The Worst Kind of Monsters Page 4

He asked me if I had explored it yet or poked around the outside to see if I could get inside. I shook my head violently, expressing the feeling of fear it emitted. I told him it wasn’t safe, that something was wrong with the house. I told him my parents couldn’t see it and that something had been watching me in the storm. This only egged him on, sparking his enthusiasm to explore it.

  As I tried to talk him out of it, I heard my father call me to set the table. Groaning, I complied and the conversation ended there. Trevor helped me fill the water glasses and soon we were sitting around a table filled with steaming food.

  I didn’t care about the banquet in front of me. It was just an obstacle to playtime. Disregarding the hard work that went into the preparation, I dug in with a vengeance after my father said grace. My mother shot me a look or two as I proceeded to stuff my face, pounding the food down with mouthfuls of water.

  When my plate was clear, I looked across the table and saw Trevor was of the same mindset. I waited the appropriate amount of time and then asked if we could be excused. My father waved us away, commenting on my poor table manners, but I barely heard him as Trevor and I shot for the front door.

  The sky was an expanse of brilliant deep purples and blues as the sun departed for the day. Stars twinkled above us like tiny candles, their light pulsing as the sound of night critters filled the air and sang up to them.

  Trevor and I sat on the front steps, giving ourselves a moment to let the food settle. We stared across at the dark house, waiting to see some flicker of life. The moon glowed in the deepening darkness, lighting the field and joined in its efforts by a sea of blinking fireflies.

  Trevor was anxious to go look in the windows, expressing these desires in statements of bravery and courage. I shook my head, knowing that some mysterious malevolence shrouded the looming house. It was a gut feeling, a twisting in my stomach whenever I thought about the thing in the storm.

  After fruitlessly arguing with me, Trevor stood and announced he was going to go by himself and have a look. I snapped my eyes to lock with his and hurriedly voiced my opposition to the idea. No matter how much I pleaded, there was no changing his mind. He called me a big chicken and pranced around the porch clucking and waving his arms. This did nothing to change my mind and I continued to shake my head in disagreement.

  Sighing, Trevor ceased his antics and trotted down the steps to the grass. He gave me a wink and a thumbs-up, telling me I was being a baby. I watched him walk toward the house, my heart beginning to beat faster.

  I felt like I should stop him, that I should tell my parents, but what would they do? They would see him walking toward an empty field and my dad would probably slap the back of my head.

  He was thirty feet from the house, his outline in the dying light nothing more than a black smudge of movement. I could hear him calling to me, but his words were muffled by the night.

  Twenty feet now, his pace was slowing. My mouth was dry and panic was rising in my throat. This was a bad idea, this was such a bad idea. I balled my hands into tiny fists, feeling the sweat coating my palms.

  Ten feet from the door now. All was silent, the house an unmoving giant, its yellow shutters now looking like dirty teeth, the greasy yellow popping in the darkness. Trevor was almost there, his footsteps cautiously taking him to the right of the front door, his target a first-floor window.

  That’s when I saw something in the third-floor window on the far left of the house.

  It looked like a candle, a soft glow popping through the dense darkness. It wavered there in the middle of the window and then began to move. I watched as the light passed from window to window, then disappeared. Frantically, I called out to Trevor to come back, running down the stairs and toward the field.

  He was about to look in the window when he heard me, turning and taking a few steps toward me. I crossed the road and kicked into the long grass, slowing and waving my arms for him to return.

  The light was on the second floor now, its glow smoothly hovering past the windows. It was getting closer.

  Terrified to go any further, I danced from foot to foot, heart thundering in my chest, my face contorted into frantic terror. Trevor was calling out to me, asking what was wrong. I screamed at him to come back, that something was coming, that he was in danger. And then I cursed at him. It was the only thing I could think of to get his complete attention.

  Hearing me swear, he finally began to trot back to me, throwing a look over his shoulder. The light was gone, but as he made his way toward me, I saw it reappear on the first floor, shining in the window Trevor had been about to look into moments before.

  It stayed there, just floating in the darkness, and I felt something looking at me from the black. Trevor reached me spewing questions, and I grabbed his shoulders, spinning him to look at the light.

  As soon as he saw it, the house went dark.

  We stood there, breathing heavily, unsure of what had just happened. I asked him if he had seen it and he nodded slowly. We knew now that something was definitely in there. That something had seen us. I felt exposed, the plump moon working as a spotlight, making me feel like I was on a stage that was watched by whatever was in the house.

  We turned and ran back to my house, both of us sharing silent guilt that we had done something we shouldn’t. The fear of being found out, the anxiety of getting in trouble flooded us as we scampered up the porch and pushed our way back inside.

  I should have told my parents something at that point. Even if they didn’t see the house, I feel like if I had tried to explain it to them, maybe a shred of my honestly would shine through and give them a sliver of belief. But I didn’t. Neither of us did. We knew snooping was wrong and we’d get in trouble if they did, in fact, believe us.

  As we took our places at the table, now filled with hot pie, Trevor and I exchanged a look that vowed complete silence. Our parents asked us why we were back so soon, Trevor’s mother joking that the smell of dessert was the cause.

