Westhabit E-Book

Mads Lindhard Hulvej

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 423

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

In the small town Westhabit, where nothing of importance ever seems to happen, four boys go on a trip to the local lake on the edge of town. This is where things take a turn for the worse, as one of the boys disappears seemingly out of nowhere. The remaining three go on a journey through darkness, despair, confusion, and abnormality, in an attempt to find their lost friend and uncover what is really going on, in the, otherwise safe town, they know as home.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

(1986, Friday the 20th of June)

(1983, Sunday the 6th of February)

(1983, Monday the 7th of February)

Chapter 2

(1983, Sunday the 6th of February)

Chapter 3

(1986, Friday the 21th of June)

(1986, Saturday the 22th of June)

Chapter 4

(1983, Monday the 7th of February)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

(1983)

Chapter 7

(1983)

Chapter 8

(1983)

Chapter 9

(1986, Saturday the 21th of June)

Chapter 10

(1986)

Chapter 11

(1986, Wednesday the 18th of June)

Chapter 12

(1986, Saturday the 21th of June)

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

(1986, Thursday the 19th of June)

Chapter 15

(1986, Saturday the 21th of June)

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

(1986, Monday the 23th of June)

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

(1986, Wednesday the 25th of June)

Chapter 22

(1986, the 26th of June)

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

(1986, the 27th of June)

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

(1987, Saturday the 13th of June)

CHAPTER 1

(1986, Friday the 20th of June)

“Fuck you Christopher, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, you little shit!” Billy said. “What are you going to do about it?” Christopher shouted, from a distance. “Well let me just say, this won’t end well for ya, buddy,” Billy said. Christopher was already gone, by the time Billy had finished his habitual attempt at an empty threat.

***

“It’s wonderful to see you Christopher, even though you’re late… again, for the third time this week, might I add.”

“It’s great to see you too, Mrs. Wilson,” Christopher said with a big smile covering most of his face. Anyone who knew Christopher, knew how well he could display a fake smile, in an authentic manner. All the teachers the boy had had during his time in school, had all loved Christopher’s smile, primarily because the boy did not smile a whole lot, which made it all the more special when he did. The smile worked like a charm. Every time he was in trouble or about to be. He used it, at the most convenient of times, to make life easier for himself. Christopher took off his multicolored backpack, with the dominant color being yellow. He threw it unto the ground and took a seat at the back of the class. Today’s lecture was about Columbus, and the impact he had on today’s society.

Christopher took a deep breath, and followed it up with a sigh, when he heard about today’s subject matter. After some time had passed, he began to sit and drum on the table, not loud enough for the others to hear, but loud enough to make a pleasant sound.

Christopher’s father had always told him he was a smart kid. Christopher did not believe him; such phrases were sayings that everyone’s parents would tell their kids. Perhaps in an attempt to convince them to feel better about themselves. The compliment was just another one of many, to keep him motivated to do his best at School. Christopher’s parents would frequently tell him how brave of a boy he was, from climbing the tallest trees to having the nerves to talk to girls his age, he always did things his friends did not have the guts to do. He would look out the window and try to convert in his head, the minutes that was left until class was over, to seconds. Three hundred seconds were left.

“Class is over, see y’all tomorrow,” Mrs. Wilson said. The words were like hearing a screw fall down into a turbine engine, or the eccentric sound of the basketball going through the net, magical. Christopher took his backpack and went out of the classroom through the old wooden door, with hinges making a sound, that made him feel like the main protagonist in your average horror movie. When he came out of the classroom, he saw what he always saw. The boys. Isaac was carrying a handful of books. Bobby was in a new hoodie, and David with his brown hair, that just barely reached his shoulders. The set of hair, that his mother, Mary, had screamed into his ears to cut off, but every time she had proposed him to do so, David had declined her suggestion. (Perhaps if she actually told him that the length did suit him, he would have cut it.)

Isaac waved at Cristopher. Keeping his arm close to his body, so the girls behind Christopher did not think he was waving at them, that would be a disaster. Christopher smiled back at them, but not in the same manner he had smiled at Mrs. Wilson, it was genuine.

“How was class, Chris?” David asked. “It was like watching paint dry.” “Oh man,” Isaac said. “We had about him last week, it’s he did not get lost over here,” Bobby said. The boys nodded. Isaac saw that Billy went by, staring at them, as they stood there and conversed. That sight diminished Isaac’s smile.

“I know what we’re doing this weekend. We’re going to the lake,” Christopher said. “It has been a long time,” David said, with a face that resembled nostalgia on his face. Isaac nodded in agreement. “Sure, I’ll bring some popcorn,” Bobby said. “Alrighty,” Christopher said with a crooked smile. “I’ll bring something as well,” David said.

