Moments of Darkness Page 4

  I typed the description of the woman at the door even telling her how I prevented her murder at the hands of the woman. Sandra went silent.

  “You mean Mrs. Jones from down the street? The kind old lady that always gives regular sized candy bars at Halloween? Impossible! She’d never hurt a thing,” Sandra said. I typed slowly “Y-E-S.”

  She slammed the computer closed. “I’m done with this,” she said. “You aren’t real. I know you’re not. It’s just that it felt comforting having someone to talk to, even if it was myself. I can’t keep this up. I can’t.”

  Sandra left the room sobbing. I was at a loss. Did I do everything I could? Did I push too far? She was my wife, the love of my life. I had to warn her. I had to save her.

  Two other times Mrs. Jones knocked on the door. Her motives were a mystery but her determination strong. How did the neighbors not see her? For whatever reason she wanted to harm Sandra. As if killing me and stealing my hand wasn’t bad enough. I stopped Sandra both times. Once by slamming a cupboard shut in the kitchen and the second time by throwing a pillow against the window startling Mrs. Jones who almost fell.

  The last time Mrs. Jones knocked on the door I determined to make it end. Sandra seemed unaware how close she came to dying despite my best efforts to warn her. She no longer talked to me and ignored every note I left. I had to act.

  Mrs. Jones knocked on the door. I hadn’t moved an object in days anticipating this moment. Sandra had replaced the plant next to the front door after I knocked the last one over. I grabbed it with both hands and shoved it through the window. The clay pot connected with the old lady’s head making a sickening sound as I fractured her skull. Blood ran down her face and her eyes went white. She dropped to the ground releasing a knife as she fell. Thick blood pooled around her where she landed.

  I watched as black spirits with trailing flames trailing snatched at her, clawing her with their thin gray fingers, tearing her soul apart. She screamed as they carried her away like crows with a carcass.

  Sandra approached the door to see the body of Mrs. Jones on the front stoop with the knife lying next to her. The planter lay in pieces on the cement. She clutched her chest and leaned on the wall.

  I saved her! I used every bit of energy I possessed for that one last moment. Had I missed Mrs. Jones I fear Saundra would’ve become her next victim. I depleted my energy. It would be days before I could even type a single letter.

  When the police arrived Sandra had no explanation. The grisly scene confused them. Whispers floated between the officers that maybe Mrs. Jones murdered me. Another wondered if they should lock up Sandra. They mentioned searching Mrs. Jones’ house hoping to find my hand connecting her to my murder. And solve a bizarre cold case of missing hands.

  With my killer gone and Sandra shaken by the events, she moved out of our house. She packed a small bag and left without a word. I was alone in a house I could no longer leave. Trapped. Waiting for the next inhabitant to move in or Sandra to come back.

  I attempted to step out from the house again to test my surroundings and was shocked. No longer sulfurous gray sand with belching flames awaited me. Before me was pure white. Streets paved with gold radiated from my door. Bright blue skies with a warm inviting light covered it all. I felt peace. I wanted to explore. I took a step and stopped, deciding to leave my wife one last note.

  Inside on the dining room table our laptop lay open. I keyed in the passcode and pulled up the word processor. I typed slow and deliberate, my last words to my dear wife.

  “With all my love, James.”

  I stared at the screen a few moments then bowed my head. I’d never see her again. I could sense something different in my world. Something powerful. Something wonderful.

  “Goodbye Sandra. I’ll never forget.”

  I left the house and walked on the golden street outside towards the center of a huge city with flowing rivers and buildings made of glass. My peace found at last and my wife spared the pain of murder.

  Zombie Says

  Zombie says: “Get me more.”

  Damn Zombie. I hate that thing. It never shuts up. It’s always asking for more. It’s loud. It’s demanding.

  Zombie says: “Hurry, get it now.”

  Stupid Zombie. It doesn’t know me. It thinks it does, but it can’t possibly understand who I am or what I want. It’s too consumed with a gnawing desire for more. Always more.

