He couldn’t help but scowl as he looked down at the blank piece of paper. He hated schoolwork, hated it almost as much as he hated Mrs. McGruder. She knew that he didn’t have book knowledge; even he knew he wasn’t that bright but she seemed to gain pleasure from forcing him to do it.
Today it was a short story exercise. He was expected to write a short story about his friends and why they were his friends but Billy didn’t read short stories let alone write them. Comic books were more his speed, Batman and Spider-Man being his favorites. He thought that maybe if he could write a story with his favorite heroes in it, then maybe he could do it. Super heroes and comic books weren’t the subject of today’s short story however, so he was forced to sit here and suffer.
He looked up at Mrs. McGruder, watched as she sprawled out over the top of her desk. Her arms, like a pair of petrified branches, rested across the desk her hands touching to form an inverted V. Her neck, much like that of a vulture Billy noted, craned down from her shoulders allowing her to read some poor classmate’s paper through horn rimmed glasses. Every now and then she would scowl or make a Tsk, tsk sound and out would come the red pen and she would make a mark or scribble something in the margin. Billy watched her work, took in her tightly bound gray hair. Her hands, thin and pale with blue veins made his stomach turn. He hated her more than any teacher he had ever had.
He stuck his tongue out at her and he screwed up his face at the top of her head. It was a quick motion, one that he covered up with a glance at the clock above her desk in case she looked up.
Billy sighed; he couldn’t help it as he saw the time. It was 3:30 and he was still there. Batman Beyond started at 3:30 and he was missing it, all because of a lousy paper. The reminder that he was missing Batman Beyond drew him into the world of Gotham, of the crime fighting Bat and the evildoers of that fine city. Sometimes he wished he could be a superhero, and then he could destroy the evil Mrs. McGruder and save all the fourth graders at Clinton Middle School.
“Billy.” He heard his teacher say in a loud voice and he blinked his eyes a couple of times as he realized he had been so wrapped up in his shows that he hadn’t heard her calling his name.
“Yes Mrs. McGruder?” He asked softly, his face red as he lowered his eyes in embarrassment. He heard her start to snap something at him but she stopped with a sigh of her own.
“Go Home Billy.” She finally said the exasperation there in her voice. “I want that paper on my desk come Monday morning though, you hear?”
“Yes ma’am!” Billy replied happily as he crumpled up the piece of paper he had been scribbling on and pitched it into the trash can in the corner of the room as he hurried to get out of range of the fourth grade equivalent of Venom, Spider-Man’s biggest foe.
Billy wasted no time as he ran down the empty halls of Clinton middle school to burst through the swinging doors into the cool autumn evening. He looked around from left to right and adjusted the straps on his backpack to make sure they were on snug. He headed to the long strip of triangle shaped metal pipes that were sunk into the concrete that served as a bike corral for all the kids who rode their bikes to school. Even though it stood in the open and provided no shade for their metal ponies it did provide them a spot to chain up their bikes to keep them safe. Vandalism was still a possibility in the high world of politics that was middle school but at least theft was deterred.
He looked up at the sky and couldn’t help but frown as he looked at the darkening clouds that slowly moved into the area. It was going to rain and it was going to rain soon from the looks of it. That would be just his luck, to be late getting home because the evil fourth grade teacher kept him late, which would then lead to him getting soaked because the storm had waited for him to get on his bike and start pedaling.
“Nuts.” He muttered as a raindrop landed on the back of his hand. He unlocked the chain that held his steel stallion in place and slipped the lock and chain into the small bag that hung under the back of the seat. His was the last bike on the rack and slipped free from the metal triangle without getting tangled with anyone else’s bike. He backed the bike out and pointed it in the right direction as a second rain drop landed lightly on the back of his hand.
