davidhinder.com

Another rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. Rain lashed against the glass, and a strong wind keened through a small gap somewhere between the window and the frame. When the wind blew hard it sounded like an inhuman scream, something out of a horror movie, but it didn’t worry him. He was safe inside, warm in his bed and propped up by what felt like a hundred pillows, the pinkish glow from the TV draped like a blanket over him. If anything, the sound of the bad weather made him calmer, despite the fading daylight. He’d forgotten about the TV for the moment, forgotten about the game he’d been playing, and had instead been staring out the window for a while now.

He’d been in bed all day. The forced confinement of a child whose mother did not completely believe that her child was actually sick, but who had been unable to bring herself to send him to school. So they’d reached a compromise: he had been able to stay home, but he wasn’t able to leave the bed except to use the bathroom. That had been fine by him.

Anything to avoid going to school today.

Most of the day had passed in relative quiet. His mother came into the room at various intervals to bring him food and check his temperature. The look of disapproval had faded slowly throughout the morning and early afternoon, changing into a look of mild concern after she’d placed a thermometer under his tongue. Her lips had pressed together as she’d read the result.

‘Looks like you’ve got a temp.’

He’d said nothing, only looked up at her with what he hoped was a blank face. She’d held his gaze a moment longer, placing the back of her hand on his forehead as if to make sure the thermometer wasn’t lying to her, too. Finally, she’d let out a sigh.

‘I’ll call Dad and get him to pick up some Panadol on the way home.’

After that, she’d started coming back into the room more often, bringing water, then tea, then tomato soup from a can with a glass of milk on the side. He’d consumed it all, but made sure to go slowly lest she realise he was eating and drinking far too quickly for someone who was supposedly sick.

He knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. At some point, he’d have to go back to school and face up to what he’d done, but he just hadn’t wanted that to happen today. When he’d woken up that morning, the sky a leaden grey and the wind already blowing a gale, he knew he couldn’t do it. To spend a cold, wet day away from his cosy home and his games was bad enough; the prospect of that in addition to having to face up to what he’d done the week before was even worse. So here he was. The school day had ended, and the reprieve he’d been granted was almost up. Tomorrow would soon arrive, no matter how much he wished it to be otherwise.

A bright streak of purple light flashed down outside, followed by silence for the space of a breath. Then an almighty explosion of sound tore through the air. The window rattled, and he was worried it would shatter from the force of the sound. But it held, and the thunder eventually petered out, becoming a rumble that echoed across the vast sky, becoming smaller and smaller with each passing second.

He was suddenly aware that, except for him, the house was empty. It felt cold and draughty, no longer a place of cosy warmth and solitude as it had been only moments ago. The family had left him behind while they went to pick up dinner, so he wouldn’t be out in a storm while he was sick. He’d been enjoying the quiet. The house was noisy and hectic at the best of times, so this was a rare opportunity to revel in the calm. But he felt it slipping away from him now. The feeling of contentment had vanished. Was it because the storm was getting stronger? Or maybe it was that daylight seemed to be fading even more rapidly, the thick storm clouds soaking up the last rays from the sun even as it slipped below the horizon.

In fact, it seemed much later than he’d expected it to be. He leaned over and found his watch on his bedside table, pressing one of the buttons on the side to light up the face in a faint blue glow. 7:57 PM. His family left just after seven, and should have been back by now. They should have been back a while ago, actually. It shouldn’t take this long to get a pizza. The wind picked up, pushing against the house and the window. The screaming grew loud again, trailing off as the wind died down a moment later.

What if they’d had an accident? His mind cobbled together an image he’d rather avoid seeing: the family car crumpled and smoking, one wheel still spinning, the rhythmic tick tick tick of the engine as it cooled in the cold night air. Pizza spilled onto the road and being spattered with rain, becoming soggy as it soaked up the water. Bodies in the car. As dim as it was in the dying light, anyone could see they weren’t moving. A trickle of red spilled onto the sodden road, looking grey in the darkness.

He shook his head.

‘You’re being silly,’ he said out loud to himself, his voice in the darkening house seeming both too loud and awfully quiet. ‘They’re fine.’

But were they? They’d been gone for so long. How could he know for sure? His parents had recently gotten on of those new mobile phones, but he didn’t know the number for it, and didn’t know whether he would find it in the little black and red address book they kept near the home phone. He started to feel the first fingers of panic reach out from his wildly beating heart and into his belly. The pinkish haze front the TV was still the only light on in the house, but he had completely forgotten his game now. Instead, he was breathing hard, as though he had just been running, and would probably have kept spiralling if not for the sound he then heard coming from somewhere in the house.

It sounded like something had thunked against the dining table. A simple sound that he wouldn’t normally have taken any notice of. But he was alone, daylight fading, almost gone, and he was only eleven years old. He stopped breathing and sat as still as he could, straining to catch any other sounds over the thundering of the blood in his ears and the white noise of the rain. The bedroom door stood open and let the darkness of the hallway spill into his room. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty, then thirty. He let out his breath slowly, still not daring to make too much noise, but there were no more sounds. Nevertheless, he was still alert for any further disturbances as he lay back onto the pillows, though his heart had begun to slow to a reasonable pace again.

He took up the controller and unpaused the game, more out of a desire to distract himself from the fears of a dark house than to actually enjoy it. It was also a way to avoid the awful image in his head of the wreckage of the family car. Something about it felt too real for him and, although he didn’t realise it, it terrified him more than the thought of someone in the shadows of his house. Something like that could kill you, maybe even eat you like the zombies in the movies, but losing his family would be like losing a part of himself, something fundamental that had always been with him.

