Tales of Terror: Something Waits for You

I don't know if I'd felt it before. Maybe, many, many years ago when I was too young to recall. A child in the cradle, crying in the night for my dad. But I do remember this one moment. And if I'd felt it before, I know it wasn't half as awful as when THIS hit me.

I'd been out in the woods, digging up dandelions. I know a lot of people don't like them, but I'm not one of those people. I adore them, how they glow in the light of the morning, glistening with dew fresh in the day, and I'd always be looking for them down by the shallow brook that always quick-froze in the winter. I was happily plucking them up to bring to my house, humming to myself, knowing my father would appreciate them.

Being the only kid without a mother on the block was bad enough for me. I got teased a lot for not having a mom. For being a "bastard". I hated it. My very existence was a disgusting thing to my people. But I ignored it. Logosians have thick skin. We have to. Especially if you were...like me.

Everyone's got their own differences. I was always keenly aware of my own differences from my friends on Earth. But down there, I was accepted for what I could do. A Logosian, after all, has complete control over every inch of his body. From my organs to my eyeballs to my blood, I can make my body parts do anything I want even if seperated. And this was madly useful. Indeed, it was fun to use a removed hand as a prank on my Dad when I was young. He'd go to get something from the fridge, asking if we had any chocolate milk left and VOILA! There'd be my hand, holding a gallon up for him, making him jump a bit before he laughed and laughed.

I could always get him with that. And thinking of that prank as I happily plucked up more dandelions brought a smile to my face that day.

But the smile faded when, suddenly, it stuck itself deep in me. Fear. Pure, absolute, unavoidable fear. True menace had sunk its claws into me, and I whipped about, blue eyes wide, panting slightly. In the dark arches of the trees, the sharp croak of the birds, the icy grip of water near my calves, the gritty texture of mud on my knees, the air suddenly cold and bitter and worst of all, I could feel it. Feel it deep, deep down in my mind. Something was hidden, watching, waiting.

I didn't believe in my planet's God. My people were all fierce zealots when it came to such a thing. Being an atheist was simply ridiculous. You didn't EXIST. It was stupid. It would be like being able to understand what color was if you were in a world without eyes, it just didn't happen. But I didn't believe. I didn't buy into the teachings. It wasn't because they disliked me due to not having a Dad. It wasn't because I didn't like girls. It was because I just simply couldn't believe. I didn't put a lot of stock in things that I couldn't really grasp. It wasn't like math or the like. I can't grasp a theorem in my hands, but I can at least write it down and I can understnad that. I can put cells or an animal under a microscope and get how it works. But when it came to a God? How was I supposed to rely on information about him? Sure, there were plenty of second hand accounts. Written documents with names and places, but so little real information, and very few sources established within the same century as our God had lived. So because of that, I just simply didn't buy into any of it.

Yet in that moment I became a believer in SOMETHING, because I could feel, I could feel it. In another minute, I'd see it and know what it was. And in another minute, I'd go insane.

I couldn't stand being there anymore. I shot off like a bullet, panting, heaving, barreling towards my home, racing through the plowed field in the back of our property, wiping my brow. I didn't care if I had picked up some nettles from my rush, I had to get home. And there was my Dad on the back porch, sitting in a chair, looking up from his book. It was our world's religous tome, and though I didn't believe, Dad did. He always said my coming into his life was a blessing. A truly divine gift. He cared a lot about the Great One.

But when he saw my expression, he tossed the book to the side and ran to embrace me. He took me in his arms and I just let his scent wash over me. His voice was soft and comforting, his smell like bread and straw as I looked up into his eyes, his red hair reaching down to his shoulders. "It happened, hasn't it?" He asked.

"What is "it"?" I asked.

"Let's sit down." He said, as he sat me down on the porch bench he'd been on and he sighed, picking the book up and looking down at the section he'd been at, a parable about how God wanted you to care for the gifts you'd been given. He bit his lip, slightly chewing on it before putting the book down to his right, then turning to me. "You know, winter is coming in a few weeks."

Winter. In winter, in the valley we lived in, the roads got blocked up with snow for weeks at a time. We didn't mind, especially not me. We had plenty of firewood, cellars full of wine and flower and lots of fruit and bread...and each other. What was there to worry over? But now, now things felt different. Now I kept picturing an endless abyss of white, where no human footprint could be seen.

"Winter is something much like night, and night is something much like death. It's a trip down into the dark. And in the dark, you have dreams. Well, YOU have dreams. I tend to have nightmares, as you know." Dad sighed.

Oh, I knew alright. Dad's screams often woke me up. It made your blood curdle in your veins. He'd never told me about what he dreamt of when I'd run to him and see him sweating and shaking, hands gripping the sides of the bed like a vise, eyes filled with terror. Not once had he ever told me.

But I had a feeling he was about to tell me.

"You know, I know you don't have many friends. And truth be told, I didn't have a lot either. I'm different from your uncles. My brothers were lucky, in a way. Lucky to do what they did." He went on.

Uncle Nathaniel Archimedes Cadence Kendall and Uncle Thomas Archimedes Cadence Kendall were my father Johann's brothers. Nate had gone into the priesthood, whilst Thomas had gone into the army. I hadn't seen them in a while, truthfully. I wasn't sure why he was bringing them up-

"Do you know why they went?"