“And what’s that?” Bobby asked. “I can’t tell,” he said with an obscure expression. The others tried reading his face, seeing what David was up to, but failed. “The lake, 8 o’clock, tomorrow night,” Christopher said. “That’s a deal,” Bobby said, and the four boys split up, each looking forward to visiting the lake. Each individual anticipating going to the lake. It had, in fact, been a long time since they had gone there.

(1983, Sunday the 6th of February)

Isaac’s parents knew Christopher’s. Every Sunday they went out to eat together at a certain local restaurant in the downtown area, in the small town they lived in, Westhabit. They always went to the exact same place, every Sunday, like clockwork. The four parents had always brought along their boys with them, as well as Isaac’s little sister, Nancy. Isaac and Christopher had always conversed with great enjoyment at this evening of the week, the topics would vary, but they would always find something to talk about, despite the lack of action and change, occurring in the town. The conversation would start somewhere, but the topic of superheroes would usually find its way into the conversation. A topic that would in an occasional manner, turn the talking into a discussion, an argument at worst. “I don’t get why you love Dr. Optimism so damn much, he doesn’t have any actual superpowers.” Isaac looked with an expression of surprise and eeriness. “Optimism’s a superpower, he believes he can do it all, that’s his power… and he has a whip, made out of snakeskin, that he uses as a belt when he’s not fighting.” Christopher tried to look unimpressed, tilting his head to one side. The quarter of a minute later, Christopher had to admit it. “Okay, that’s pretty darn cool,” he said in a low voice. “I know, right?” Isaac said. “He doesn’t kill people either, which makes him good,” Isaac said with enthusiasm.

Christopher nodded. “He’s always there for the people that need him,” Isaac added.

“What about that time when he met—"

“Okay, okay. There was one time where he was not, that’s right.” They did see each other at school every so often, but the Sunday conversations, were superior to the talk they had, when they met at school. The restaurant was not anything special, with its limited menu and mediocre steaks. The atmosphere was why they would return once a week, the food was why they would merely visit once a week. Christopher remembered a lot of the good times he had had, on these Sunday evenings, but some nights stood out, for better or for worse.

There was one night, that stood out for the worse.

It was the 6th of February, it was a cold day, about twenty degrees Fahrenheit. Isaac’s family, the Nelsons, sat at their usual spot.

Which was the rear end of the restaurant. As Christopher’s family, the Hughes, entered the restaurant.

Christopher’s father, Tom, took of his well-fitting trench coat and hung it on the coat rack. “Good evening, how are y’all this fine evening?” Everyone else in the restaurant could hear Tom, just being exposed for a single moment to his face, you would be able to see the enthusiastic expression he was portraying.

“We’re great,” Alec said.

“We don’t have to ask you the same thing, do we? You look like you’re having a darn good day Tom,” Isaac’s mother, Carol, said.

“Well, I certainly am,” Tom answered. Christopher and his mother, Evelyn, was almost done taking of their outerwear and taking a seat at the infamous dinner table in the corner of the restaurant. After gathering the courage, Isaac said, with a nervous smile on his face,

“Why are you so, uhm… joyful today, Mr. Hughes?” Tom did not wait two seconds, before he answered. “Because the company’s doing tremendously well at the moment, our market capitalization has never been higher.” Isaac’s eyebrows were pointing up, toward the wooden ceiling in the restaurant. Tom understood the confusion.

“What I mean is, the company has never been this much worth before. That’s a better way of putting it”

“That sounds like a great thing for a company to be.” Isaac said. “You’re right, Isaac. Anyway, now to something exponentially more important… let’s get something to eat,” Tom said, while looking at his friends and family at the table. A few seconds later, his staring eyes were glued to the menu in front of him. Five minutes later, the waiter arrived.

“So, what would y’all like today?”

he asked the two families. Evelyn and Carol ordered for their respective families. The two boys had their usual go-to meals at the restaurant, while their parents picked their favorites as well. For Nancy, the smallest meal on the child’s menu, would suffice.

Everything was as it used to be. The families had tried quite literally everything on the menu. They had strong preferences for a couple of the dishes, and they knew what they were going to get when they went to the place, which was a big pro, eating at the place. Food was being eaten and wine was going down with it, the two families talked before and after dinner. Which was the reason it often got late. The boys would nearly fall asleep at the table, which would be the reason Christopher usually arrived late to class on Mondays. Tom and Evelyn would beat themselves up about it, but that would not be something they would be able to do, after that night had passed them by.

(1983, Monday the 7th of February)

Christopher did not show up to school the next day, the 7th of February. It did not come as a surprise to Isaac. They had planned to meet at their usual spot just outside the school and talk, before they both separately went into class. But Christopher never showed up, not even late, as he so frequently would. Even though Isaac enjoyed going to school, he would have stayed home as well, if he had found himself in Christopher’s place, no doubt about it.