Billy gave one last tug on the straps of his backpack to make sure it was secure and he began the trek home. Normally he would ride his bike home, just like he did every day, but as his luck would have it the chain on his bike had busted this morning as he brought the bike to a stop in front of the school. Several of the older kids got a good laugh out of his sudden misfortune but he did his best to ignore them. The high politics of middle school dictated that he ignored the older boys when they laughed; to even glance their direction was an instant harassing and possible beating. Instead he had parked the bike, busted chain and all, unaware that this was only the beginning of the worst day of his young life.
The clouds thickened overheard and drowned out the daylight a little bit more with each step. Billy did his best not to hunch down as he pushed the bike, tried not to hide behind the handlebars as the clouds thickened and darkened around him. He felt uneasy; the air itself was oppressive with the slight taste of ozone in the air. It was going to storm; something not unusual for this time of the year. They seemed to roll in off the sea on a regular basis, but this one had the feel of a really bad one.
Billy stopped walking and shook his head slightly; he had managed to freak himself out over a silly storm that hadn’t even started yet. He pulled off his backpack as he set the broken bike down on its kickstand.
“Get a grip.” He muttered to himself and pulled open the front flap on the bag and rooted around inside. He pushed away the pencils, erasers and bits of paper until he found what he was looking for in the very bottom of the bag. “There it is.” He said with a sigh and let out the breath he never knew he was holding.
He held the little white square up in the air and looked at it with admiration. Bazooka Joe Bubble Gum, his all time favorite. He brought the little white square down and carefully unfolded the white wrapper so as not to rip the little Bazooka Joe comic and joke inside. He looked at the joke and scanned the little comic and couldn’t help but smile. Sure it was dumb but he loved them anyway. He folded the little white paper into a small square and slipped it into his front pocket and savored the little piece of pink gum that lay on his tongue. It was one of his little rituals, waiting to bite down on the gum until after he had put away the wrapper. He would add it to his collection when he got home, would glue it into his little scrapbook with all his other Bazooka Joe comics.
Finally the time was at hand, the moment that he always enjoyed the most with Bazooka Joe. He tilted his head back, a smile on his face as he bit down into the gum. The flavor exploded in his mouth and he couldn’t help but smile as that bubble gum flavor filled his mouth. Things were starting to look up; of course things always were better with Bazooka Joe. He started to chew it slowly. With each bite his day seemed to lighten a bit. He still had time to get home for X-Men Evolution; he could catch Batman on the Cartoon Network. Yeah things were starting to look up, he thought with a smile that melted right off his face as a raindrop landed with the feel of a sledgehammer blow right between his eyes.
Just as quickly as it had come his good mood faltered as several raindrops landed gently around him. He frowned as he scooped up his backpack and fastened it on. He kicked at the stand on his bike and started to push it as the rain fell gently around him. It didn’t amount too much, just a few sprinkles but it was enough to ruin his mood and make the gum in his mouth feel like a lump of wax. He spit the gum out with a scowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he continued to walk. He couldn’t help but notice how there was no traffic, no sign of cars or any more people. That feeling of foreboding returned as he took a closer look around. There wasn’t a car in sight, no kids ran from the sudden rain to find shelter in the park. The only thing he could see was the cemetery up ahead, the wrought iron gates slightly ajar in invitation.
He slowed his pace as he neared the gates to the cemetery. The place had always given him the creeps. He didn’t know why exactly other than that was where the dead people were. It didn’t help matters that Mr. Creed, the caretaker, took great pleasure in scaring the hell out of kids just like Billy.
It was as he slowed down; when the squeaking of his chainless bike lessened that he heard them, footsteps on the sidewalk somewhere behind him. He turned his head to look back over his shoulder while a cold streak blazed up and then down his spine. Someone was following him, they had waited until he approached the graveyard so they could grab him and drag him inside. His heart hammered in his chest, a cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck as he looked all around him for the owner of those footfalls but there was nothing there.
“Jesus, get a grip already.” He whispered as he brushed his hand through his sandy blond hair. He could still feel it, the cold on the back of his neck, almost like a hand that touched him ever so lightly. He had imagined it all though, there was no one there, no place for anyone to hide. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, didn’t know why he felt this way.
