I must have been about 5 years old when I encountered the book. My mother recently had gone to visit my grandfather, and brought back a couple boxes of old belongings. After an early dinner, my brother, my mother and I started looking through the boxes. There were dolls, stuffed animals, a board game or two, and several books.
Now, I hadn’t yet learned to read by that age, though not for lack of trying. I remember I once borrowed my father’s reading glasses and sat on the couch, trying to will the symbols on the page to manifest into coherent sentences. I thought that the glasses would help translate the seemingly bizarre hieroglyphs into sounds in my head, but there was no such luck.
As I helped my mother and older brother search through the cardboard boxes filled with childhood treasures, my eyes drifted to a small book. It was gray in coloration, with a drawing of a man in a wide-brimmed hat and dark suit on the cover. His face was covered up by his black hat, and his hands were in his pockets. The art style was cartoonish, but strangely detailed and grotesque in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Looking back on it now, I’d almost be tempted to compare it to German Expressionism. The book had a title in angular block letters, but I couldn’t make the symbols transform into words in my young mind.
Clutching the book, I pawed at the sleeve of my mother. “Mommy? What does this say?”, I mumbled, showing her the slim volume. I was embarrassed by my inability to read, something that my parents and 12 year old brother seemed to be able to do so easily.
My mother looked up from a small pile of stuffed animals, glancing at the book before saying, “It says A Visit From Uncle Umbra dear.”
I stared at the book’s cover, looking at the man in his black suit who I assumed must be the titular Uncle Umbra. I kept focusing on his head, as if maybe I could will the hat to come off so I could see his face. The book made me feel uncomfortable, but there was something drawing me to it. It felt similar to the sensation one feels looking over the edge of a cliff, that unexplainable urge to jump.
“Mommy?”, I said, looking back up at my mother with pleading eyes, “Would you be able to read this to me?”
My mother sighed, looking around at the mess that had been made of the living room. “Your dad and I have a dinner date tonight, but I’m sure your brother would be more than happy to read it to you”. She stared pointedly at Oliver, who was currently looking through the various knick-knacks with poorly disguised boredom.
“Ugh, mom do I have to?”, he groaned, tossing aside an old box of crayons. Oliver had reached the stage in development where spending time with his younger sibling seemed more like a chore than anything else.
My mother ruffled his hair, before saying, “Yes you have to dear. C’mon, its a very short little book, shouldn’t take you more than a few minutes. Now, I’ll be right back, I’ve gotta get ready.” With that, she walked off to the bathroom, dusting her hands off on her dress as she went.
With all the enthusiasm of dying slug, Oliver slunk over to me, petulantly grabbing the book out of my hands. He flipped through the pages, and his brow furrowed with confusion, before a mischievous grin crossed his face. “Alright Chloe, you’re sure you want me to read you this book? This one specifically?”
I nodded enthusiastically, smiling as I said “This one pacifically!”
Oliver chuckled at my mispronunciation and sat down with me on the couch, opening up the book to the first page. On the left hand page there was a picture of the eponymous Uncle Umbra, hat covering his face and hands in his pockets, as he walked up a hill. The right hand paged contained writing which was inscrutable to my young eyes. My brother read out loud the text on the right hand page, “All dressed up in his suit of black and gray, Uncle Umbra is coming today!”
I giggled at the rhyme, but I felt slightly nervous in the back of my mind. Why did my brother make that weird smile, and how come I felt so drawn to this book? Deep down I could sense there was something wrong, but I didn’t understand how or why.
My brother flipped the page. The left hand side showed Uncle Umbra in the woods now, walking among towering pine trees. A full moon hung overhead, and his shadow stretched eerily out behind him. I heard Oliver read out, “He walks beneath moonlight, through slumbering groves, he reeks of old eggshells, lost children and cloves.”
As my brother flipped the page, I caught a glimpse of something pale underneath Uncle Umbra’s wide brimmed hat, as if he had started to turn his face to look at me. Before I could say anything, Oliver had started reading the next page, “You must stay quiet, stay hidden away, Uncle Umbra is coming today!”
The illustration on the left hand side showed a blond haired girl, hiding behind a couch. The shadow of a man with a wide brimmed hat leered menacingly on the wall, and she clutched a small teddy bear. I noticed that the teddy bear looked just like one which I had been given for my 4th birthday. Before I could process what this meant, my brother had already turned the page once more.
“A mischievous smirk with white teeth like sharp knives, of unruly children, sunlight he deprives”, said Oliver with a wicked look in his eye. The illustration showed Uncle Umbra holding a large black sack with gloved hands, the arm of a child sticking out of it. Below the brim of the hat, I could see a wide, evil grin. The teeth were pointed and arranged in shark-like rows, overlapping with one another in a chaotic jumble of razor sharp enamel. I felt myself starting to cry. My brother turned the page.
“You ought to go hide, you ought to go pray, Uncle Umbra is coming today!”, cackled my brother as I looked in horror at a close up picture of the little blonde girl’s terrified expression. I realized that she looked just like me. My heart was pounding in my chest, and tears poured from my eyes, but I couldn’t stop looking, and I couldn’t tell Oliver to stop reading. It was as if I was paralyzed.
Before I knew it, Oliver had turned the page once more, it showed the little girl staring wide-eyed in bed, hiding under her covers. In the background I could see the sinister figure of Uncle Umbra standing over the bed, sack in hand. His teeth glinted in the pallid moonlight. “You must never sleep while he visits your house, or he’ll take you away, while in bed your drowse”, recited Oliver, his voice dripping with malice.