  I didn’t feel like eating, my stomach a mess of knotted emotions, but I dutifully shoveled steaming cherry pie into my mouth, barely tasting it. I was afraid they would find out, that whoever was in the green house would suddenly knock on the door and tell our parents what we had done. It was the illogical fears of a child, the haunting giant that loomed over every kid’s life: Getting In Trouble.

  After we finished eating, I asked my parents if Trevor could spend the night. After some discussion between the adults, they agreed, extending the stay to two nights. Apparently Trevor’s dad needed to borrow our tractor, but we needed it for just a few more days. So, when the tractor was available, my dad would drive it down to them along with Trevor.

  My fear subsided a little, the excitement of two whole nights together causing the unease to fade.

  We whooped for joy and jumped around the house, cut short by a bark from my father to settle down. We scurried up to my bedroom and began to make plans for the stay. With so much time available, we decided that tomorrow we would begin construction on a tree fort in the woods. Crude sketches were made in crayon, both of us lying on our stomachs on the floor, heads knocking together as we crammed around the piece of paper we were drawing on. Story lines were spun as to who we were and why we needed to build a fort, our vast imaginations manufacturing motives and villains. It was exciting, our conversation fueled by sweet pie, and I felt like I could burst for joy. Looking back, it’s one of those feelings that you only get as a kid, where everything is perfect and it’s just you and your buddy with the whole world to play with.

  Eventually we heard his parents call him to say goodbye, making him promise to behave and listen to my mom and dad. As I waited for him to come back, I glanced out my bedroom window.

  The house was gone again.

  It was midnight. Trevor lay snoring in the sleeping bag my mother had taken out for him. He was curled up, his head barely poking out of the opening.

  I didn’t know why I had awoken. The house lay silent, my parents long as
leep. Even with Trevor there, I remember feeling scared, like something was in the room besides us. I looked toward the corners, the closet, my cracked bedroom door. Shadows formed monsters, then dispersed as my eyes focused.

  I thought about waking Trevor but didn’t want to be called a chicken again. I felt exposed, like something was watching me. Like something at the window was watching me.

  I chanced a glance at it, but the moonlight was the only thing that trickled through. No eyes, no faces pressed to the glass…no candle hovering in the darkness.

  As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt a shiver run down my back. I didn’t want to be thinking about that when it was this dark and everything was so silent. Something was drawing me to the window, though. I could almost feel a physical pull toward it, goading me to go to it.

  I resisted at first but knew I wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep until I had gone to the window. Quietly, I slipped out of bed, being careful not to step on Trevor’s head. I tiptoed toward my window and felt dread begin to rise like bile. With every step my mind repeatedly begged me to go back to my covers. Over and over, the thought rippled through my mind: Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look!

  I reached the window…and looked out.

  My eyes went wide and I felt a scream rising in my throat as I slammed my hands over my mouth. My heart was a wild drumbeat in my chest and I felt myself grow sick with gut-slamming fear.

  To this day, thinking about what I saw that night fills me with horror.

  The house was back, standing where it always stood, dark and silent.

  But something massive was peeking at me over its rooftop.

  Its head was enormous, spanning almost the entire width of the house, its almost human eyes terribly wide with sick excitement. Two colossal hands gripped the roof, making the whole thing look almost like how a child would peek over a table.

  It made the night look white, the darkness that colored its mass almost burned to look at. Two white eyes punctured through its black, human-shaped head, shining like two full moons. Its irises were the sharpest crimson, almost neon in the way they glowed.

  Just visible over the peak of the roof was its mouth. It was grinning, its massive square teeth practically exploding out of the shadows of its coal-black face. They radiated like its eyes did, their bleached white starkness accenting just how inky black the rest of its head and hands were.

  I was frozen in place, the whole world melting away like burning wax. My eyes locked with…whatever it was, and its smile widened. It never blinked, those two perfectly round gleaming eyes reaching into my brain and ripping up every fear I ever had.

  I waited for something to happen, feeling like at any second I would scream or pass out. It just watched me, smiling, its mouth stretched to immense proportions. Its long ebony fingers shifted on the roof every few seconds like it, too, was waiting.

  And then something said my name from the crack in my bedroom door.

  I spun, a scream already halfway up my throat. From the partially open door, I saw an impossibly large eye and half a mouth smiling at me, one midnight-black hand reaching inside to grip the wood.

  I dove toward my bed, digging myself deep into the covers, shaking and crying. I heard my door open and Trevor stirring on the floor. I peeked out from my safe haven and saw it.

  It stood in the doorway, a tall, human-shaped figure. Its skin was a constant swirl of dark colors, looking like paint being gently mixed in real time, its face the same liquid texture with one giant eye popping in and out from the surface. The mouth faded in the same manner, a constant, twisted grin emerging from its hideous face.

  And then it spoke. Its voice was one and many at the same time, sounding like a collection of vocal cords being filtered through running water.

  “Come with us.”

  I shrunk down into my sheets, every ounce of my being trying to scream, but the sound was caught in my throat, choked back from fear.