“Must be the weather.” He decided with a mumble and started forward once more. The cemetery gates still ahead of him.
He stopped at the edge of the black iron bars that kept the living out. “Or the dead in.” A voice whispered in the back of his mind and Billy shivered again. He peered inside the first set of bars alert and wary of Mr. Creed or his dog Crowley. The dog was a German Sheppard/Rottweiler mix and it hated children in general, but it seemed to have a special hatred of Billy and the feeling was mutual. He looked and listened as the drizzle fell around him. The wind lightly blew the wetness into his eyes and forced him to squint. He saw tombstones, some of them old tall monuments to the long dead, some newer ones of the recently deceased. The hackles on the back of his neck stood up and a bolt of fear worked its way down his spine. It wasn’t just the dog that freaked him out; the cemetery itself was spooky as hell. It had never been this bad before however, today the feeling was almost overwhelming in its strength.
Billy looked over his shoulder again, the feeling that someone was there, was watching him was persistent. Yet it didn’t change the fact that there was nothing there. Another quick glance into the cemetery to confirm that Mr. Crowley’s dog was nowhere to be found and Billy tightened his grip on the bike’s handlebars and took off at a run.
He hurried past the gate and along the low wall that separated the cemetery from the sidewalk. He was tense, ready for the devil himself to jump up and drag him kicking and screaming down to hell. Even though nothing like that happened he didn’t slow down. The bricks of the low wall went by in a blur as the end of the wall came into sight. His lungs started to burn, an ache started in his calves but Billy didn’t slow down until he came to the corner of that low brick wall and what his young mind determined was safety.
Billy slowed the bike to a walk; sure the danger was past when Crawley appeared with a loud bark. It’s front paws attempted to find purchase in the top of the wall, slobber slung from left to right as it shook its head in anticipation of devouring the boy whole. Billy didn’t look back, he started to run once more as the dog jumped and barked furiously at him as it tried to find purchase to climb the wall and get to him.
He stopped after another block of running and leaned against the side of an oak tree. The rain had stopped, at least for a moment, and for that Billy was grateful. He looked around, took in the lack of vehicles, the lack of people on the street. It was disquieting, almost spooky and it did nothing but heighten the feeling of dread that had seeded itself in the pit of his stomach.
“Billy.” The voice was a whisper, the softest hint of a breeze against his ear. He brushed his hand against his ear like he was shooing away a fly. The whisper hadn’t registered to him, at least not on a conscious level.
He pushed off of the oak tree and looked both ways again before he crossed the street. He was almost home, only a couple of blocks more. The feeling that he wasn’t alone persisted and he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder repeatedly. He knew no one was there, he was alone on the streets, just him and that damn dog back at the cemetery, but the cemetery was behind him now. Still he felt the urge to move faster, home was just down the block and he knew he would be safe at home. “Sure you will.” That same nagging voice whispered in his ear. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”
He could see his yard and something broke within him. He set off at a run, his bike squeaking its chainless protest. The rain began to fall in earnest, no more showers, no more drizzle; it was a downpour the likes of the time of Noah.
The bike fell to the grass with a wet thud. The handlebar dug a divot in the grass that revealed a gouge of brown dirt where before there had been the green skin of grass. Billy didn’t notice any of it his eyes were locked on the screen door that stood under the protection of the roof of the front porch. The rain was cold and came down with a fury that would once have signified the anger of the gods that required a sacrifice of appeasement. To Billy it was just a cold hard rain that he desperately wanted to get out of.
The protection of the roof over the front porch gave Billy the chance to stop and catch his breath. Thunder exploded overheard followed by a flash of lightning that lit the porch with an explosion of white. There was someone standing on the porch with him. It had only been a shape; an outline of a person backlit by the sudden blast of lightning. It had only been there for a split second but Billy was sure it had indeed been there.
“Don’t go in!” a voice whispered in the back of his mind. The voice had grown stronger on the trip home, had changed in tone and timber since he had first imagined it on approach to the cemetery. Something tickled along the back of his spine, a note of familiarity.
