A Knife in the Dark
As I listened to my parents’ argument, I thought seriously about adoption. God, did they always have to argue? Back and forth,back and forth, blaming each other for all their problems the arguing abruptly stopped and I worried. What was happening? All of a sudden I heard a slam, then angry footsteps drawing near my hideaway. I quickly got up and scrambled to my desk so there would be the appearance of doing homework. My heart pounded;what was going on? Suddenly, my dad burst in. Nonchalantly he announced that I wasn’t going to see him for quite a while and to not expect him back anytime soon. Oh yes, I was worried…very, very worried. I waited until dad was gone, then I stole out under the cover of night. Into the night I wandered,cursing under my breath at the frigidity of the night air and how I had neglected to bring a coat. I silently followed the dark, shadowed form of my father, wondering where he was going. A tingle ran up and down my spine. Why was he turning into the Helshmann’s place?
Errol Welshman had died years ago at the age of 12. He had been the world’s youngest millionaire and he had obviously been resented for it, for he had been missing for ten years. Some people said that his place was haunted his hungry, slavering spirit, which moaned about the corridors whispering of revenge. It had been merely a legend until Bobby Fletcher had been found dead in the river by the old house. After Bobby it was Cole, Alex, Fred and Elton; all killed in exactly the same way. People subsequently feared the old house with its creaking shutters and its menacing appearance, and stayed away from the general premises. The town had petitioned to have the place demolished, but as there was no evidence to rule out suicide except for the boys’ apparent temperaments, the house was to stay as it was.
But what was my dad doing here? He has been the one who warned me away from the Welshman house in the first place. Well, leave him to his hypocrisies, if my father was going in then I sure as hell was. I silently followed my dad’s path into the old metal shed. The shed was perhaps the strangest part of the Welshman place. For two days before Booby Fletcher had died, he had told me that he’d seen blood leaking out from under the door. I remember I told him he was an idiot and that I’d sock him if he went near that place again. I glanced again at the shed door, now slightly ajar. A soft glow was coming from the inside. I stomached my fear and, determined to see what was going on, followed my dad’s receding footsteps into the shed. I pulled the door closed behind me, hearing the soft metal click. Smiling wickedly to myself at my cunning, I turned around and nearly screamed. For, hanging like meat at the butcher’s shop, were bits and pieces of the town’s missing boys. I spotted heads among the assembly, heads with looks of sheer terror frozen onto their faces. Among the heads were arms, legs, torsos…and other, much less pleasant things. I bit back the bile that scorched the lining of my throat, telling myself that I still had to see why my dad was here.
I slowly made my way forward, ducking through the gory warehouse. I winced as I heard the squelch of blood and guts underneath my shoes, and nearly yelped in terror when one of the corpses—still whole—bumped into my head. I looked up cautiously and saw that I had entered a different part of the warehouse…the part that housed the uncut bodies. Aaron, Steve, Chris…all of these missing boys hung as chickens in a pantry waiting to be plucked hanging in this grotesque hall of horrors for the rest of eternity. At the back of the room was a pedestal. I approached it warily, hoping that it held not another addition to this place, but a sort of diary as to why this place existed. I reached the pedestal and sighed; thank God, it was the latter. I belatedly remembered that my dad was here, so increased my efforts to remain silent. Slowly I thumbed through the massive leather-bound book. It appeared to be a record of all the disappearances that had ever happened in the town. Starting with the town’s founding in 1876, the book continued to Chris Coefield’s disappearance a few days ago. The weird thing was that it was all written in the same, spidery script. The script itself looked vaguely familiar, but trying to get a hold of the notion was like trying to catch the last remnants of a dream.
Suddenly, I saw new text being entered into the massive tome, as if written by an invisible hand. I stared at the flowing words then screamed and broke into a run, for the name being inscribed upon the Book was my own. I heard footsteps behind me, somewhere near the pedestal, and ran harder. My lungs felt like blowing up and dots were exploding before my eyes. In spite of my increased speed, the end of the shed came no closer. In fact, it seemed to be getting farther away. Regardless of the strange physics at play, I continued running, and, blinded by tears, ran right into my pursuer. My heart skipped a beat and I looked up with horror…and realized it was my father. My brain couldn't make sense of anything but the simple fact that it was my dad, and he was safety. My arms instantly went around my dad’s spare frame and I cried into his shirt until my shuddering lessened and my crying subsided. I looked up into my father’s face—and screamed. For that…that thing was not my father. His eyes glowed red and he smiled insanely. The entire shed was illuminated by the glow of his eyes. He whispered in a mechanical voice: “Must obey The Book, The Book cannot be denied,” repeatedly, creating a horrible litany that blocked any protestations I might have. I felt the cold steel of his knife pierce into my belly, and I could swear that, in my dying moments, I could see a hint of long-buried humanity in those cold, cold eyes. He let go of me and let my body fall to the ground. My head struck the ground hard, and I vaguely felt more pain. However, it felt as if it was someone else’s body, not my own. My vision slowly faded to black and, as my life seeped out of my tortured body, I could feel once again the cold bite of the knife as my dad hacked away at me in the dark.
