars aside and played the lights over the wall until he found the circuit breaker. He snapped the two tripped switches back on and looked over his shoulder. The living room brightened as lights came back on in the kitchen.

He turned the flashlights off and lowered himself to the bed with one under each hand. Please, just give me a minute to rest. I've still got so much to do. He let his lids settle. Plenty of time to get the lanterns in minute. Vernon shifted his leg and hissed at the bolt of pain that shot through the hip. He grimaced and straightened his leg, but the pain took time to diminish. Even then, it remained as a dull ache. Sleep fled further as he became aware of his throbbing, tattered ear. He sighed and stared at the ceiling.

_____

Part IV coming Friday!

Chapter 9: Third Night, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 17:56:00 +0000

Yawning, he tilted his head back and squinted at the light fixture in the ceiling. Two bulbs shone through the frosted glass. Amazing that such a small thing could be so important. The light burned brighter for a moment, then dimmed to less than a quarter of its previous intensity.

Shadows washed across the room like a slow tide. The room was darker at the edges, except next to the bathroom and where light came in across the kitchen from Alexis' room. The window to his left might as well be an opening on to some far corner of space. Weaker shadows pulled at his clothes and raked across his face. Something barbed stabbed through his right earlobe and tugged. Vernon hissed and jerked his head left; pain tore through his ear. Blood dripped on his neck and shoulder. Blackness pulsed in the window, pushing its way further into the room every time it surged forward, past the desk, over the edge of the couch, reaching for them.

Holding Raymond tighter to his chest, Vernon snatched up one of the flashlights by his side and clicked it on. He shifted that one to the hand holding the baby, keeping a light trained on him. He grabbed the other flashlight, turned it on and waved it around. Shadows to the front and right side retreated from the lancing beam. The seething dark to his left paused momentarily, then continued its tidal advance. It rumbled as it came. Vernon could feel something like amusement from that side of the room. He rolled off the couch and sprang for the patch of light near the bathroom. His foot landed on the edge. He teetered and fell hard on his shoulder, knocking the wind from his chest and the flashlights to the floor. Ray woke at the impact and started crying. Bright spots of color danced in Vernon's vision as he tried to breathe. He grabbed the baby and shoved him as far into the light as he could. Red faced, Raymond screamed louder and waved his arms and legs. Thank heaven he can't crawl yet, Vernon thought as he climbed to his hands and knees.

Something wrapped around his ankle like a cold python and pulled. Vernon fell flat on his chest with a yell. He sneezed from dust kicked up off the floor. His fingernails dug into the carpet as he slid backward. Looking over his shoulder, he saw night had swallowed half the room. Tentacles as thick as his thigh waved back and forth, visible against the weaker shadows slapping and clawing at him as the darkness dragged him further from the light. One flailing hand slapped down on the barrel of a stray flashlight. His fist closed on it just as the world turned upside down.

"What?" he shouted, trying to understand why he saw the floor above his head. Ray still screamed, flailing arms at the ceiling now underneath them, but Vernon could barely hear the baby over the thudding pulse in his ears. The shadow shook him like a dog with a rag. His arms flapped around his head, throwing wild arcs of light around the room. His knee popped and pain shot through his hip. He felt himself lifting higher in the air and craned his neck. The soles of his shoes brushed the ceiling.

The dark had withdrawn its other tentacles and pushed itself further into the room. Soon the only bright points would be around the bathroom and his second flashlight laying on the floor. Vernon pointed the flashlight at it. He heard a slight hiss, but the beam barely penetrated. It's too big. But what else can I do? Sweat stung his eyes as he swung the flashlight in a double-handed slash at the arm holding him up. The grip on his ankle lessened. He slipped a fraction of an inch before it tightened and swung him toward the black mass. Light shaking in his fist, he pointed it straight at his ankle. The hold on his leg evaporated. He crashed to the floor. Tendrils whipped toward him.

_____

Part III coming Monday!

Chapter 9: Third Night, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 15:48:00 +0000

Snatching up a couple of flashlights, Vernon ran toward the back room. Light shone on them from the front, but a cold, hard grip tangled in his hair and jerked his head back as he dashed past the refrigerator. He grimaced and whipped his head from side to side. No use. He backed up a step, then leaned forward against the pull. The pressure on his scalp increased, and he could feel hair ripping. He swiped at the darkness behind his head and nearly knocked himself out with one of the flashlights. Vernon's skull rang from the impact as his thumb pressed the switch. The grip on his head weakened immediately. He stumbled to the back room in two lurching steps. He collapsed on the couch, chest heaving.