  I heard movement and then a thump followed by a silky dragging sound. I shifted in my cotton force field, sweating and trembling, wanting, needing to cry out for my parents. I chanced another look to see if it was gone.

  My room was empty.

  And Trevor was gone, along with his sleeping bag.

  As I ripped myself free from my bed, heart thundering, I heard my friend from the hallway begin to wake. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it was muffled and confused. Then his tone shifted and I began to hear him panic.

  I begged my parents to wake, shutting my eyes and willing it to happen. I heard heavy footsteps and the dragging sound retreating down the hall, Trevor becoming more and more vocal. I heard him begin to cry, his voice soft and muted.

  The front door crashed open, causing me to jump and emit a tiny squeal. Thump, thump, thump. I heard the sound of the monster and Trevor receding. I ran to my window, feeling tears begin to form around my eyes.

  The monster had Trevor trapped in his sleeping bag and was dragging him down the porch and across the field toward the house.

  The death-black giant looked down at them, his teeth shining in the moonlight, crimson eyes ever wide with excitement. The monster who had Trevor didn’t look back as it continued its march across the field. I watched as the front door opened on its own, the darkness inside seeming to ink out into the night.

  Finally, I screamed. I screamed until I couldn’t scream anymore, my voice cracking in high-pitched horror.

  I heard my parents wake from their room in the back of our house as the monster entered the green house.

  As my dad came charging into my room, I watched Trevor squirming frantically in his sleeping bag, then disappear as the door was shut behind him. He was in there, in that horrible house, with that thing.

  My dad grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me, asking me what was wrong, what happened. Tears running down my face, I took one last look at the house in the field.

  It vanished.

  * * *

  That was twenty years ago. That night, my parents called Trevor’s parents and then the police. I explained over and over again what I had seen, but no one believed me. It was chalked up to a kidnapping, and over the next couple months a thorough investigation was initiated. Trevor’s parents never spoke to mine again.

  The house never reappeared and neither did Trevor.

  That is, until two days ago.

  I got a phone call at work from the police, telling me they had found someone. A child. They said the child knew me and kept asking for me from his hospital bed. They said that my name was the only word he would speak.

  I hadn’t thought about the house in the field or Trevor in years, but as soon as the policeman finished, I knew who the mysterious child was.

  Trevor.

  I rushed to the hospital, my heart a disjointed mess of frantic thunder. I was questioned by the police on my arrival, asking me for my full name, date of birth, and where I worked. When they seemed satisfied, they told me I could see the child under police supervision. Something was off, though. They all seemed…quiet, shaken.

  As I was about to enter the room Trevor was in, the officer escorting me placed a hand on my shoulder. He told me to prepare myself, that what I was about to see might be upsetting. Confused and a little unsure, I pushed into the room.

  My breath was robbed from my lungs as I saw what lay in the bed.

  A child lay above the sheets, his small body rising and falling with labored breath. His size was the only way I could discern his approximate age.

  His entire form, from head to toe, was covered in a pure white glaze. His eyes, his mouth, his shining hairless head, everything. He looked like a mannequin made from snow-white yogurt but hardened and sleek.

  Its head turned to me and then it said my name. I recognized the voice instantly, memories of my childhood collapsing like an avalanche of nostalgia. It was Trevor.

  I went to his bedside, pulling up a chair, hands shaking as they reached out to touch his. My voi
ce cracked as I said his name, my mouth suddenly dry.

  I asked him what happened.

  This is what he said:

  Trevor: “How long has it been?”

  Me : “T-twenty years.”

  Pause. Trevor: “It can’t be.” Another pause. “It will happen soon.”

  Me: “What will happen?”

  Trevor: “They’re coming.”

  Me: “Who?”

  Trevor: “The Grins. They took my youth away…they will come as children.”

  Me: “A-are you talking about…what happened all those years ago? About…the monsters we saw?”

  Trevor: “They will come as children. They will come from between the colors. From between the colors. They will come as children.”

  Me: “Trevor, please, help me understand, where did you go? What happened in that house?”

  Trevor, voice shaking: “They took me between the colors. Took my years away from me. Took all those children’s years away from them. All of them. So many houses; so many children. They are ready. They will come now as children.”

  Me: “Who is coming?”

  Trevor: “The Grins.”

  Me: “What does that mean? What are The Grins? D-do you mean…that thing we saw in the house? Please, help me understand.”

  Trevor, growing frantic: “They will walk among us, waiting until they have grown, waiting to reveal themselves. The darkness, red eyes, oh, such red eyes. They will come as children and we will see them smile. We will watch them grow. The Grins, they will eat everything! They will eat the world out of existence!”

  At this point Trevor went into a fit, his body convulsing and sputtering. I was hurriedly shoved out of the room as the nurses went to work, trying their best to calm him. The police told me I would need to leave for the day but that someone would be by to question me.

  Trevor died later that night.

  I don’t know what happened that night my friend disappeared into that house. I don’t know where he was taken, what was done to him. I’ll never know. But what I do know is that it was real. I can’t explain it, I can’t make sense of it, but that coal-black giant with the red eyes, that thing that came into my room…those were real.