A Late Night Story
by Graham Mathew Scott
Genre: Horror/Supernatural
Swearwords: None.
Description: A late night at the old cabin, feeling uneasy, but trying to cope by helping the children sleep.
_____________________________________________________________________
A late night in the old household. The tea is cooling even now. The fires dying down and so is the candle. The old cabin begins to sleep.
I turn the fire embers a bit with the poker. Red and orange coated in black decay stare back at me from the hearth. The days have been strange lately, the nights even stranger. It makes me feel that I…No I can’t think that. As soon as I put it into words it becomes true. I don’t want it to be true, there’s no reason for it – nothing wrong, nothing’s happened. And yet…I’m scared.
There I said it, shit I am scared, of what though? Of nothing. No boogey men have come crawling out of the lake or forest. But still something is unsettling. As though they had and I just hadn’t believed it.
Even the children have been feeling it. Sally-Anne the most. She looks at me now with dark sunken eyes. I ask her if she’s been sleeping, she only answers ‘yes’ then carries on in her own little world.
Sally-Anne has always been the most outspoken of my three children. Our little actress, my wife called her. She always seems power packed with energy even when she’s not moving. Almost aglow, a still shot of a nuclear explosion. That’s what scares me, lately she’s just been dead, listless. She hums to herself and talks to people who aren’t there.
If only Jolene were here, she’d know what to do. In our fourteen years of marriage Jolene had always known what to do. But now she’s gone and I don’t have a clue.
Maybe it’s my fault. I thought after all that had happened the best thing to do would be to spend some time at the cabin. So many good memories here. I thought it would be a safe environment that would help bring us together as a family. But it’s only made us all that much more distant. Too many places around here to run and hide yourself away. Nothing to do in a place like this but think and remember.
Maybe that’s the unsettling feeling, that we’re all here without Jolene. This was the family cabin and without the whole family it feels empty. The children feel the absence of their mother. Perhaps most of all here.
Jim stands on our little beach most days holding a stick. Not drawing with it or anything, just stands there in his swim trunks and bare feet staring at the lake. I think he’s waiting for her. Like the day she went across the lake to the store and promised to bring back sweets, he stood much the same way. When she finally returned and had rowed in close enough to shore he splashed out to meet her. I think if we don’t leave this place, he’ll still be standing on the beach in his shorts come wintertime. Waiting to go splashing out to his mother.
I make it sound kind of bad but it’s not so much. He doesn’t stand out there all day and he seems happy enough. An illusion he keeps up for my sake as much as his own. He still laughs at the dinner table and spits out the occasional carrot. He’s a tough kid though, he’ll be ok. Like I said, its Sally-Anne I worry about; we all do.
My oldest son, Jeb, said the other day he was worried about her. I had to agree. For an eleven year old he’s quite mature. He’s always telling jokes. Some I wish he wouldn’t, some I wish he wouldn’t repeat. But then his sense of humor is not my own. Jeb’s comedy aside, when things come down to it he’s very matter of fact. That’s how he voiced his concerns about his little sister. Like a doctor discussing a report with a patient, thank God for him. He’s a funny kid, the kind that tells jokes because he likes to laugh himself. Jeb almost always laughs at his own jokes. That’s great, there’s something magical about a little kid’s laugh. Like the warmest sunshine on the coldest day.
It’s a defence mechanism for him, I know, but so what. Maybe it’s the best way to be. The healing power of a smile is a beautiful thing.
He’s not laughing as much these days, none of us are. This last week there’s been a grey pallor dampening all our spirits. It’s almost like something is here. Living here with us. Unobserved yet not unnoticed. It creeps through the hallways and rooms. Breaking the air with its darkness and self-pity. I feel its presence and I hate it. More so because I believe we are its creators. We have made this entity and we have given it power over us. The most evil devices are those we create ourselves.
It’s late and all this thinking is wearing on me. The tea has long since gone cold and I’m tired of the turning ideas tumbling in my head.
We should leave here, I know it; I feel it. We should leave, but why?
What is causing all the uneasiness, the shock of Jolene’s death?
Most assuredly but those sores aren’t closing, they should but they’re not. Its something else, making us feel alienated and lost, or at least something else is driving the emotions at break neck speed. So we’ll leave. In the morning I’ll tell the kids to pack their things, I’ll load them all in the S.U.V. and we’ll drive away from this place, leave it behind. I only hope we also leave behind this feeling.
Yes, I must believe it to be so, then it shall be. We’ll all leave tomorrow. We’ll drive into the sun with bright warm faces and wide smiles. We’ll leave this place and the space it has built in time, place, and heart. I think maybe we should never come back, maybe. But then I think would Jolene want us, her family, to sacrifice such a place of happiness for such a filial reason. I think if we do she’ll understand. Some places like some memories are best left in the past.