Raymond squirmed in his grip. Vernon sat the baby on his lap and bounced his knee. The scratches on his face didn't look quite as bad. The baby giggled, burped and spit up. Wiping the mess off Ray's blue onesie with his sleeve, Vernon yawned and held him close. Raymond laid his head on his father's shoulder as his eyes slid closed. He patted the infant's bottom and stared at the blank wall above the DVD player sitting on the desk. Too bad the TV got smashed. I could really go for a movie right about now. Anything to take my mind off... His gaze shifted to the window.

Despite the brightness of the room, the glass remained a flat black. He sat straighter and squinted. No, not flat. Night swirled past the window, occasionally pressing inside a couple of inches. Every so often, it would flatten and spread along the wall, only to shatter in the light. The few shards of darkness that survived scurried to join the shadows behind the desk like cockroaches. Hesitant tendrils slipped out from under the desk and whipped back. Vernon watched them a moment, then lifted his feet off the floor and set them on the couch. He turned back to the window. Does it know someone's in here? He found the idea hard to credit, but why else would it fight so hard to get in? Maybe it's not fighting at all. Maybe it's like water – just pushing against whatever holds it back until it flows through. He sighed and laid his head back on the back of the couch, wincing as his tender scalp hit the fabric. Whatever else the darkness might be, it wasn't mindless. It wanted them. But why? Food?

He shivered. He couldn't quite believe Jennings Grove was nothing more than a feeding ground for a nightmare. Even so, he still couldn't quite comprehend the native's willingness to remain, let alone live here. Ware called it "home," but could that really be enough to hold all these people here? It might. He got the feeling that trying to drag most of them away would lead to the fight of a lifetime. Great-Uncle Art would love this place.

Arthur Keele was something of a legend in Cheryl's family. As Houston expanded, most of the clan abandoned their various agricultural pursuits and started ventures in the city, including her grandfather. But the oldest son refused to sell. In fact, Art bought out his other siblings at outrageous prices to keep the family's land intact. "The city ain't going to swallow me, ya hear?" he'd tell anyone willing to listen. He held out for years, far longer than anyone thought he could. But the price he paid for the land beggared him. His wife left and took their children to Oklahoma with her family. Faced with starvation, he slowly parceled the land away, cursing his brothers and sisters with every acre he lost. He died on the original homestead with nothing but a few hundred acres that his children promptly sold to a developer. Cheryl's grandparents and great-aunts and –uncles sheepishly refused to talk about Art, but their children idolized him and passed their hero-worship to her generation.

Vernon loved the stories about Great-Uncle Art. His own family had consisted of nothing but his parents, who had never found much use in such sentimentality. They sold and bought what they needed with no thought of passing anything on to their children. He'd inherited something of their carpe diem attitude, which he supposed had helped lead to this predicament. If I'd thought to save more, maybe we could have held on to our own house instead of selling it just to survive. I wouldn't have had to take the first job that came along, and I wouldn't be here running for my life through an old house with bad wiring. Art certainly would have held on longer. Vernon got to talk with him once just a few months before he died. The old man had been drunk and more than a little senile, but he remained adamant about not letting anyone take him from the land. "This was our home," he kept saying. "The city ain't going to swallow it."

Could they really feel the same way about Jennings Grove? Vernon shook his head. Too many questions and no answers. He doubted it would make much difference, anyway, but it might be nice to know more about his mess he had gotten them in to.

____

Part II coming Friday!

Chapter 8: Lights, Part VI

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Sat, 26 Jan 2008 04:32:00 +0000

Travis turned an abrupt about face and marched off the porch. He paused on the last step and said without turning: "Kateri said to tell you the baby's taking about four ounces in the bottle."

Vernon, one eyebrow arched, watched him cross the yard and disappear down the driveway. He glanced down at the baby. "You think I'm making a mistake trying to bring Mommy and Sissy back?" Raymond gurgled and smiled. "Me either, little man. Me either." He watched the setting sun for awhile, then bent down to pick up Ray's carrier and diaper bag, carried them into the kitchen and set both on the table next to the paper sack and rope.

Turning his attention to the diaper bag, Vernon opened it and pulled out a half-dozen bottles and three cans of powdered formula. He shook them until he found the lightest. He lifted the can and turned it around. "One scoop per two ounces of warm water," he muttered. "Hope I can remember how to do this." Alexis had been allergic to Cheryl's milk, and he'd stayed up many nights feeding her. But Raymond had been fine, and Vernon had not prepared a bottle in nearly three years.