He resolved that, when they got home, he would speak to his parents about what had happened at school. His mum, especially. It still haunted him, the look he’d seen in her eyes as she had walked into the school office and the principal had explained to her what he’d done. She’d been distant with him ever since, speaking to him like he was a stranger. Perhaps he was. He felt like a stranger even to himself, like he was wearing clothes that were too big for him and carried the scent of someone else.

His dad, on the other hand, seemed oddly proud of him. While he’d suspected his dad loved him, the man was never one to speak many words. A clap on the shoulder or a low grunt of approval was as close as his dad got to expressing himself. One day, he’d had shown his father a project that he’d spent hours on in the backyard and in the undeveloped bush land near their house. Over the course of about two weeks, he’d collected about fifty bugs and insects, painstakingly researching them and finding the proper names for a large portion of them, then making a huge poster showcasing the named ones. Almost bursting with pride, he’d waited until his dad got home that night to reveal it to the family. While his mother praised him and said he was the next David Attenborough, his father had looked at it for a long time, then simply said, ‘Hmm. Good work.’ The weight of the disappointment stayed with him for days, and it wasn’t until his mum pointed out that his father had hung it in the office, right above the family computer. A place of pride. She said that she often saw his dad staring at it when he thought no one was looking, and swore that she sometimes saw a smile on his face.

So when he’d heard a knock on his door that night, after he’d been banished to his room ‘until your father gets home’, he’d expected a lecture, maybe even a slap, for what he’d done. His dad opened the door and closed it softly behind him, then moved in the darkness to come and sit on the edge of the bed. Neither of them had said anything. After a long moment of silence, his dad spoke.

‘Mum told me what happened.’

He didn’t reply.

‘But she didn’t tell me why.’

More silence.

‘Are you going to tell me?’

The silence stretched for longer this time, and he was about to speak when his dad continued.

‘That’s okay. I think I know.’ A hand was on his shoulder, squeezing tight. ‘I’m proud of you.’

Then he’d left the room. Whatever his feelings had been on seeing his mum’s disappointed face, this unexpected and explicit praise from his dad left him feeling buoyant.

But now, faced with troubling thoughts and images, he finally wanted to tell them what had really happened. It hadn’t been him standing up for himself or defending someone else; he’d simply gotten angry. Angry over nothing. Someone had taken something from him, and he’d retaliated. He didn’t remember walking towards the other boy, but he did remember pulling his arm back and putting everything he had into the first punch. The memory of the scuffle was hazy, indistinct, except for the sight of blood, stark and red against the pale yellow of dying grass. He also remembered the smell of a nearby gum tree. His stomach had clenched at the scent, so pungent and overbearing he had almost vomited.

He had wanted to tell his parents, but every time he tried to practice what he would say, the words never felt right because they were false. Every time, he realised was trying to add something to the story, a veneer that made his actions less villainous, but it made the words feel like ashes in his mouth. He didn’t want to lie to them. So he resolved now to tell them the truth, and let the sky fall if it would. His mind resolved, the tension in his chest loosened a little.

The storm outside had slowed to an eerie calmness. The rain still fell, but the thunder had ceased, and the clouds seemed to have thinned slightly. It was perhaps a bit too quiet, like the storm was holding its breath, waiting for the moment it could begin again. Unease crept in, smothering the momentary relief that had come from making his decision. He picked up the controller and began playing the game again to distract himself. The retro ’80s music from the game sounded too loud in the shadowy house, and so he turned it down very low.

Another sound, from the hallway this time.

There was a heavy thump on the floor, like something large had landed on the carpet. He froze again, blood running cold. He knew something was there, knew it for a fact almost as though he could see it.

It began to breathe. A raspy, deathly sound that flowed out like noxious gas and made him whimper in abject fear.

Something had come for him. The fear coursing through him now began to unpick the thread of his mind, and he thought wildly that the thing in the hallway had killed his family, had somehow caused the car to veer off the road and end up a wreck of twisted metal at the bottom of the embankment.

And now it was coming for him.

He heard it take a step, lifting what he imagined as a foot of rotting flesh with great, long talons, and bringing it down in a thump on the ground. It could have been his imagination, but he thought he heard a slight sloosh as the wet meat made contact with the carpet.

As quickly as it had appeared, the sensation that something was there abruptly vanished. The suddenness of the change left him with a strange sense of vertigo; instinctively, he knew that the danger had passed. But the residual fear was still enough to keep him rooted to the spot, unwilling to move in case he broke the spell and the thing came bolting towards him from the open door to his bedroom. The rain spattered harder against the window, and the wind had picked up again, causing that screaming noise once more. Thunder rolled across the sky above the house, stretching across the landscape like the hand of a giant. The eye of the storm had passed, he realised; that was what had caused the eerie quiet before. Soon, the storm would be lashing against the house again, but this time it would bring no sense of calm or peace to him.

He wasn’t sure what he felt now. Part of him knew that there had never been anything in the hallway, that the noises he’d heard were either normal sounds of furniture settling or what his mum called his ‘overactive imagination’. Another, more instinctive part of him, which had grown stronger as the night became darker, told him that while there was nothing in the hallway now, there had been something there. He lay back on his many pillows and let out a sharp breath, turning his head to look out the window.

Daylight was now just a memory, and the darkness born of a nighttime storm reigned supreme. The streetlights glowed bravely, almost defiant, but they were weak against the storm-brought darkness. He sat in his bed, the glow of the TV still radiating out over him, but he felt cold and alone. All he wanted was to see the lights of the car pulling into the driveway, to hear his family, see them getting out of the car, someone carrying the pizza boxes and rushing to escape the rain. He breathed heavily.

Another flash of lightning, followed once more by thunder rolling across the sky. He leaned his forehead against the window and looked out into the inky darkness, waiting.