We have always kept to the routine.
Dinner was cleared, and as I washed the dishes and wiped the countertops, Cleo completed her nighttime chores before retiring to her room. When the alarm went off at 9 PM, I dried my hands on the towel hanging over the oven handle and followed her to the bed. Sure enough, she was sitting at the foot of the cot and smiled as I entered the space.
“Ready for bed?”
She nodded before moving towards the covers, tucking herself under them. At the same time, I reached for the book sitting on her bedside table and set it on my lap. It was of average size and binding, coloured in an unremarkable shade of brown, and held pages which were beginning to show their age. For the 9 years Cleo had slept next to it, I’d read it from cover to cover as she dozed off. Just as instructed.
And that night should have been no different.
Cleo shifted until she settled into a comfortable position, after which I began to read.
The story told by those pages is as simple and quaint a children’s tale as they come. It tells of a squirrel who, upon realising its store of acorns is running all too low, wanders through a chilly forest in the early days of winter, meeting all sorts of curious creatures as it seeks a source of satiety.
I would elaborate, but I fear your fate if I share too much.
Needless to say, I did my part and worked through the narrative. Nearing the end, as I turned to one of the final pages, I glanced over at Cleo, who seemed moments away from slipping into a world of dreams. In the early days, she’d stay worriedly awake, wide-eyed as I recounted the tale. Over the years, however, she’d grown more comfortable with the book and didn’t mind falling asleep before the story ended. Stifling a yawn, I eyed the next line and was on the verge of speaking it when a crash echoed in the kitchen.
My head shot up and I glanced towards the doorway. Looking back, I confirmed that Cleo remained on the cusp of sleep, seemingly unaware of the sudden sound. My attention turned once more to the door, which sat ajar, revealing only the soft yellow light of the next room.
And then it happened again. This time, seemingly louder. Rising from the bed, I shut the book and tiptoed over to the room’s entrance. One odd noise could be set aside; written off as a hallucination of the ears. But twice? Coincidences like those rarely happened twice.
It must be here.
Cursing under my breath, I placed my fingers on the edge of the door. We had stuck to the routine. No faltering, no deviations. Then why was the Creature here?
Was it even here?
A dizziness was swiftly overcoming me, with every thought piling more pressure upon my head. I held my breath then, listening in the stillness for any hint as to the source. With my heart in my ears, I slowly realised that there was movement coming from the other side of the door. A skittering of sorts.
If it was really here, then hiding was futile. Taking a few moments, I composed myself as best I could, pushing the deluge of thoughts to the side, before barging out of the bedroom and into the unknown.
There, with heaving breaths, I scanned the small space that acted as a kitchen and dining room, my eyes darting between the shadows yet failing to sight the source of the commotion. Following a few moments of quiet, the skittering broke the air once more, and I steeled myself for the interloper’s appearance. The agonising anticipation soon gave way to the sight of a figure, one of small stature that leapt from behind the waste bin into the light.
A squirrel. Bushy-tailed with a plain grey coat, cocked its head and looked up at my startled form.
In the seconds that followed, I watched it carry a discarded acorn from the bin, run across a counter, and leap out of the kitchen window I’d left open to admit the night’s cool breeze. On the floor adjacent to the sink, the two glasses I’d washed shortly prior had made their acquaintance with the floor and sat as piles of broken glass.
Shutting my eyes and hanging my head, I sighed deeply before returning to full focus. With lucidity, I studied the space once more, making a note of the small dirt prints I’d have to wipe away after I finished reading the story.
And then the sharpest of chills shot up my spine, and I peered down at the book, which was firmly shut in my hands. Closed. Covers clamped. Yet the story was unfinished.
The tale must be told, from the top to the bottom of the covers you hold.
The gravity of my error dawned upon me then.
I spun wildly on my heels and threw myself towards Cleo’s room, where the door was now wide open. At the entryway, I froze at the sight before me.
Cleo remained in her dozing state, but hunched over her like an ill-placed shadow was the Creature. Its inky black skin rippled and coursed like liquid, and it watched her through milky white hollows like a concerned grandparent looking over a restless child, arms crossed behind its back where far-too-long and pencil-thin fingers were interlocked. At moments the swirling skin parted where its mouth should be, revealing a row of teeth that appeared as jagged peaks in a dark abyss.
“Please,” I whispered.