He grabbed a bottle, went to the sink and turned on the tap. As he waited for it to heat, he let an ounce or so of cold water flow into the bottle. Raymond started crying. Hot water followed. He raised the bottle to eye level and poured a little out until the level fell to the four-ounce line. Back at the table, he dumped in two scoops, screwed the lid on and shook the bottle with one finger covering the nipple. Ray's cries rose to screams, and his kicking had set the carrier to rocking. The temperature of the few, quick drops dribbled on Vernon's wrist felt about right. He set the bottle down, picked Ray up and gave him the nipple. The baby's cries cut off as if with a switch. Chuckling, Vernon sat down in a chair and fed the infant an ounce at a time, burping him at each interval. Ray cried further the first couple of times the bottle was taken away, but he quieted as the formula disappeared. Once the last drop was gone and the last burp sounded, the baby drifted off to sleep. Vernon smiled and gently put him back into the carrier.

Shuffling to the counter, he rummaged through the cabinets, opening doors and grimacing as shadows scurried out of the light. They didn't seem so funny now that daylight had started to fade. Finally, he grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter to make himself a couple of sandwiches. A small bag of corn chips followed, washed down with some tea he found in the fridge. He tensed every time the refrigerator door opened. Although the lights dimmed slightly, they never flickered. Guess this old place is finally getting used to the load. Still, I hate to think what this place is going to be like in the summer when we got to run those air conditioners. He set his dishes in the sink, pulled Raymond out of the carrier and made a quick circuit of the house to make sure all the lights were still on before laying the baby on his own bed.

Vernon went back to the door-side window and finished cutting through the paint. Taking a deep breath, he placed both hands on the window, stood in a weightlifter's stance and heaved. The window creaked and he thought he felt it shift slightly. Muscles hummed in his arms and thighs. The frame lifted a fraction with a loud squeal and froze again. Vernon grunted, a deep-seated sound that rose to a drawn-out groan. The strain set a fire in his trembling limbs that grew as he pushed harder. As his strength faded, the wooden window frame moved. He shoved it several inches with a yell and collapsed. I did it. Eyes closed, he breathed in huge gasps against the floor. I need to go get the rope. He planted his hands on either side and tried to push himself upright. His arms wobbled but couldn't get his watery muscles to lift anything. Later. I'll do it later. His eyes drifted closed.

Raymond cried in the bedroom. Vernon groaned and rolled over, one arm draped over his eyes. "Just go back to sleep, kid, please." Ray didn't listen; his cries intensified.

Vernon drew himself to a sitting position with a grunt and forced himself to his feet. He shambled into the bedroom. The baby's arms and legs waved. Vernon picked Raymond up and put him over his shoulder, patting his bottom and making shushing noises. Raymond slowly stilled and quieted. Once he started snoring, Vernon set him back down on the bed. The baby immediately woke up crying again. Vernon sighed and picked him back up and went to the recliner.

Raymond took longer to settle down this time. He squirmed and whined as Vernon leaned back and stared at the slowly darkening sky. His eyes drooped along with the baby's.

A sudden, jarring pain in his left arm and Ray's screams jolted him awake. Jerking upright, Vernon clutched the baby to his side and looked around wildly. The overhead light fixture flickered. Shadows leapt from the corners and darkened windows, ebony claws reaching for them as the light faltered. By the time he had scrambled from the chair and started for the kitchen, more scratches marred his left arm and Ray's cheeks despite his attempts to protect the infant.

Vernon dashed across the living room. He nearly made it when a shaft of night fell across his path, cutting his feet out from underneath him. He tucked Ray unto his arm like a football and rolled into the kitchen. Dark knives caught and ripped at his shirt, but failed to halt his forward progress.

Trembling, he stood and checked Raymond. Bloody scratches marred the baby's wide-eyed face, but he seemed fine otherwise. The living room light flickered once more and steadied. No way I'm going back in there tonight. He hugged Ray to his chest and went to the sink. He whipped a rag out of a drawer beside the sink and wet it under the faucet. Gently wiping the scrapes on the baby's cheeks, he hummed a soft tune and kissed Ray's forehead.

Overhead, the kitchen light wavered and sputtered.

____

Part I of Chapter 9 coming Monday!

Chapter 8: Lights, Part V

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 04:26:00 +0000

"Figures," he muttered and went into the kitchen, where he snatched a knife from a block on the counter and carried it back into the living room. He had nearly finished cutting the window free when Travis Ware tromped up the steps. The noise startled him and made him drop the knife. Doesn't that man drive anywhere? The mayor held Raymond's carrier and diaper bag. Why can't he keep his nose out of other people's business? He twisted around to make sure the curtain obscured the kitchen doorway. No point in letting the man see too much. Vernon retrieved the knife and placed it on the window sill, then walked to the door and leaned against the frame.