  Zombie says: “If you don’t get more I’ll take it from you.”

  Zombie is always threatening me. It’s always promising some kind of action. It tries to bully me to act on its behalf. I’m not afraid.

  Zombie says: “Be a good little girl and do as I say. Behave and nothing will happen to you.”

  Zombie caught me-once. I tried to trick it. I thought I’d had it fooled but it was smarter than I gave it credit for. Zombie bit me. It took my little finger. I don’t care. I’m still alive. Zombie isn’t.

  Zombie says: “I’m tired of games. I want more than this.”

  Zombie can’t leave the house. Zombie gets wild when someone knocks on the door. Zombie thrashes and shambles around the house when someone unexpectedly shows up. I try to calm it, but it senses the blood.

  Zombie says: “Well done my child. One day you’ll have what I have.”

  Zombie thinks I’m its daughter. Its daughter left a long time ago. Or was eaten. Either way, its daughter isn’t around anymore. It was just my dumb luck to stumble on this place. Ever since, Zombie has kept me. Like a prisoner.

  Zombie says: “My dear, please keep me company. Don’t leave. Stay and read to me.”

  As if I could leave. Zombie has me trapped. There aren’t any exits but the front door. All the rest were blocked off. Zombie was afraid of an attack. I don’t know why. The large herds were far off to the north near Chicago. There’s more meat there. But somehow, Zombie ran across a small group. They turned a once strong man into a new Zombie. Every day I have to read to it. Reading soothes its urge to attack me. It helps me survive long enough. And keeps my mind sane.

  Zombie says: “I need more now, please get me more.”

  Zombie disgusts me. It eats flesh and muscle and brains with a ghastly bite. It rummages inside the body for tender organs, devouring them like a dog. Moans of pleasure mixed with slurping and sucking sounds as it eats. It’s enough to make me vomit, which I did once. Zombie threatened me then. I haven’t vomited since. At least not where Zombie could hear me.

  Zombie says: “You will never leave. I need you. I can protect you.”

  I’m going to kill Zombie. I can’t stay any longer. The news reports keep telling us to flee, a large herd is heading towards us and the authorities are helpless to stop it. I need to leave. Staying means death…or worse. I don’t want either. Zombie won’t let me go.

  Zombie says: “The reports are false. There are no others. There’s only me. Don’t worry.”

  Zombie doesn’t know what I’ve planned. Zombie got rid of all the knives long ago. Zombie doesn’t know I’ve created a knife from part of the bed. I’m ready now. I have to flee. I won’t get caught in the horde. I slash at Zombie. It screams. I stab it in the head, its bones weakened from decay. It gurgles and tries to speak. I raise my shiv and stab again and again. Zombie slumps to the floor.

  Zombie says nothing anymore.

  Super Moon

  Shawn stood at the edge of the circular drive of his small two-bedroom home staring up at the night sky. Stars winked back at him, taunting him. He’d wanted to be an astronaut for as long as he remembered, but decisions made early in life didn’t agree with his dream. And now as a manager of a fast-food restaurant, “Quick Service” they liked to say as though the term held less scorn, his future held little promise. At least looking at the night sky he could dream like a child. They couldn’t take that from him.

  High in the eastern sky the full moon hung bright. He’d heard there was a “super moon” that night. The luminescent orb shone brighter and larger than he�
�d ever remembered. He imagined flying in a modern Saturn rocket and stepping foot on the gray dusty surface leaving his permanent mark on the satellite. The view of Earth, brilliant hues of blue, green, and white dominating his vision. Being one of only a few people ever having such a view of the planet.

  The moon transfixed him. It seemed different. He expected it brighter and larger than before because its orbit brought it closer to Earth than normal, but it looked odd. It moved, growing larger in the black canopy above, but that was impossible. The moon doesn’t speed towards Earth visible to the naked eye. Besides, if it had wouldn’t scientists and the media report the phenomenon?