Thunder exploded directly overheard followed by the flash of lightning. The shape was still there, arms extended, palms out. “I can’t help you if you go in,” The voice insisted. The image of the figure at the far corner of the porch was burned into his eyes. The voice, so familiar, yet so alien terrified him more than anything else that had happened to him today.
“Mom.” He croaked his hand on the handle of the screen door. She would keep him safe. He yanked the screen door open and felt his fingers close on the smooth knob of the door. The thunder exploded again, ringing in his ears like a chorus of church bells. With a shove Billy forced the door open and stumbled into the house before the lightning could reveal that form on the corner of the porch again. He was certain that he didn’t want to see that pleading shape again as long as he lived.
He leaned against the oak of the door and fought to get his breathing under control. He had expected the fear, the feeling of dread that had taken up residence in his guts to go away once he was safely at home. It was still there however, still like a cold thing that sat heavily in his gut. He looked around the living room, sure that the man outside had gotten into the house somehow.
He couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was now that he was inside. The feeling of aloneness that had plagued him all the way home, the lack of cars on the streets, no kids in the park, that same feeling was here with him now as well. He listened for the sounds of a TV that played whenever he got home from school. Mom always watched Dr. Phil and Oprah on a daily basis she never missed an episode. It was a sound of that he had come to associate with normalcy, a part of everyday life. The sudden lack of sound, not just from the TV but from anywhere in the house filled him with a terror so deeply rooted that he couldn’t begin to explain where it came for or what it even meant.
The lamp clicked on with a twist of the small knob at its neck and illuminated the dull darkness of the living room with a soft white light. Billy frowned, his brow knit in concern as his eyes took in the room. Everything was as it had been when he had left for school this morning. The empty popcorn bowl sat on the coffee table where he had left it the night before. The book his mother had been reading lay sprawled open on the arm of the couch, also where she had left it the night before. It wasn’t like her to leave things a mess, she wasn’t a neat freak or anything but she did pride herself on keeping a clean house.
He walked softly to the staircase that led upstairs to his room he didn’t know why he tried to be so quiet. It was just something he felt like he needed to do. The carpeting muffled his steps as he moved up to the second floor. A glance to the left then one to the right showed him closed doors down both sides of the hall. The only open door was the one to his room, which stood directly in front of him.
Billy shook his head from side to side and tried to shake the feeling that lay across his shoulders like a great weight. He was acting like an idiot, there was nothing going on other then the storm that still raged outside. To accentuate his thought lighting rumbled above him and was followed by a flash of lighting that lit up his room.
He let out a breath he hadn’t even been realizing that he was holding. He was sure that the shadowy figure from the porch would be waiting for him. That it would be standing in the middle of his room ready to grab him and drag him off into the closet or under the bed to meet his fate. Instead the flash revealed nothing but a room, one with a bed and a desk. He needed to get a grip it was only a storm.
With one last glance left and right Billy darted across the hall and into his room. He pushed the door closed and flipped on the light and squinted as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the bright light from overhead. Everything looked normal, his bed was still made, clothing still hung out of his open hamper where he had tossed them the night before. Billy sighed one last time and plopped down onto his bed. His shoes spun off of his feet to land with a dull thud on the floor as he slipped the backpack off of his shoulders. He felt the last bits of adrenaline seep from his body as he lay back on the bed. Wolverine looked down on him from the poster his dad had taped to the ceiling and Billy couldn’t help but smile. Wolverine was one of his favorites and it had taken a while to talk his dad into putting the poster up for him but after what seemed like hours of debate his dad had relented.
That shadowy figure sure looked familiar. Billy shuddered and tried to force the thought from his mind but it wouldn’t go away. “You should go down and see if he’s still there.” The thought purred in the back of his head. It was like when Woody used to chew and gnaw on that old bone. No matter how hard his dad would try the dog just wouldn’t let it go. It was the same for Billy with that damn shadow, no matter how hard he tried his mind just wouldn’t let it go. “And what about mom, where’s she?” That little voice continued. “Wasn’t it odd that she wasn’t there to meet you at the door sport?”