Isaac sat in school and looked out the window, and not at Mrs. Hill’s lips teaching them about today’s subject matter, the textbook, nor the blackboard. He looked out the window, his eyes glued to the white fluffy pillows floating around in the sky. It made him feel calm, something his eyes and mind could not find anywhere else in the room. Usually, Isaac would sit at the front of the class, listening, learning and looking at the teacher that was present, talking about topics that would tire someone like Christopher. But today that did not catch his attention. Today he sat at the back of the class, as he did not want to draw any attention what so ever. Especially not, if his eyes were going to turn into a miniature version of a waterfall. The waterfall never happened, but a couple of tears did slide down from his eyes, unto his cold cheeks, and further down beside his mouth, where he wiped them away with his “subtle” rainbow striped button-up shirt. He could not bring himself to cry in front of his classmates. They would ask him what was wrong and he would have to tell them the truth, which would trigger the waterfall, he tried with desperate intensity to hold back the river. He could cry when he left school and nobody could see him. He was still in class, and school was far from over. He thought to himself: I could go to the bathroom, do what needs to be done.

The math class ended, and he could finally slip out the door, and go to one of the school’s bathrooms. Isaac went through the school’s hallways, one foot in front of the other at a rapid pace, he had no time to waste, the waterfall could begin at any moment now. Suddenly he stopped. At the rear end of the hallway, he could see the only kid at school, he would avoid at any cost, Billy. The fat kid was with his “buddies” in his black hoodie, white sneakers, and the infamous cap, (most likely hiding his hairline

Shit, I need to find another way to the toilet, I can’t pass him by.

Isaac went left, instead of continuing straight ahead. He continued walking down this hallway, with other kids staring at him, trying to catch eye contact with him. He avoided it. His heart was beating faster than usual, for a moment he forgot all about crying, he walked in a hasty pace, but conserved enough energy to run, if Billy was to show up in front of him, with his “friends” ready to beat the shit out of him. He went to the end of the hallway, and took a right turn. When he finally came up to the other end of the hallway where the restrooms were located, he looked around, like a terrified antelope looking around, observing if there were any lions on the hunt. He went into the boys’ bathroom, when he was about to open the door, he looked a second time around himself, to see if Billy was anywhere to see, he was not. He went into the toilet stall of his choice, inside the bathroom. The rate of his heart had dropped down from before, but he was still flinching occasionally. Tears eventually started to run down his face in a rapid manner. He took some of the harsh toilet paper and used it to clear his face. He continued like this for a few minutes, and the way he had planned to be all silent and subtle about it, did not work. Any person, either in the bathroom, or just outside the bathroom could hear him with ease. Isaac did not notice, as that was not where his thoughts were, at the current moment. They were somewhere else entirely.

…

The tears finally stopped sprinkling down from his face. He cleared his face for the last time, and walked out the bathroom stall. To Isaac’s luck, there was not anyone else besides Isaac in the bathroom at the moment, so he went to one of the sinks and took a look in the mirror. His eyes were as red as a traditional postbox, and his cheeks the color of strawberries. The brown hair which he pulled down to the left side of his head with a comb this morning, was currently curly and all messed up. He tried to fix it with the help of his fingers and hands, but it did not want to do, what he wanted it to do. He washed his red face with water, followed by his cold hands, with soap. He took a deep breath. Readjusted the semi round glasses, for comfort, and tried not to think about yesterday. He finally opened up the bathroom door. He looked down, as to avoid eye contact with anyone, while his face still possessed the “charming” red color.

Right in front of his eyes, Isaac saw a couple of sneakers placed firmly apart on the old dusty school floor. They were white, and they looked very familiar to him, he looked up and saw the infamous face from his nightmares. It was Billy, standing with his arms crossed and a smirk on his ugly face. Fuck, was the first word that came to mind.

CHAPTER 2

(1983, Sunday the 6th of February)

The families had finished their meals, and the brief period of silence, was interrupted. “So, how’s school?” Evelyn asked Isaac.

“It’s alright, I mean most of the time that is. Especially math class.” Isaac barely finished his answer, before Carol broke in: “Isaac is actually doing very well in math, he is in the top of his class. Mrs. Hill always tells us, when we run into her.”

“Oh, that’s great to hear, I wish you could help Christopher with his math homework sometime,” Evelyn said. Christopher rolled his eyes and smiled halfheartedly at Isaac. “Yeah, of course,” Isaac said. It would seem only Christopher and Isaac knew that kids their age did not appreciate doing homework, when they were together, until Alec broke in.