A creak in the hall. An old place like this, the pine floors speak. As though they were protesting this treatment. But no retirement for old buildings, only demolition, destruction or quick homicidal fires.
I can’t see down the hall from where I sit. A few feet of entrance then darkness swallows the view.
Another creak, a cold sweat begins to pour down my face. Why am I so scared? I haven’t been afraid of monsters in the dark since childhood. I tighten my grip on the tea mug. The tea has long since gone cold, the fire almost out. The room is full of shadows which jump and dissolve in the dying light. Then a voice.
“Daddy,” Sally-Anne says from the depth of the hall.
I freeze for a second, like I don’t know what I’m hearing. A body in stillness perched on the precipice of the animal decision, fight or flight. Eyes wide struck with tension. Then flash recognition and an easy release.
Everything is normal. My daughter out of bed, probably wants a glass of water.
“Daddy,” she calls again.
“Hi honey, what are you doing up?” I can hear her little bare feet pad-padding down the hall toward me.
She comes out of the darkness, small and mouse-like. Form first found in shadow then seeps into definite shape. She is lighted by the fire. The flickering flames dance expressions on her face I can’t discern or read.
“Is everything ok? Do you want a drink of water?” I watch her move slowly and carefully across the room. “Sally-Anne?”
She stops next to my chair, her posture drooping like her eyelids from weariness. She looks very tired. I lift her into my lap, she wraps her arms around my neck and lays her head against my shoulder. When she speaks her voice is very small, weak and soft.
“Daddy, I can’t sleep,” she sighs into my shoulder.
“Sure you can, why don’t we get you a glass of milk then I’ll tuck you in and I promise you’ll fall right asleep.”
“I can’t sleep, they keep waking me up.” She said.
“Who does, who keeps waking you up?”
“The little people.”
“Leprechauns are keeping you awake?”
“No daddy, the little doctors who come in the house at night.”
That one stopped me cold. I’ve heard people say some strange things, I’ve heard children say even stranger things but my little daughter’s last comment just about bought the cake. When Sally-Anne came into the room I forgot about the fear and a little of my confidence came back to me. I was a father, one who knew his job, I was sure whatever was wrong with Sally-Anne was something I could probably fix. Get her a glass of water or read her a story, or even just hug her to remind her how much she is loved. Helping others solve their problems helps me get a better grasp on my own. When Sally-Anne came into the room and said she couldn’t sleep I thought ok now here’s a problem I can solve. Finding Sally-Anne’s solution made me more confident that there was also a solution to the problems jostling for position on my agenda.
After she said what she said though it was like the cable snapping on an elevator. I went from stable and rising to a macabre basement destruction mess in an instant. My throat went desert dry. I swallowed but nothing ventured down but my tongue, which I reflexively coughed back up straight away.
With my mind a train wreck for the moment all I can do is cradle my little daughter in my arms. She sighs under my tight embrace. For a moment I had forgotten her as a being and felt her like a life jacket saving my life from the sinking sea, with its ever thirst for anything it can swallow.
The room is cool but the sweat forms in droplets and slide down my face in anticipation of the conversation to proceed.
“Do you want to tell me about it, honey?” I ask her.
“Don’t you know daddy?”
How could I know? I am close to my children but I wouldn’t pretend to know their minds or the fantasies contained therein. But for some reason I feel I do know. As though we were discussing a dream I could just barely grasp, a dream I can’t or don’t want to remember. That dream that keeps me from sleeping and when I do sleep wakes me up in a cold sweat with pains in my body that could only be caused by a fitful sleep. Right? Self inflicted by the subconscious made to leave waking life wonder.
As I continue my voice shakes with fear, I don’t know why, but it does, I almost feel ready to cry. For the state of my daughter or that of my own I cannot say, either way I continue.
“Are these little doctors in your room?” I ask Sally-Anne.
“Sometimes,” Sally-Anne sighs. I feel her small body quiver in my embrace. My mind searches a child’s fears for easy answers.
“Do they hide under your bed, or live in the closet?”
“No they’re from very far away.”
“How do they get in, through the window?”
Visions of myself nailing her window shut so we can both sleep.
“No daddy they come right through the walls.”
“Did you see them come through the walls?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know that’s how they get in?”
“When I asked them they said they didn’t need doors or windows, they can walk through walls, I think they fly.”
That was it, I’d had enough of this conversation; it was making my skin crawl. Now was my time to deliver the stolid reassurance only a father can muster.
“Well they can’t hurt you honey…”
“I know,” she chimed in.
Time to explain to her what a dream is, best to start off with the obvious, “So these doctors come to you after you fall asleep, right?”
“No daddy, they come after you go to sleep, that’s why they won’t hurt me; they’re here for you.”
Swearwords: None.