"Yes?" He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"Save it, Mr. Hamilton." Brow furrowed, Travis frowned at him a moment, then bobbed his head left and right, trying to peer past him into the house. "You'll not snow me like you did the Williams." The carrier swayed as he thrust it toward Vernon. Raymond giggled and waved his arms.

Straightening, Vernon sighed and took the baby, letting the carrier swing at his side as he grumbled, "Thanks a lot."

"You are quite welcome." He set the diaper bag on the porch between them. "You're a part of Jennings Grove now, Vernon. We look after our own here. That includes letting you know when you're making a mistake."

"You think I'm making a mistake?"

"You don't?"

"No, I don't." Vernon set the carrier down and folded his arms. "If anything, I was being more responsible than you. I'm not ready to take care of a baby and deal with this place. I decided to leave him with someone who was. I don't see how that's a mistake."

"Then let me shed a little light on the subject for you." Travis crossed his arms and offered a frown that more than matched Vernon's.

"Ask most people in Lamar County about Jennings Grove, and they'll tell you this is a tightly knit community. That's all about anyone knows about us here. But this is a tight community for a reason. To put it in terms you might understand, it's a precision machine. Every part has a function in the machine; if one part doesn’t work for some reason, that puts a strain on the other pieces. Enough stress, and the whole machine breaks down." He leaned over and jabbed a finger in Vernon's chest with every word. "Out here, that's usually fatal. I will not let you endanger the lives of these people just because you think you deserve special treatment."

"I don't want special..."

"Yes, you do. Either that or you're planning something you don't want anyone to know about." Vernon tried to still a flinch, but Travis must have seen something because he suddenly nodded and sighed. "I was afraid of this. You can't go to your wife and daughter. I am sorry for your loss, Vernon, but they are gone. Any attempt to reach out to them will leave your son an orphan. You think you're the first to want to go out into the night for just one more moment with a child or spouse?"

Vernon opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. Let him think what he wants. If he's off target, maybe I can keep him that way until I get them back. "Fine. Then what do you suggest?"

"Take care of your family, Mr. Hamilton. Be a man and stop shirking your duty. You can't do anything about the ones you've lost. You might as well get that through your skull now. Accept it and move on. You have a son who needs you. Foisting him off on other people isn't going to help you adjust; it's only going to make it harder."

"So your solution is to just throw me under the bus?"

"I am sorry if you see it that way, but if you recall, we've offered you a great deal of support – someone to watch your son while you're at work, money to help you get on your feet. We aren't leaving you to sink or swim, Vernon, but we do expect you to at least try to swim. So far, all you've done is splash around in the kiddy pool and complain that we've given you too much water."

____

Part VI coming Friday!

Chapter 8: Lights, Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 04:20:00 +0000

Vernon rummaged around in the sacks and lined his lights up on the table. He pulled the first package of batteries out and wrestled with the package. When it refused to open, he walked to the other side of the kitchen and yanked drawer after drawer open, slamming each shut before moving on to the next. He finally found what he was looking for in a bottom drawer that hung up halfway. The scissors' bright orange plastic handles peeked out from the back. He reached for them, but in his haste knocked them out of sight. Growling, Vernon stuck his hand into the drawer and grabbed the scissors. He shuddered at what felt like a couple hundred caterpillars crawling across his skin and wrenched his hand out and up directly under the overhead light. He smiled grimly as the shadows withered and died. Too bad I can't do that with all of them. Looking at the cabinets, he scratched his chin. Wonder if Ethan would let me use glass doors.

Shaking his head, Vernon walked back to the table, sliced open several plastic packages and dumped batteries across the table. He unscrewed the flashlights and dropped D-cells inside before turning to the lanterns. When he was done, he had several unopened packages remaining, as well as close to a dozen loose rolling around the bottom of the sack. He left the bag on the table and, armed with two flashlights, started hunting through the house for a nice, stout place to tie down the rope.

He first stopped at the refrigerator, muttering to himself while he poked and pulled at the appliance from various angles. Finally, he shook his head and moved on. However heavy, he didn't want to trust their rescue to an icebox.

Though the back room wasn't really dark enough to require a flashlight, Vernon couldn't help a small thrill of satisfaction as the beam sliced through the shadows and sent them scurrying away. The feeling deepened as he flipped on the light. A quick look around the room soured his mood a bit, however. The only thing of any size in here was the blue hide-a-bed, and that seemed even less likely than the fridge. He turned on the bathroom light, but didn't even bother looking in there. What would he tie a rope to? The toilet?