The page turned, showing a close up of Uncle Umbra’s face, still partially covered by his wide-brimmed hat. I could still see his horrifying shark-toothed smile. “If you can see him, run far far away, Uncle Umbra is coming…”, Oliver whispered, turning the page before shouting, “TODAY!!”
I shrieked and fell off the couch absolutely horrified. It wasn’t because of Oliver’s decision to yell the final word of the book in my ear, although that didn’t help. It was what I saw after he turned to the last page.
I was greeted by an image which still haunts me to this very day, a vision straight out of a nightmare. Uncle Umbra was looking up to stare at the viewer directly, his white, pupiless eyes boring directly into my very soul. He had no ears, and just two holes for nostrils. Even though it was just a drawing, it radiated the most intense feeling of evil I’d ever experienced.
I heard Oliver laugh uproariously as he closed the book and tossed it on the ground. My mother walked in, scowling. “Oliver, what did you do this time?” she shouted, helping me up to my feet and pulling me close.
“Nothing mom, I just read that book she asked me to read, guess it was a little too grown-up for her”, my brother said, still chuckling to himself.
“Go to your room,” my mother demanded, pointing down the hallway.
“But mom-“ he started to whine, before swiftly being cut off.
“I don’t care about your excuses young man, you go to your room and we’ll talk about this more tomorrow.”
Oliver huffed and stormed off to his room, stomping his feet as he went. My mother turned to me, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry your brother scared you,” she said, gently petting my hair. “How about I get you a bowl of ice cream, then you can brush your teeth and head off to bed. We’ll only be gone for a couple hours, when we get back you can sleep with us tonight if you’re still scared.”
I nodded, wiping a tear from my eye. My mother scooped me a small serving of vanilla ice cream, kissed me on the forehead, and left with my father for their date night. The taste of ice cream swiftly helped me forget the horrible book, and soon I felt comfortable and happy. Being the dutiful child I was, I rinsed out the bowl when I was done, put it in the sink, and brushed my teeth. I climbed into bed and turned off the light.
As I got comfortable, I reached over for my teddy bear before stopping. The sight of it reminded me of the book, of the child hiding behind the couch from the shadow of Uncle Umbra. Instantly, my feelings of comfort and contentment fled, and I was left with a cold fear filling my mind like ice water.
I knew I wasn’t allowed to leave the lights on until my parents got home. I’d get in trouble for wasting electricity and staying up too late on a school night. As scared as I was of Uncle Umbra, I didn’t want to get lectured by my parents. Instead I grabbed a flashlight from my bedside table, and flicked it on. My father had bought it for me after I wet the bed due to being too scared of the dark to get up and use the restroom.
I moved my flashlight over the darkness of the room for what felt like hours, but there was nothing there. Each time I thought I spied some grotesque figure lurking in the shadows it would turn out to be something mundane, like a cabinet or pile of laundry. As the minutes ticked away, my eyelids grew heavier, and vigilance was steadily replaced with exhaustion.
I must have drifted off by the time I heard it. A raspy, evil voice like grass in the wind. “Chloe…”, it spoke in a sing-song voice, “I’m going to get you Chloe…”
I grabbed the flashlight and clicked the button rapidly, beginning to hyperventilate as I realized the battery must have died. The voice continued to mock me. “Chloe… I’m going to take you away…”
There was a noise from across the room, the creaking of a hinge. I stared in horror as my closet door opened up, dimly illuminated in the moonlight. I was shaking as I strained my eyes to see what was there, but in my heart I already knew what I’d see.
As I watched, a gloved hand pushed aside the door, and a pale face peaked out from my closet. It had pure white eyes, a wide brimmed hat, and an unnerving grin composed of rows of shark-like teeth. Uncle Umbra was stepping out of my closet.
I shrieked and fell out of bed, scrambling for the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I heard the voice again, closer now. It laughed raspily and said, “Don’t try to escape Chloe…”
I turned around and screamed louder. Uncle Umbra had stood up to his full height, and to my child mind he seemed taller than any skyscraper. The reek of cloves and slimy eggshells burned my nostrils as I watched him lift up an enormous black sack. Without warning, the door behind me opened, and I fell to the ground.
I ran screaming down the hallway, running into my parents’ room and locking the door, turning on all the lights. I hid in the wardrobe, clutching the useless flashlight like a crucifix. A couple times I heard banging on the door outside and a muffled voice, but I wouldn’t come out, I didn’t want to be taken away. About an hour later I heard the door open and the someone step into the room. I tightened my grip on the flashlight and held my breath. The wardrobe door opened and I screamed, running out and flailing with my flashlight as some kind of makeshift club… right into the knees of my father.
After a lot of reassuring words and hugs from my parents, I eventually calmed down. They told me that it was just my brother pulling a very mean prank on me, and that everything was okay. Oliver was grounded for a week for his cruel joke, and the book was donated to a thrift store.
Over two decades have passed since that night. I am now 26 years old, Oliver is 33. We were talking recently at a family reunion, discussing childhood. I mentioned how much of a brat he was back then, laughing as I related the story of his horrifying prank.
He was laughing too at first, but got quiet when I brought up seeing Uncle Umbra coming out of the closet. After I was finished telling my story, I asked “Oliver, seriously, how did you make such a convincing costume in only a couple hours? I know time can distort your memories but Jesus that thing still gives me the creeps.”
Oliver looked at me dead in the eyes, a look of confusion on his face.
“Chloe, I didn’t make a costume. All I did was talk in a scary voice and hold the door shut when you tried to run out.”