“When Tom and I were young, homework was the last damn thing on our minds.” Tom smiled at him, with an expression that said “I remember.” It was rather a nervous smile, more than it was that of a self-assured man. It was rather inauthentic, with Tom’s dimples beginning to show. Evelyn looked at Tom and instantly recognized why Tom looked nervous. She took a deep breath and said “Oh well, it’s getting late and we ought to get home soon, before Christopher falls asleep that is.” Isaac glanced over at Christopher, he did look sleepy, but not drowsy enough to doze off, Isaac concluded. Carol did not understand why they had to go now, and why they were in such a rush to get home, all of a sudden. Tom called John to come to the table, they split the bill and out the door, they were. The drive from the restaurant to their home, was the last time Christopher talked with his parents. The last time anyone would talk to with them again.

(1983, Monday the 7th of February)

Billy placed his right hand on Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac was shaking, of all days, why did this day have to include Billy’s ugly face? Isaac would ask himself.

“Hello there, buddy, it’s really great to see you Isaac,” Billy said, while pressing his fingers into Isaac’s shoulder with more force applied. “Where is Christopher today? I haven’t seen him today yet. Is he hiding?” Billy said with a smirky face. Isaac stood with his hands straight down along both sides of his body. His set of teeth was pressed against each other and his hands were shaking, without control, like the legs of an octopus, flying in every direction. He thought to himself, oh man I shouldn’t have chosen to wear this shirt today, everyone from a mile could spot me... Isaac felt a certain comfort in this shirt, which was partly the reason he was wearing it so much. He got it for his 9th birthday a couple of years ago, luckily, he had not been growing as fast as Christopher had, so it would still fit for the most part.

“Answer me, you dweeb,” Billy said while he was holding Isaac with both hands on both of Isaac’s shoulders.

“He... he, he’s not at school today Billy,” Isaac said, while looking down at Billy’s large stomach that bumped out, under the large black hoodie. “What a shame huh!” Billy’s “friends” who were standing behind him started to laugh, as if they knew what the next thing to happen was. “Oh man. I wish Christopher had shown up to school today, for your sake, buddy.” “What... what do you mean by that?”

Isaac asked, with an expression in his eyes that resembled pure terror. Billy started to smile again. “Today just seems like such a lovely day to beat Christopher up… such a shame he ain’t shown up today.” Isaac looked for a split second into Billy’s eyes, and Isaac knew exactly what Billy would say next. “I guess I am just going to have to beat you up instead. I don’t really have a choice now, do I?” Isaac did not answer, he could not find anything to say. Or at least not string together a chain of words, that would be able to enhance the situation he was trapped in. He knew what a complete psycho Billy turned into, when he was mad, and therefore he remained silent. Billy did not demand an answer this time. Instead he looked to the right, then to the left, and again to the right. As if he were about to cross a road. But Billy did not cross any roads. He folded his fingers and made a fist. Without any caution, he slammed his hand into Isaac’s skinny stomach.

Isaac couldn’t breathe for a second, no air was available, he bent over with both of his own hands placed on his stomach, the natural thing to do when so much pain strikes a body part. Billy’s buddies who were laughing before, did not laugh anymore. In fact, they looked fearful. But more than that, they looked surprised, like what was happening was not what they imagined to happen. Billy took Isaac’s head up against the wall with his left hand, and held Isaac’s hair tightly with his hand. Then Billy’s right hand hit Isaac right on his left cheek with a great amount of power. Isaac looked into Billy’s eyes, they were wide open and he could see Billy’s nose breathing in and out, massive amounts of air were going in and out. He looked exhilarated. Another punch struck Isaac on the right side of his belly. Isaac wanted to shout, but he could not. A teacher would hear him, and Billy and the other boys would already have been gone by then.

Which would save him for now,

but it was merely going to make things even worse, the next time Billy was to spot him. It would make more sense to survive this beating, and maybe the next time, Billy would not be so angry. Billy pushed Isaac to the ground and kicked him in the other side of the belly, Billy was done for today. The habitual beating was over.

“Remember to say hello to Christopher from me.” Isaac did not answer. He had a hard time recognizing the expression on Billy’s face, he recognized excitement though, he knew what that looked like. Isaac lay down for a minute to make sure Billy had left the hallway before he returned to his feet again. He was in pain and a bit of blood was coming out of his nose. Not anymore than he could get rid of, with one of his sleeves. Isaac’s body was hurting, but he felt a short amount of relief, relief that today’s beating was over. He went back to the toilet and looked at his watch. Only thirty minutes left, until the final class was over for today. He knew he was going to get in trouble for skipping the last class today, but he could not return to class. The other kids would look at him, they would be able to see the bruise on his check. The bruises on his belly would not be a problem, the shirt could quite easily cover those, but the damage on his face would lead to numerous questions from his teacher, Mrs. Hill. Out of concern, she would likely call his parents and even more questions were going to have to be answered, when he got home. He could not risk that. If any of the teachers knew anything about Billy’s abuse. Billy would literally kill him, Isaac thought. He had taken down the toilet seat inside one of the stalls, as he sat on top of it, wrapping his arms around his knees. He sat for over half an hour, not doing anything, but merely killing time.