The Creature’s head jerked towards me then, a motion that no normal entity could ever achieve. Its eyes were the only part of it that didn’t fuse with the darkness of its surroundings, and they gave the impression of deep satisfaction at my flagrant failure to follow the rules.
“Please; this is all a misunderstanding. I’ve never failed to abide by the instructions. I’ve read the tale every night without fail and I will continue to do so for as long as I have to.” I felt tears beginning to well in my eyes, but deeper than that, a fury at the injustice of it all. It had been nearly a decade since I’d bought the book from the garage sale at that house, the one which had burned down the very next day. Almost 10 years since I’d first read the story, set it aside unfinished, and come face to face with the Creature, who’d stood over Cleo as she clutched at her covers and screamed till her lungs gave out. On that night, I stood rooted by the entrance as the Creature, eventually rising and moving away from Cleo, meandered over to the book, knocked it to the floor, and stared at me before melting into the shadows. When my senses had returned, I’d dashed to Cleo and held her close, and we’d stayed that way till the sun rose, at which point I finally found the courage to retrieve the book from the floor.
When I did so, I’d realised it was sitting open to pages that weren’t there prior. A list of rules to follow, under which stood that line of painful simplicity. The one I had practised religiously for fear of another encounter.
The tale must be told, from the top to the bottom of the covers you hold.
Yet despite it all, here I was again, statue-still and under the gaze of the being beyond comprehension.
In fluid motions, the Creature straightened itself to a full height, its head inches from the ceiling, before slinking its way over to a few paces from where I stood. It had never come this close before, and in its nearness, I noticed a charred smell that emanated from its frame. All I could do was meet its eyes, my form trembling under the Creature’s. Slowly, it craned its head closer to mine, until its neck was perpendicular to its body, hanging over my figure like a streetlight. The fluid skin parted at the mouth, revealing its jagged teeth in their full form. I winced and covered my head with my arms, praying for the nightmare to cease.
It was then that the Creature spoke.
“I ssseee your trouble. Exceptionsss can be made.” It spoke in hisses and coarse shudders, a sound as painful as nails on a chalkboard, and needed to take breaks as it formed more words. “I shall arrange the sssacrifice.” Despite the ringing in my ears, I processed those words. Picked them apart one by one, realising their weight. A sacrifice to be made? Of what sort?
I lowered my arms to meet its gaze once more and could see that the teeth had sunk back beneath its inky surface. All that remained were the hollows, which remained fixed upon me. We stood that way for what felt like aeons before it shifted upright once more. Then, in the same liquid movements, the Creature crept over to the darkest corner of the room, stood over the shadows, and melted into them. For a moment, the hollows remained as the only hint of its presence in the room moments prior, hovering atop the shadows before they too faded into the dark.
I recall staying fixed in that very same spot for another eternity. I can only imagine you’re berating me for my lack of action. But, just as fear compels us to act in the face of danger, when those threats are realised and our failure guaranteed, it can rob us of our senses and hold us in place with a grip stronger than a vice’s. And so I remained there until the adrenalin dissipated and my ears ceased their trilling.
Senses and heartbeat settled, I mindlessly drifted towards the bed, where Cleo persisted in her sleep. I sunk into it alongside her, and let the newfound weight in my eyelids drag me into a slumber, holding me there until the morning came.
When I awoke, Cleo was watching me anxiously, her arms crossed behind her back, standing just as the Creature had the previous night. She smiled slightly when she saw my eyes open, and asked why I’d fallen asleep alongside her.
“The day caught up to me, that’s all,” I said, at which her smile grew a little fuller. Concern remained streaked across her eyes though, and I couldn’t help but feel something was awry.
“Is everything alright?” At the question, Cleo looked up towards the door, before grabbing my hand and asking me to follow her. Confused, I obliged, and she led me into the kitchen, to where the previous night’s events had all begun to unfold.
It remained as I had left it yesterday. The glasses were still shattered, and dirt prints scattered across the counters. But there, underneath the window, a new peculiarity had emerged. Letting go of Cleo’s hand, I moved towards it and cupped my mouth at the realisation of what it was.
The squirrel from the previous night had returned, bushy-tailed and grey-coated, acorn in hand. But instead of standing there parading its prize, it was lying in a puddle of a deep red, with a slit across its midsection. The acorn remained in its outstretched paws, but the animal was still; unmistakably dead. My shock at the scene was intense, but dissipated rapidly as the Creature’s words from the previous evening resurfaced in my mind.
The sacrifice had been made.