Description: A late night at the old cabin, feeling uneasy, but trying to cope by helping the children sleep.
_____________________________________________________________________
A late night in the old household. The tea is cooling even now. The fires dying down and so is the candle. The old cabin begins to sleep.
I turn the fire embers a bit with the poker. Red and orange coated in black decay stare back at me from the hearth. The days have been strange lately, the nights even stranger. It makes me feel that I…No I can’t think that. As soon as I put it into words it becomes true. I don’t want it to be true, there’s no reason for it – nothing wrong, nothing’s happened. And yet…I’m scared.
There I said it, shit I am scared, of what though? Of nothing. No boogey men have come crawling out of the lake or forest. But still something is unsettling. As though they had and I just hadn’t believed it.
Even the children have been feeling it. Sally-Anne the most. She looks at me now with dark sunken eyes. I ask her if she’s been sleeping, she only answers ‘yes’ then carries on in her own little world.
Sally-Anne has always been the most outspoken of my three children. Our little actress, my wife called her. She always seems power packed with energy even when she’s not moving. Almost aglow, a still shot of a nuclear explosion. That’s what scares me, lately she’s just been dead, listless. She hums to herself and talks to people who aren’t there.
If only Jolene were here, she’d know what to do. In our fourteen years of marriage Jolene had always known what to do. But now she’s gone and I don’t have a clue.
Maybe it’s my fault. I thought after all that had happened the best thing to do would be to spend some time at the cabin. So many good memories here. I thought it would be a safe environment that would help bring us together as a family. But it’s only made us all that much more distant. Too many places around here to run and hide yourself away. Nothing to do in a place like this but think and remember.
Maybe that’s the unsettling feeling, that we’re all here without Jolene. This was the family cabin and without the whole family it feels empty. The children feel the absence of their mother. Perhaps most of all here.
Jim stands on our little beach most days holding a stick. Not drawing with it or anything, just stands there in his swim trunks and bare feet staring at the lake. I think he’s waiting for her. Like the day she went across the lake to the store and promised to bring back sweets, he stood much the same way. When she finally returned and had rowed in close enough to shore he splashed out to meet her. I think if we don’t leave this place, he’ll still be standing on the beach in his shorts come wintertime. Waiting to go splashing out to his mother.
I make it sound kind of bad but it’s not so much. He doesn’t stand out there all day and he seems happy enough. An illusion he keeps up for my sake as much as his own. He still laughs at the dinner table and spits out the occasional carrot. He’s a tough kid though, he’ll be ok. Like I said, its Sally-Anne I worry about; we all do.
My oldest son, Jeb, said the other day he was worried about her. I had to agree. For an eleven year old he’s quite mature. He’s always telling jokes. Some I wish he wouldn’t, some I wish he wouldn’t repeat. But then his sense of humor is not my own. Jeb’s comedy aside, when things come down to it he’s very matter of fact. That’s how he voiced his concerns about his little sister. Like a doctor discussing a report with a patient, thank God for him. He’s a funny kid, the kind that tells jokes because he likes to laugh himself. Jeb almost always laughs at his own jokes. That’s great, there’s something magical about a little kid’s laugh. Like the warmest sunshine on the coldest day.
It’s a defence mechanism for him, I know, but so what. Maybe it’s the best way to be. The healing power of a smile is a beautiful thing.
He’s not laughing as much these days, none of us are. This last week there’s been a grey pallor dampening all our spirits. It’s almost like something is here. Living here with us. Unobserved yet not unnoticed. It creeps through the hallways and rooms. Breaking the air with its darkness and self-pity. I feel its presence and I hate it. More so because I believe we are its creators. We have made this entity and we have given it power over us. The most evil devices are those we create ourselves.
It’s late and all this thinking is wearing on me. The tea has long since gone cold and I’m tired of the turning ideas tumbling in my head.
We should leave here, I know it; I feel it. We should leave, but why?
What is causing all the uneasiness, the shock of Jolene’s death?
Most assuredly but those sores aren’t closing, they should but they’re not. Its something else, making us feel alienated and lost, or at least something else is driving the emotions at break neck speed. So we’ll leave. In the morning I’ll tell the kids to pack their things, I’ll load them all in the S.U.V. and we’ll drive away from this place, leave it behind. I only hope we also leave behind this feeling.
Yes, I must believe it to be so, then it shall be. We’ll all leave tomorrow. We’ll drive into the sun with bright warm faces and wide smiles. We’ll leave this place and the space it has built in time, place, and heart. I think maybe we should never come back, maybe. But then I think would Jolene want us, her family, to sacrifice such a place of happiness for such a filial reason. I think if we do she’ll understand. Some places like some memories are best left in the past.
A creak in the hall. An old place like this, the pine floors speak. As though they were protesting this treatment. But no retirement for old buildings, only demolition, destruction or quick homicidal fires.