When he got back, everyone had left, he took his backpack, coat, mitten gloves, hat and scarf, and went outside.

Today was a cold day, but not unusually cold as it sometimes was here in Wyoming. He went out of the school doors, and took his Walkman out of his backpack, a present from his parents he had gotten this winter, on the 25th of December to be exact. The music helped to reduce the noise from the pain he was in, he turned up the volume and walked in rhythm with the music. A little more blood came running down from his left nostril, he took it away with the help from his right glove, and went home.

CHAPTER 3

(1986, Friday the 21th of June)

Christopher came out of school and saw the familiar dark car; he knew so well. He looked forward to the day he was going to get his driver’s license, so he could drive the beloved car himself. Christopher walked toward the car, and into the vehicle.

“Hello,” a deep pleasant-sounding voice said. “Hi Michael,” Christopher said with a forced smile on his face. “What is wrong, young man?” Michael said. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Oh well, that happens to the best of us. Let’s get home, I will make you a cup o’ tea,” Michael said. “Thanks,” Christopher responded, and wrapped the seatbelt around him. The wheels began turning, and 10 minutes later they were home. The car was parked outside their house, or as it would commonly be referred to as: “The Mansion.”

When they came indoors, Michael went to the kitchen and Christopher up the well-known double staircase, that the boys had played tag on time after time, when they were younger. It had been a horrible day, but not that all that much different from the other days that had been part of this week. Christopher went to the left when he reached the top of the stairs, right past the weapon room, where the door was always locked, further down the hall, into his room on the left. He thought about life before his parents had passed away, and how he missed the Sunday night dinners at the restaurant. As he lay in bed, his mind drifted away and thoughts about his future and what he would do when he got older, came to visit him. For a split second, he thought about what was to become of him, when Michael was no longer a part of his life, he flinched, as if a breeze of wind had come into the room. He could not bear that thought at the moment.

“Knock, knock,” Michael said and knocked two times on the wooden door to Christopher’s room. “Tea’s ready,” he said, handed over the cup, and proceeded down the stairs again in a slow manner. Michael was one of the few people, who never had to ask, how Christopher was feeling, he knew. As if it was as easy, as reading one of the many books that Michael read, in the leathery armchair, in the living room below. The tea did him good. Or rather, the care that Michael had put into making it, was what made him feel better.

(1986, Saturday the 22th of June)

Christopher woke up at 3 a.m. that night. He could not sleep. He turned on the red bed lamp, beside his soft bed. He jumped into his pajamas and his comfy slippers made of wool. He stretched and yawned, with a few tears in his eyes, due to the sleepiness. He sat on the edge of his bed for a while, with a dozed off look, glancing over the landscape that was his room. He looked at the giant poster in the room, at the infamous yellow color, and the black bat in the middle.

To break the silence, came a sound. A new sound. From all the horror movies, all the scary books that Christopher had been involved in, he had never heard anything alike. It came from outside, no doubt. Terror was not the first feeling that came around, it was rather curiosity. With the best ears that money could buy, Christopher sat on the edge of his bed, listening. To avoid the distracting sounds from his breath, he held it. He could hear his heart beating more rapid now, but still, it made it easier to locate the sound, still not to the point which Christopher could locate where the sound had come from.

He closed his eyes. And in the darkness behind the eyelids, he pictured the things that came to mind, as the sound continued. It sounded like a hurt animal. An animal under water, trying to reach the surface with its screams. The goosebumps began to rise on his neck, and eventually made their way down his arms. It felt like an ocean of tiny spiders, that had made their way to his arms and neck, covering his skin with their tiny black hairy legs. Covering him completely while making hissing sounds at him. He was full of them, full of fear, and his breath began to speed up, he flinched and opened his eyes. There were no spiders to be seen, but the goosebumps remained, and so did the sound. I should look, he thought. It sounds like it’s coming from the garden. Shit, what if it’s intruders, bank robbers, serial killers? Christopher got flashbacks to movies he had seen with the others, films about so-called shapeshifting monsters, about psychos that would come to visit you in the middle of the night, visit you in your dreams. They all had something in common, they wanted to kill you. Some even wanted to slice you up, to eat you, to feed on you, and to enjoy it too. The movies seemed more alive than they had done on the big screen. They could be in the garden, they could have gathered up, used the night to plan their approach. When I go to sleep, when I dream, they’ll come, Christopher thought. He could feel his heart behind his chest, it had come alive, more than per usual, it began pumping and Christopher feared the heart would make its way out of the chest, if it kept going. Christopher jumped under the white quilt, the elusive sound kept repeating, he wondered if it would ever stop again. The usual courage that would be present, was gone, it had left him completely Christopher closed his eyes, but that made things worse, he opened them again. The bed lamp was the only light turned on in the room. If he could see the light, so could the thing from outside. If the vintage lamp hanging from his roof was turned on, it would be perhaps be attracted to it, it would come up here. I can’t risk it, he thought, and continued with merely having the tiny bed lamp turned on.