“She must have had an errand to run.” Billy whispered to himself as he looked up at the picture of his favorite super hero. “Sure sport.” The little voice whispered back. It was starting to sound familiar again, but he couldn’t place his finger on it, couldn’t figure out why he knew it. All he knew was that the feeling of dread had returned and he couldn’t stay alone in his room any longer.
He sat bolt upright in his bed at the sound of metal striking metal that came from downstairs. “Mom!” He said with excitement as he bounded from his bed. She was down in the kitchen, had probably come in the back door from her run to the store or wherever she had been when he’d gotten home. All of the worry drained from his body at the knowledge that mom was home now and he was safe.
Billy bound down the stairs and turned the corner that led to the kitchen and came to a stop. Something wasn’t right, even with the door to the dining area and kitchen closed Billy could tell there were no lights burning on the other side of the door. There was something else, an odor that seemed to be wafting under the door, the smell of something cooking. It wasn’t a good smell; it smelled sweet but not a good kind of sweet. He reached out with a trembling hand and slowly pushed the swinging door open and looked inside.
He stepped into the kitchen as the thunder, distant and fading as the storm moved eastward, rumbled softly. A moment later a soft flash of lighting weakly lit the area in front of the kitchen window and Billy froze. There was a figure there, in front of the window, a black shape that stood arms down at its sides. It’s him, the shadow man. Was the first thought that ran through Billy’s mind followed quickly by the urge to turn and run back to his room to hide under his covers.
He hesitated, something was off however, and the figure that stood in the kitchen was different from the one that had waited for him on the porch. “Mom?” He called softly, his hand still on the door, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
The form took a step, and then another before it stopped once more. “Mom?” He called tentatively. It had to be her, he could tell by the way she moved, from the way she stood, but why didn’t she answer him?
“It’s me.” She finally said from his place deeper in the room. “Don’t turn on the light now I have a headache,” She finished. He had been reaching out to flip the switch on the wall but her words stopped him. He watched as her darkened shape turned away from him and walked to the sink where she had been when he had come into the room. He heard the water splash down into the sink as she turned on the faucet. “Why not go watch some TV dinner will be done in a while.”
Billy didn’t move right away. Something wasn’t quite right about the way she spoke, the way that she moved but grown-ups often did strange things like turn off the lights when they had headaches or just decide not to clean the house from time to time. It was still odd but he felt more at ease with the knowledge that he wasn’t home alone after all.
“Ok, mom.” He finally answered and backed away from the kitchen and headed back into the living room. Dad would be home soon and if something weird was going on he would be able to handle it. That thought helped Billy to relax even more as he plopped down on the couch and flipped the TV on with the remote.
“Billy, come in here please.” His mother called from the kitchen. He had managed to get in a couple of episodes of GI Joe Sigma before she called so he didn’t mind slipping off of the couch to see what she wanted.
“Yeah, mom.” He responded as he pushed open the swinging door and slipped into the dark kitchen.
“Go ahead and set the table.” She told him from her spot in front of the kitchen window. He moved for the light switch so he could see what he was doing, his finger almost on the switch before she stopped him. “No!” She snapped, “No lights!”
“But mom, I can barely see.” He replied the confusion obvious in his voice mixed with a hint of fear from the harshness in her tone.
“Alright.” She said in a soft strained voice. He didn’t know why but suddenly Billy wasn’t so sure that he wanted to turn on the light. There was something in her voice something that sent a chill to his very core.
He reached with his left hand hesitating for a moment in case she changed her mind and yelled at him again. She didn’t say anything however, only watched in silence from her spot in front of the window as his finger touched the switch.
There was something wet on the light switch, it was cold and slimy and made his skin crawl. He pulled his hand back instinctively and wiped whatever it was on his pants. “You gonna turn on the lights or not?” He mother spat from her place at the sink. “We can’t eat until you set the table.”