I can’t see down the hall from where I sit. A few feet of entrance then darkness swallows the view.
Another creak, a cold sweat begins to pour down my face. Why am I so scared? I haven’t been afraid of monsters in the dark since childhood. I tighten my grip on the tea mug. The tea has long since gone cold, the fire almost out. The room is full of shadows which jump and dissolve in the dying light. Then a voice.
“Daddy,” Sally-Anne says from the depth of the hall.
I freeze for a second, like I don’t know what I’m hearing. A body in stillness perched on the precipice of the animal decision, fight or flight. Eyes wide struck with tension. Then flash recognition and an easy release.
Everything is normal. My daughter out of bed, probably wants a glass of water.
“Daddy,” she calls again.
“Hi honey, what are you doing up?” I can hear her little bare feet pad-padding down the hall toward me.
She comes out of the darkness, small and mouse-like. Form first found in shadow then seeps into definite shape. She is lighted by the fire. The flickering flames dance expressions on her face I can’t discern or read.
“Is everything ok? Do you want a drink of water?” I watch her move slowly and carefully across the room. “Sally-Anne?”
She stops next to my chair, her posture drooping like her eyelids from weariness. She looks very tired. I lift her into my lap, she wraps her arms around my neck and lays her head against my shoulder. When she speaks her voice is very small, weak and soft.
“Daddy, I can’t sleep,” she sighs into my shoulder.
“Sure you can, why don’t we get you a glass of milk then I’ll tuck you in and I promise you’ll fall right asleep.”
“I can’t sleep, they keep waking me up.” She said.
“Who does, who keeps waking you up?”
“The little people.”
“Leprechauns are keeping you awake?”
“No daddy, the little doctors who come in the house at night.”
That one stopped me cold. I’ve heard people say some strange things, I’ve heard children say even stranger things but my little daughter’s last comment just about bought the cake. When Sally-Anne came into the room I forgot about the fear and a little of my confidence came back to me. I was a father, one who knew his job, I was sure whatever was wrong with Sally-Anne was something I could probably fix. Get her a glass of water or read her a story, or even just hug her to remind her how much she is loved. Helping others solve their problems helps me get a better grasp on my own. When Sally-Anne came into the room and said she couldn’t sleep I thought ok now here’s a problem I can solve. Finding Sally-Anne’s solution made me more confident that there was also a solution to the problems jostling for position on my agenda.
After she said what she said though it was like the cable snapping on an elevator. I went from stable and rising to a macabre basement destruction mess in an instant. My throat went desert dry. I swallowed but nothing ventured down but my tongue, which I reflexively coughed back up straight away.
With my mind a train wreck for the moment all I can do is cradle my little daughter in my arms. She sighs under my tight embrace. For a moment I had forgotten her as a being and felt her like a life jacket saving my life from the sinking sea, with its ever thirst for anything it can swallow.
The room is cool but the sweat forms in droplets and slide down my face in anticipation of the conversation to proceed.
“Do you want to tell me about it, honey?” I ask her.
“Don’t you know daddy?”
How could I know? I am close to my children but I wouldn’t pretend to know their minds or the fantasies contained therein. But for some reason I feel I do know. As though we were discussing a dream I could just barely grasp, a dream I can’t or don’t want to remember. That dream that keeps me from sleeping and when I do sleep wakes me up in a cold sweat with pains in my body that could only be caused by a fitful sleep. Right? Self inflicted by the subconscious made to leave waking life wonder.
As I continue my voice shakes with fear, I don’t know why, but it does, I almost feel ready to cry. For the state of my daughter or that of my own I cannot say, either way I continue.
“Are these little doctors in your room?” I ask Sally-Anne.
“Sometimes,” Sally-Anne sighs. I feel her small body quiver in my embrace. My mind searches a child’s fears for easy answers.
“Do they hide under your bed, or live in the closet?”
“No they’re from very far away.”
“How do they get in, through the window?”
Visions of myself nailing her window shut so we can both sleep.
“No daddy they come right through the walls.”
“Did you see them come through the walls?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know that’s how they get in?”
“When I asked them they said they didn’t need doors or windows, they can walk through walls, I think they fly.”
That was it, I’d had enough of this conversation; it was making my skin crawl. Now was my time to deliver the stolid reassurance only a father can muster.
“Well they can’t hurt you honey…”
“I know,” she chimed in.
Time to explain to her what a dream is, best to start off with the obvious, “So these doctors come to you after you fall asleep, right?”
“No daddy, they come after you go to sleep, that’s why they won’t hurt me; they’re here for you.”
About the Author
Graham Mathew Scott is a Canadian of Scottish heritage who currently lives in Taiwan. He is an artist, a musician and a writer of fiction.