  Surely his mind toyed with him. Overworked and stressed from six days in a row of mind numbing and thankless work. That had to be it. He scrambled to cover a shift every day because this person was sick, or that person was too hung-over to work. The pathetic excuses given each day and the lack of responsibility his employees exhibited only increased his stress. Sleep didn’t come easily anymore. Headaches were constant.

  But still, the moon seemed unusually large. It should appear bigger but not like this. The large disk with discolored sections were more visible than ever. It alarmed him. Scratching his chin, he wondered if he should call his wife out to see. She’d probably laugh at him and tell him he needed rest. He stared a bit longer deciding his overworked mind created the illusion and went inside.

  “Hey hun, can you take out the trash?” Shawn’s wife asked when he stepped in the door. “Yeah, sure,” he said. She could’ve said that when I went out before, he thought. He yanked the trash bag tipping over the empty can. Cursing under his breath, Shawn set it upright and went back to the porch.

  Something was definitely wrong with the moon. It was larger than a few minutes before! There was no doubt in his mind it moved. He dropped the bag on the porch and ran inside.

  “Margaret! Margaret, come out here! The moon—it’s bigger!” She came into the kitchen with her hands on her hips, her hair tied back and her face wet from her nighttime routine. “Well yeah, it’s the super moon, remember?” she said.

  “I know but it’s different. Come here, look!” Leading Margaret out the door he pointed at the sky. “Look! It’s huge! It’s bigger than a few minutes ago.” Margaret looked to the dark sky but didn’t think the moon looked larger than expected. “OK, it’s big,” she said. He didn’t need to see her face to know she was mocking him. Margaret sighed then went back to her routine.

  Shawn stared at the moon trying to remember how much larger it should have been. 5%? 8%? 15%? Maybe 15% or something close but it looked much larger. Shawn kept his gaze on the moon expecting to see it grow as he picked up the trash. Several minutes later with no visible change, he went inside. Margaret said little to him the rest of the night.

  Sleep eluded him. The rough week at work and the weirdness of the moon gnawed at his mind.

  The next night Shawn checked on the moon again. As he watched, it grew larger then quickly shrank. He stumbled and caught himself on the railing. “Margaret!” he called, “It changed! The moon shifted again!”

  Her face wet from washing, she stood on the porch. “Honestly Shawn, I don’t see a thing. Maybe you ought to take time off work. You’re seeing things. Nothing’s wrong with the moon.” She paused. “I’m going back inside. Coming to bed soon?” His mouth hung open unable to respond. Margaret shook her head and left.

  Over the next several days Shawn continued inspecting the moon. He worried to the point Margaret feared for his mental well being. She chided him and he grew impatient with her. Speech came in short, choppy sentences and he hadn’t eaten a full meal. Shawn believed the moon was edging its way closer to Earth and that meant total annihilation.

  He concluded if the moon were to impact the Earth—which he expected from his nightly observations—it meant complete and utter destruction. Nothing would remain. Nothing would escape the catastrophe.

  The impending extinction consumed him.

  The end was coming but no one noticed. He tried telling people. They needed to know, to prepare for the inevitable, but they only laughed at him. Shawn contacted NASA thinking they must’ve missed the enormous glowing globe increasing in size, but the customer service reps assigned to weed out lunatic callers wouldn’t budge. He had to tell them! Humanity had a right to know!

  Margaret left to stay at her mother’s after Shawn refused to curb his doomsday rants. Several days passed before he realized she left. Lunar observations consumed him and he didn’t care.

  Because he wouldn’t stop obsessing over the moon he missed several days of work and was fired. Not that he cared for the soul-sucking place anymore. His focus remained on the impending planetary doom. He started a blog, posted about it on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, and any other means he could find. Somebody had to alert everyone concerning the inevitable destruction.

  Each night he’d step out on his porch and watch as the moon grew closer and closer filling the sky with its bright light. He shook his fist at it, cursed, and called it names, but nothing mattered. It marched ever slowly towards the Earth for a final fatal encounter. That he still viewed the large moon in the sky when everyone else saw only blackness didn’t bother him. They were blind to the truth, but he knew it. He alone caught the movement and the burden fell on him to help.