He passed through both bedrooms with quick strides, agitation growing as he looked side to side without finding any suitable anchor points. Is there nothing in this house stable enough? He gave a sour grunt and flopped down in his recliner. Vernon stared out the still-open front door at the new porch. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the four-by-four posts that supported the roof. He slowly stood and walked across the floor to lean on the porch railing. He pounded and kicked the post nearest the steps. It thumped solidly. Nodding to himself, he turned back toward the door. In his mind, he was already tying the rope off. He paused just inside the house and pivoted on one heel. Solid as it was, that wooden column suddenly seemed a mere matchstick compared to the job he planned for it. Was it strong enough? Would it hold up to the force the night was sure to throw at them, or would it simply snap under the strain?

Shaking his head, Vernon punched the wall between door and window. He hissed at the pain blossoming in his fist. Not that the wall noticed, of course. Well, what did you think you were going to do? Knock the house down? He paused in sucking on bleeding knuckles. Maybe I can't find anything in the house strong enough, but what about the house itself? I'd like to see whatever's out there try to pull this old thing apart.

Vernon sidestepped to the closest window and drew the blinds up. The ancient lock squealed as he twisted it around. He placed both hands on the lower half and heaved. It wouldn't budge. Grunting, he cocked one leg back and pushed harder. He grimaced with the effort, but still the window refused to open. Panting, he straightened and looked around the window. Layers of peeling, white paint glued it to frame.

____

Part V coming Monday!

Chapter 8: Lights, Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Jeff Parish) — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 04:15:00 +0000

His approach had apparently been noticed. As he climbed out of the car, the front door opened and Kateri walked down the concrete steps. She held Ray's carrier in one hand and a bulging diaper bag over the other shoulder. Her thin braids swung with every step. Vernon stood behind the open door, elbows resting on the roof of the car and the doorframe. As she got closer, he saw Raymond was asleep in the carrier. He fought to keep his face still; inside, he felt as bouncy and giddy as he had the night before his wedding. I guess that's appropriate. This is kind of like winning her all over again. Sure, their marriage had had its problems, but that would all change once he got Cheryl back tonight. What could possibly compare to the trials of Jennings Grove? He forced his foot to stop tapping.

Kateri stopped at the hood and smiled. "You're an hour early, Mr. Hamilton. To be honest, I wasn't certain you were going to show up at all." She stepped closer with the bag outstretched, paused and frowned when she caught sight of his expression. "What's the matter? Did something happen at work? Are you OK?"

Vernon shook his head and made sure his face retained its wooden expression. Must be doing better than I thought. "I've been thinking about it all day, and I'm just not ready for this. Could you please watch him one more night?"

"We've been over this already, Mr. Hamilton. I have things I need to get done myself. This is your responsibility." She gave the diaper bag a small jiggle.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but...I...my wife..." His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands. When he looked up again, her scowl had softened somewhat, and she'd let the bag dropped. If someone isn't sure about doing what you want, take the choice away from them. That had been one of Herb Franklin's favorite pearls of wisdom, and it had never seemed more apt. He scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and muttered: "I'm...I'm sorry...I just can't..." He dropped into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut and threw the transmission into reverse. Tires squealed on the concrete driveway. Kateri's eyebrows climbed nearly to her hairline, and she jumped back out of the way. Her mother came to the door and stared, open mouthed as he backed into the yard, then raced out and back onto the gravel road.

Vernon made it to his driveway before he started laughing. Mrs. Hutchins would never believe it. His high school drama teacher had said he'd never make a good actor, that he didn't care enough to make his role believable. They sure bought that one, didn't they? He caught sight of the coil of rope laying in the seat and swallowed his mirth. Guess I finally found something to care about.

Pulling into the drive, he maneuvered the car around to the front of the house and parked it. Vernon grabbed the bags and rope coil and dashed up the stairs. He threw the door open and snapped on the light before walking in. The bulbs flickered a moment before flaring to life. Weak shadows fled across the room, into other rooms, corners and under furniture. They retreated further when he walked into the kitchen. He let the curtain fall behind him and flipped the switch.

The darkness deepened as it condensed and folded upon itself. It writhed in an agitated fashion at the light's edges. He chuckled at the shadows' impotence as they lashed out toward him, only to fall back under the lights glowing overhead. The darkness was deepest in the two doorways in the kitchen's back corner, though still faint enough that he could see into the back room and the second bedroom to the left. He set the bags on the kitchen table.

____

Part IV coming Friday!