His hand shook lightly as he reached up, his fingers clammy with cold sweat as they found the switch. With the slightest bit of pressure the light switch slipped up and a blinding white light filled the room. Billy squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden bright white light that flooded his vision and waited a moment before he slowly opened his eyes.
She had painted the kitchen. That was the first thing that Bill thought as his eyes took in the walls and floor. It was a dirty red, that bordered on brown and it covered everything. The walls, the cabinets, the floor, everywhere. It wasn’t a solid covering on anything; instead it looked like it was splashed on by hand rather then spread evenly with a brush.
“Mom?” He said to her softly. “What happened to the kitchen?”
“Oh nothing.” She responded from her spot at the sink. “Just had a little fun.” She giggled slightly and turned the water on again. “Now set the table and maybe you can have some fun too.”
He moved towards the cabinets, aware of the cold liquid as it soaked into his socks. He didn’t know what was going on but he knew it was something bad. Yet he had to do as she asked, she was his mother after all.
“Silverware first.” She said sweetly without turning towards him. He didn’t say anything, just turned and made his way over to the silverware drawer and the forks, spoons and knives that waited therein.
“Before you get the plates, grab out the pitcher of juice from inside the refrigerator.” She told him. Billy still didn’t speak to her but she didn’t seem to mind as she continued to scrub away at whatever she had in the sink. He pulled the pitcher out of the fridge and placed it on the table next to his fork and spoon and knife.
The juice inside made his stomach churn as he stared down into it. It looked like tomato juice but it smelled awful. He was sure he didn’t want to drink whatever it was that was in that pitcher and he was suddenly sure he didn’t want to eat whatever she was fixing either.
“Ok honey, go ahead and get the plates.” She tried to stifle another giggle but failed. He moved towards the cabinet, a dread in his gut that felt like a lump of steel. He grasped the knob of the cabinet and pulled it open even as that little voice in the back of his head screamed at him not to.
Something fell out of the cabinet as he pulled it open and Billy grabbed it on instinct. He didn’t want to have to get yelled at for busting a plate so he grabbed it before it hit the floor. It wasn’t a plate however, it was too big, and the wrong shape.
It didn’t sink in right away what he held in his hands, even as he looked down into the raw red sockets that started up at him. The mouth that was open in a surprise O didn’t register with him at first either.
“Well aren’t you going to say hi to your dad?” His mom said with another giggle. The realization that he was holding his father’s head in his hands slammed into him like a ton of bricks. He dropped the head and scrambled backwards but he couldn’t find a purchase on the sticky wet floor and he fell backwards onto his rear.
Billy scooted away from the head, crab walking backwards through the blood as his mother laughed at him like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen. He thought of the shadow outside, the voice in his head that seemed so familiar. He knew whom it belonged to now; he understood why he had felt so freaked out since he had gotten out of school. His father had tried to warn him, she had killed him and he had tried to stop him from coming home but Billy hadn’t listened.
“Come, now, Billy, time to eat.” Mom laughed hysterically. She turned away from the sink to face him and he screamed. Her face was streaked with blood from her forehead to her chin. She had an eyeball between her lips that she proudly showed him before she sucked it into her mouth and bit down on it. “Mmmmm Mmmm, I love to snack while cooking dinner.”
He tried to scramble away from her but the blood-slicked floor prevented him from finding any kind of purchase on the floor. He watched in horror as she popped the other eye into her mouth and chewed it up before swallowing it down.
“So,” She said with a grin. “Dinner’s ready.” She strode across the floor to where Billy cowered on the floor, he struggled to find some kind of purchase on the blood-slicked linoleum but there was none to be found.
She raised the butcher knife high in the air and Billy felt his bladder let go in fright. He looked up into her eyes, unrecognizable to him, utterly alien and devoid of emotion and raised his hands in a feeble attempt to ward off the coming blow. “Now it’s time to make dessert.”