When he had regained some courage, he snuck out of the bed again. With attentive steps he walked on tiptoe over the carpet. He went down on all fours, and crawled toward the window. He was now sitting with his back against the wall. The window was located two feet above him, his back against the somewhat cold wall. He was waiting for the sound to go away, waiting for this nightmare to be over with. He was surrounded by darkness. Except for the friendly face of the moon that was illuminating the sky, far away, located over the mountains somewhere. Christopher had pulled his arms around his knees, making himself as small as possible, as tiny as could be. With his heart reaching the peak of beats per minute, he stood up. Like a robot scanning a room, he scanned the garden with his eyes, not able to see every corner, but able to see most of what was. Nothing had changed at fist. The animal, monster, or whatever it was, could be anywhere, waiting. Waiting for Christopher to come down, waiting to devour his entire body.

Christopher took a second peek, which he had denied himself from doing, for minutes now. But he did. Still no traces to be seen, except for the pine tree that had lost a bunch of leaves, lying on the grass with the moon that shone upon the leaves. That’s nothing, a squirrel perhaps, he thought to himself. The sound had stopped again. A yawn was enough to convince him to go back to bed, to disappear into unconsciousness and pretend this night had never happened, and so, that was what he did.

The next morning, he woke up, took on the pajamas and his slippers, and stood for a while, as he stretched in the light of the sun, he took the curtains and pulled them in each direction so the sunrays could illuminate the room. He walked out of his room, and looked down into the garden, it looked like it had done ever since his mom had stopped working on it. The stack of leaves was gone. The first feeling that came to him, was relief, because what had happened this particular night had been happening in his mind, and not in reality. He went downstairs and smelt fresh coffee through his nostrils. Even though coffee tasted like dirt and pure bitterness, the smell was pleasant, and so were the memories associated with the smell. He remembered how Evelyn, would always start the day of with a cup coffee and a croissant. Christopher remembered in vivid detail, how Michael would always visit the family on the weekends early in the morning, and make coffee along with croissants. Christopher was uncappable of wrapping his head around how Michael could wake up that early in the morning, drive to the mansion, and prepare breakfast, before any of the members of the family, would have been out of bed yet.

When Christopher reached the kitchen, he saw Michael standing there, with a loose shirt and in comfy pants. Michael would usually throw himself into a more formal outfit when he went outdoors, but in the morning, a simple t-shirt would suffice.

“Hello young man, have you been sleeping well?” Michael said with a smile on his face. “Yeah, I slept like a log,” Christopher said, for the lack of a better simile. Michael could see on Christopher’s facial expression, that what he was saying, was not the truth. “You look tired Christopher, like a boy who’s been… hmm, having his good night’s sleep disturbed by something.”

Except for the special circumstance, where Christopher promised to keep a secret between the boys, he would always try his best to remain truthful, especially towards Michael. In this case though, he refrained from telling him about the supposed dream, (or nightmare to be more precise.) Even though it was not unusual for Christopher to go see a horror movie with his friends at the local cinema once in a while, the monsters would not visit him in his dreams or haunt his mind. Christopher had never had a nightmare like this one. Most nights, he did not dream at all, and when he did, the images and feelings did not feel as authentic, as what he experienced last night. He could not tell Michael about it, no need to trouble the old fellow with such horrible things, no need to risk a heart attack, he thought to himself. He could tell his friends though, and remembered that he had made plans with the other boys this very evening. Maybe they had dreamt something like this, or heard something like this, in their dreams as well. It was not likely though. Christopher knew he was alone with this dream. He would tell the others, and he would make them shit their pants in pure terror, when he would try to describe the sound the thing made, in vivid details. He shivered a bit, by the thought that his mind could fabricate a nightmare, in such horrible details, that even he, was partly agonized by the sound. The boys would always be talking about how absurd it would be, if what they saw in the movies, appeared in real life, what if such things as aliens actually existed, or monsters for that matter. What if these unnatural occurrences existed, what if they came to visit Westhabit? These were questions they talked a lot about, usually in the evening, or around the campfire they had built at the lake. In the summer, the boys would ritually meet at the campfire, right after each of them, had been eating dinner in an agile manner dinner, and hurried to the lake. Sometimes they would bring snacks they bought for their pocket money, but most of the time, they would just marshmallows to grill over the burning hot flames. It was not uncommon practice that they burned their marshmallows until they were as black as the night, because of their talks. When one of them told a creepy memory or anecdote, the other three would sit with their mouths open, gazing at the storyteller. This visit to the lake, would nearly always be the highlight of their week, and it usually occurred Saturday night, which was tonight. The tradition had not been happening for a long time. What had been once a week, had turned into once a month, and for the last 10 months, they had ditched the tradition, forgotten about it, at least that’s what each of them thought the others had done. It was mainly Christopher’s parents, that had been the kryptonite to their ritual. But tonight, for the first time in 10 months, he had decided to give it a try again, to continue the ritual. It had not been due to the nightmare, that Christopher had decided to continue the ritual, but that certainly made him want to there even more. He had the familiar longing feeling in his stomach, he had a story he just had to tell others, it was inevitable, he could barely keep it in him, and almost told Michael about it, as a result.