  But help to do what exactly? How could he help the world facing such a dire fate? Where would they go? How would they get there? Humans weren’t yet advanced enough to create interstellar travel and inhabit new worlds. Was humanity destined for extinction? Was that the grand scheme of it all? He wrestled with his thoughts day and night until his mind twisted on itself.

  A full month after the super moon and his discovery, Shawn lay on his living room floor. Dirt and food stains covered his shirt. Dried urine and feces soiled his pants. His teeth felt fuzzy. “Take me, take it all!” he shouted. “We’re doomed! We’re doomed!”

  Two days later, Margaret checked on Shawn. No one heard from him and he didn’t return calls or texts. She opened the front door and her nose filled with the putrid stench of death. The smell so vile she held back the urge to vomit. Margaret stepped inside and almost tripped on Shawn. His face locked in a mask of fear with wide-open eyes. The words “Super Moon” were scrawled on the walls. On a paper next to him in scribbled child-like letters was the note “Moon, it will come and destroy. I can’t stop it. No one knows. It’s coming.”

  Margaret screamed. Her husband lay dead, rigor mortis contorting his body in unnatural ways. He wore his Blue Moon Burgers uniform, the large moon logo on his left chest crossed out in red marker.

  The Scientist's Destiny

  Charles held the shopping basket close as he maneuvered around a rather large woman wearing a yellow dress with a wooden cross hanging around her neck oogling the latest shipment of eggplants. He hated the things, but hated people even more. He spent most of his time working in a lab away from people. It was just him and his plants. He’d been working on a new strain of corn resistant to earworms though it proved lethal to humans.

  As he worked around the woman, Charles stepped on a piece of lettuce. Instantly he lost his footing. His basket flew upwards, sending crackers and shredded cheese in the air. He fell slamming his head on the hard concrete floor.

  When he opened his eyes, white wispy clouds floated in a sky of azure above.

  The inside of his head felt like a hammer beat on it.

  A voice called to him though he didn’t understand the language. It sounded like French. All he understood was a name: Geoffrey.

  Charles turned his head toward the voice to find several men surrounding him as he lay on the ground. They wore dark brown wool robes tied at the waist with a dingy cord. Their hair cut in a strange fashion though somewhat recognizable. Monks? he thought.

  “Where am I?” he asked. The nearest man jumped back with his hand over his mouth. He spoke again, pointing at Charles. The other men took a step back.

  Charle
s sat up. A coarse scratchy material grated against his body. When he looked down he had on the same robes as the surrounding monks.

  “What the hell?” he said. A monk made the sign of the cross and stepped closer to one of his brothers, whispering. It didn’t matter, Charles couldn’t understand them.

  “My name is Charles Springer. Doctor Charles Springer. I’m a bio-engineer working with corn. Do you mind telling me where I’m at and where my clothes are?” The monks were silent. Charles ran his fingers through his hair, only to find most was missing.

  “Great, you’ve cut my hair too!” he accused. He shook his head. “Damn I miss my lab.”

  A monk spoke, but the words were fast and unrecognizable. He heard “Geoffrey” several times and thought they said “corn.” That’s all he understood.

  Much to his displeasure, the monks took him to the monastery. Back home with the plants, the “agri-monsters” his detractors called them because of the genetic modifications he experimented with, he was alone with only the plants for company. Life was better that way. Forced to work with other humans away from his beloved plants made him anxious.

  Charles concluded that he hit his head and must be in a dream or coma. The trauma forced his mind to cope in a strange way. Or maybe he’d had an accident in the lab. Being stuck with monks removed from his plants horrified him.

  Relief from his predicament didn’t appear imminent. He tried his best to endure it while stuck there.

  For well over a month, Charles acted the part and became a monk. He faked what he didn’t know and smiled when they spoke to him. Their language was unfamiliar. He didn’t understand them so he offered a smile when it seemed appropriate. The only solace came from working the field of corn outside the monastery. Out there he felt comfort in this terrible new world.