"To be like your own dad? To serve our country?"

"To an extent, yes. But also for a simple reason. No doubt Nate will, in time, be lost to me and you. And Thomas was killed on the front lines just as my father was. But the reason why they went is because a soldier isn't ever alone. He's always surrounded by other soldiers." My father went on with a sigh. "And Nate knew that a monk is never alone, for he's always with other monks."

"And with the company of God?" I assumed aloud.

"That depends on the man, I believe." My father Johann remarked, looking down at the book and biting his lip again, as if he wanted to tell me something more, but couldn't. I wasn't sure why, but it felt like he'd been about to say "yes", but...somehow, something was stopping him. He didn't want to say 'no'. I could tell that. But he wasn't in complete agreement that God was always with everyone. I could tell, he had that kind of look in his eyes. "The thing is, those in my family don't dare be alone."

"What do you mean?"

"There was something that happened a long time ago. I'm not the only one who was given a unique gift. My grandfather, my great, great grandfather, many others in our family were given wonderful, wonderful gifts. We felt truly blessed. But there was something that happened eons ago to our ancestor. We don't know what. He was a very, very clever man. And he learned something he wasn't supposed to. And he found out something horrifying. And ever since, it made him terrified to be alone."

I wanted to speak, but that familiar menace was tingling in the back of my skull. I bit my lip and just let my father talk as he began to paint a vivid picture in my mind.

"Imagine if you can, being alone in the world, in an empty house. You sit down in your room, nothing but silence from the world outside. No birds in the trees. No dogs barking in the yard. You're absolutely certain nobody is left in the town, or even in the entire world. You're completely alone. So there you are, in an empty house on an empty street in an empty world when SOMETHING knocks on the door."

"But how CAN it?" I asked. "I mean...what IS this something anyhow?"

"That Something is the thing that is waiting in the deepest, darkest cellar of your mind. The thing that lurks just in the back of your soul, waiting. Waiting for all of us."

I almost fell out of the chair. A horrific dark iciness crept into me. "Th-that can't be." I said. "That kinda thing isn't possible. I don't believe in it."

"It doesn't matter if you don't believe in it. You have to bear it. You can choose not to believe that when you toss a rock off a cliff, it won't fall, but it falls all the same."

"Well that IS this something, is...is it just dreadful to think about because we don't know what it is?" I wanted to know, slightly tearing at my hair.

"I don't think it is. My dreams tell me it IS dreadful. And it IS waiting for all of us." My father quietly mumbled. "It's...waited a long time for me, you know. I mean, I'm 50. Thomas died three years back and Nate's still going strong. Usually we don't have this kind of luck in our family."

"Well, then maybe it won't get you." I said with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Even then, what am I supposed to do about this "thing", this "Something"?"

"Be brave." My dad said. "It's all any of us can do."

...

...

...

...a few weeks later as winter came and my Uncle Nate came to visit and cheer me up with presents, my father died in his sleep.

For three days I was utterly wrecked. I couldn't stand it. I just held my head in my hands, shaking it back and forth, barely able to leave my room. What was I supposed to do? I felt so damn alone. And I kept wondering if somehow over the couple of weeks that we'd been talking if...if perhaps this talk of the "Something" had caused Dad to somehow die. I knew it felt ludicrious to blame myself for him dying but I couldn't help it. I thought I was somehow to blame.

But my Uncle Nate told me that Dad wouldn't want me to think of him like that, or to think I'd done anything wrong. Dad was a man of amazing qualities. He'd been kind, honest, and had left behind a life of decency and love, and that I should take comfort that he'd gone to a better place.

And even though I didn't believe in that last part, I felt comfort for a while.

We had to have the funeral, of course. As customary for my kind, the body would be placed in the church for three days and then would come the funeral. So for three days Dad remained in the church in his coffin, people lying flowers and the like on top, looking like he was being adorned with flowery wreaths of victory. I felt a kind of smug sense of satisfaction, a kind of "Ha, you didn't get him" sense as I looked at the coffin. Because I kept thinking of Something. And all I could feel was a perverse glee that Dad had won.

Then on the third night, it happened. Nate had gone with the local priest of the town to help with some last minute preparations for the funeral, to make sure the church was presentable. And when he opened up the door, he stopped in his tracks, Father Henry gaping in horror and letting out a scream so loud it made people come running, myself included when I heard the hubbub outside my window.

There on the stone floor of the church laid my father, a good two, three feet away from the coffin that had been lying on the enormous alter within the church. He'd somehow hurled himself out of the coffin and onto the floor.

And all I could think was "He had another dream about Something"."

"He was DEAD." The priest said, stammering over and over. "He'd been dead for three days!" He practically screeched.

He sprinkled Dad with holy water, nailed down the lid of the coffin after putting him inside, and we had a hasty funeral the next day in which nobody said a word. Uncle Nate walked home with me, his face solemn, scratching at the ponytail that hung over his shoulder.

"...did he dream about Something?" Nate quietly asked.

I didn't have the courage to answer him.

But I'm glad to be on Earth now. Glad to have so many friends. And I hope that when my fiftieth birthday comes around, I won't have that dream.

That dream about Something.