For once in a long time, Christopher looked forward to meeting with his friends again. While Christopher had sat in his chair at the long dinner table with his thoughts, Michael had gotten plates, cutlery, glasses and so on, unto the table. Michael poured freshly squeezed orange juice in Christopher’s glass and took the boy’s favorite cereal from one of the many kitchen cupboards in the somewhat small kitchen. Christopher believed Michael would remain loyal to the rest of the family living in the house, for the rest of his own life. Christopher had offered to help Michael a frequent amount of times, but Michael would always decline, with a respectful attitude. Michael enjoyed making breakfast and being there for the people around him, there was no doubt it, as long as Christopher could remember, his grandpa had always been like this. He felt sure that as long as Michael was around, he could feel safe.

Christopher wondered about how his life had unfolded, if it was Michael who had disappeared, that cold February night three years ago, instead of his parents.

Those thoughts disappeared as rapidly as they came into his mind in the first place. His mood could not handle thinking about such thoughts, he would get more anxious than necessary if he continued. He always thought of something more pleasant when these thoughts arrived to him, and he had gotten great at it too, after a lot of practice over the last couple of years in his life. He looked down into the familiar cereal in the deep plate. He imagined what the thing that had made the sound, would look like, and felt a specific taste of disgust when the picture of what he imagined came to mind.

Christopher felt anxious about telling Michael about his nightmare, not because Michael would think it would sound dumb nor because Michael would not listen and understand his fear. Christopher’s worst fear about telling his grandpa, was that Michael would not look surprised when he told him. That instead of careful attention, he would lift his eyebrows, and tell him that such a thing did exist. He was tempted to tell him about it. The old man would be able to support him and calm him down, or at the other end of spectrum, if it was a dream, Michael would be there, to provide a guess as to where such a sound could potentially come from. Christopher had not seen anything unnatural yet. Sounds are deceiving, and so are the thoughts and feelings that come, when you wake up in the middle of the night. Christopher concluded, that he would not tell Michael.

CHAPTER 4

(1983, Monday the 7th of February)

Isaac’s bruises still hurt like hell, but despite the circumstances, he felt alright. He was walking home from school and tried his best to supply his mind with positive thoughts. He read somewhere that remaining positive, and turning bad situations into good ones, was a healthy thing to do. He felt warm and safe in his comfy outdoor clothes, and the music helped as well. He walked down the street and saw all the large trees, mirrored on each side of the street, and placed about 30 feet apart from each other. The trees that they had climbed up and down, when they were kids, was by now filled with snow, and the branches cut off. They’re beautiful, he thought to himself, as he looked up to see the otherwise green trees covered in nothing but the white fluffy mess. When he walked past the houses on his right, he would look and watch how they had decorated their gardens and if there by any chance, still were Christmas decorations and lights present.

Most of the houses were empty at the moment, most people were working. Isaac did look through one giant window into a house a little further down the road he was walking on, which was not empty. Behind a large window, was a family enjoying lunch together at their little dinner table. Isaac noticed that the kids were laughing, and it would be ideal to take a picture of them, and use this family in a Christmas card, to send to your lonely aunt and her three cats. The house was not, by any means, large, but it looked like they enjoyed what they had. They were eating, but Isaac couldn’t point out exactly what they were eating in there. He walked past the house without stopping, of course, he wouldn’t want come off as a creep looking through other peoples’ windows. He walked down the street and took a turn to arrive at his home at Oak street number 13. Only Isaac’s sister, Nancy, was home at the moment. He walked in through the door, took of his coat, shoes and with haze, went up to his room. He jumped into the big grey sweater, and pulled the quilt up to his chin. He opened the drawer in the tiny bedside table. His parents had bought the used piece of furniture from a man named Guy a couple months ago, who had made it himself (he had said). The drawer was filled up with comics, if his parents had bought him another comic book last Christmas, he would not have been able to close the drawer. Like a salesperson flipping through a phonebook, trying to find the right number to cold call, Isaac went through the comics as they were lying on his lap, he chose his favorite comic. A special edition of one of his favorite superheroes, “Atoma.” A cyborg that came from outer space, to kill the threats of humanity, once and for all. Just looking at the front cover, where the antihero was in the middle of destroying a city full of criminals, gave Isaac chills. Yep, it’ll have to be this. He thought, as he began to flip through the pages and engaging in the process, of being sucked into another world through the comic book.

After a while, his stomach started to make weird noises. And when he thought about food, it was as if the stomach heard him, and answered back with a rumble of sounds. He went downstairs to look for something to devour. When he got to the bottom of the wooden stairs, he saw Nancy standing in the Kitchen in the middle of eating something that resembled soup. He could not hide the bruise on his face of course, but the gray sweater made it possible to hide the bruises on his stomach and chest.

“Hey,” Isaac said with the volume of his voice turned down a bit, as he went into the kitchen. “Hello,” she said while looking down into a spoonful of the green mess, that was in a deep plate, she was holding in her right hand. It must have been hot because she was blowing in to the silver cutlery, where a fraction of the green mess was located. She took a sip from the spoon and looked at Isaac. “What’s that?” she said. “What’s what?” Isaac said, he knew what she was pointing at. “Your chin,” she said, as she took another sip.

“I fell over a curb on my way home,” he said, hoping she would believe him. Today, of all days, she looked highly skeptical, perhaps because it was Monday, perhaps because the death of Tom and Evelyn. Isaac did not know. He considered for a second to tell her the truth, but that would not end well. Nancy would tell their parents; their parents would call the school, and the school board would get in contact with Billy’s parents. Isaac would not dare come to school anymore, if Billy knew that he had told his parents about the incidents. The thought of Billy’s ugly face made him flinch for a moment, he could not tell Nancy. “I don’t believe you Isaac,” she said with a lisp that made Isaac’s name sound like Ithac.

“Why’s that?” he said, with his arms crossed. “You’re beat up every day.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, as he twitched his eyebrows. “Every second day then,” she said, with unwavering confidence. “Shut up Nance,” he said. “If you don’t tell me the truth. I am going to tell mom and dad. I have seen your bruises,” she said. Isaac began to feel uneasy, he could not tell Nancy the truth, but to avoid his parents’ involvement, he was forced to tell her. It was a lose-lose situation for him at the moment.

“Please don’t tell them,” Isaac said to her in the sweetest way he could. She looked at Isaac for a second, deciding if she should tell them when they got home, or just let it slide this time. “Please Nancy,” he said, making a praying gesture. Nancy stood with her arms crossed, her mind being at work. She tried to figure out what to do. “You owe me something,” she said.

“Sure. Just say the word, and I’ll see what I can do,” Isaac said, with relief.

“I will come up with something,” she said. Isaac grabbed a snack, and went up to his room again. She would have forgotten about the promise in a day’s time. He was sure of it.

CHAPTER 5

The posters were everywhere. The white brick wall behind them, was barely visible. Posters in all colors, shapes, and sizes, with bands from every decade, in every reconcilable genre. Movie posters were present too, though not to the same degree as the various album music-related posters. The habitual visit from David’s mother, Margaret, was supplies for the young (self-acclaimed) guitarist, David. “Hi there,” she said with a smile on her face. She placed the plate with fruit and sweets on the wooden dresser beside the bed, to the right of the tiny amplifier, with its cable leading into the red guitar, David was holding in his hands. The leather brown guitar strap around his neck, nearly getting involved with his hair. “Thanks mom,” he said, and meant it too. She smiled back at him. “It sounds… uh, great. Sounds wonderful,” she said. “Sure,” David said back, as he continued his practice. It was as if she needed positive adjectives to describe the way he was playing. David knew she was just trying to be nice, but it would be a false statement to say she knew a lot about music, that was not the case, she tried her best. David was done soon with practice soon, and blisters were beginning to show on his fingers, revealing the inner skin, resembling the color of the guitar, he was so tired he considering taking a nap. He looked up at the wall, staring around. His eyes stayed at the album cover with the shirtless, and legendary, man with the red and blue lightning bolt across his face and the brown hair that looked as soft as can be. David yawned, and brought the guitar up into his arms once again, he looked down upon the guitar, as if he was in a