“Motion detected, backyard cam.”
The notification sound of my cellphone merrily jingled as the screen came to life for the tenth time since I had come outside to assemble the wooden playset that now somewhat resembles a functioning slide. I sighed, and once again closed the security camera app, only mildly annoyed by the hypervigilance it displayed every time I moved more than five feet. Ever since Our home had been broken into and ransacked, me and my wife have become something of security nuts.
I still remember that day with absolute clarity, coming home from what was supposed to be a fun family outing to the movies, only to find our sliding glass door shattered and every possible earthly treasure inside unceremoniously stolen. Joan, my wife, could not sleep for months, restlessly pacing to and from our son’s room at least five times a night. I did not like the idea of having our house broadcast into the void across wifi, but the security system allowed both of us to virtually keep an eye on the home, which relieved a lot of stress. Today, Joan and Michael were at choir practice until seven PM, so I decided to finally finish the swing set I had been procrastinating about for weeks.
It was sweaty, confusing work, like a LEGO kit made of blocks that left behind dozens of splinters. As I was lost in thought, sanding down a support beam, I felt a harsh tug on my palm and saw the bright crimson of blood dripping onto the grass.
“I swear this thing is going to kill me,” I exclaimed to nobody in particular, as I walked inside to wash my hand out.
As I sat in the bathroom, applying a bandage, I felt my phone vibrate once more. As it was already close to seven, I expected to see an update from my wife as she readied to come home, but was instead greeted by the familiar alert,
“Motion detected, backyard cam.”
Oddly enough, when I looked at the phone, the yard appeared completely still and devoid of any intruders. Everything looked exactly as I had last seen it. I shook away the unease that had begun to creep up the back of my neck.
Just a software glitch, nothing to worry about.
I was about to return to cleaning up my scratch when the damn phone buzzed again. It was a text this time, Joan would be late, apparently bumper to bumper traffic. I returned to my work, as the reddish hues of the setting sun cast elongated shadows over my backyard. There is something undeniably meditative about working with your hands, especially when you spend most of your day stuck behind a desk slaving away for some billionaire across the nation.
With all the orders coming in, will I even have a chance to watch Michael play on this set?
While I was lost in my reflection on the nature of modern economics and work life balance, I felt my phone buzz for what must have been the five hundredth time. Expecting a text from my wife, I glanced down and was met with a screenshot image of the small, green lawn I was standing in. I was about to return to my work when something caught my eye and made me nearly jump out of my skin. In the still image, barely visible on a cursory glance, I could see a hunched, pale figure, crouching at the far corner of my yard. With its back turned I could not make out any details, but the spine and ribs pressed up against its pale, naked skin looked grotesque. It was as if it was made of spiky thorns, which were pressing up against its flesh trying to escape. This thing, whatever the hell it was, was just a few feet behind me.
I didn’t dare to turn around, not just because I did not want to alert it to my knowledge of its presence, but because my whole body was frozen by fear. I was watching the live feed now, able to see myself trembling with abject horror, as this strange figure sat motionless behind me.
What if this is just some malnourished guy on a bad trip?
The explanation I conjured up sounds even worse in writing than it did in my head, but the rationalization was all I had to cling to avoid a complete mental breakdown. Slowly, as casually as I could, I began to walk to the open back door of the relative safety of my house. I barely took my eyes off the small, pixelated image, but the creature did not move. As the door slammed behind me, my adrenaline kicked in as I sprinted to the garage. In my safe, there was a hand me down 1911 pistol, I knew whatever or whoever this thing was, I would feel better armed.
As I fumbled with the combination, I nearly screamed as I saw the figure in the yard stand up slowly. It looked unnatural, bones snapping in and out of place as it slowly turned to face the camera. Its face was covered in a multitude of eyes, human eyes of varying colors. They all rolled around crazedly, looking in every direction at once, bulging out of the sockets that protruded from every surface of its hideous face.
My heart was pounding in my ears, as the monster slowly began to lift its right arm, savagely clawed fingers unclenching to reveal their absurd length.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead, when I saw what this thing was doing. With its disproportionate arm stretched high, it was waving to the camera, dozens of its eyes fixed on the lens. Panic began to set in when I realized it knew that I was watching.
For a few minutes, I sat there frozen, clenching the pistol and grinding my teeth, locked in a staring contest with the monstrous eyes that stared mockingly up at me from my phone. Then, a sudden sound above me made me jump out of my skin.
Oh shit Joan and Michael are back!
The garage door slowly raised and my wife, with a sudden concerned look, climbed out of her Subaru and started walking towards me cautiously.
“Ben, what’s going on why are you holding the gun?” She asked with apprehension raising her voice to a higher pitch.
Wordlessly, I gestured to the glowing image of our yard, to show her the inhuman monstrosity I was cowering from. She stared down, her concern turning to genuine confusion.
“Babe, what are you showing me?”
My eyes followed hers, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I looked down at the empty patch of grass where that thing had been standing.
“Get back in the car,” I muttered, the paternal instinct to protect my family overtaking the primal fear that had been controlling my mind, “We need to stay somewhere else tonight.”
The drive to the motel was in complete silence. I didn’t know how to explain what I had seen, but I knew we weren’t safe at our home. During that whole night I kept getting notifications that the camera detected movement outside the house, but no matter when I looked, there was just nothing there. I know it seems crazy, but I think whatever that thing is, it was toying with me.
We stayed in that dingy room for two nights, and I can tell it put a strain on our relationship. I gave Joan some half assed excuse about it being a burglar, I even filed a false report to our local PD. She’s trying to be understanding, encouraging me to get therapy and all that nonsense, but I can see in her eyes the same fear she had of me when she found me kneeling in the garage clutching a gun.
When we went back to our home, I hoped maybe some normalcy would return. As we walked in, the silence hung heavy in the air, everything seemed eerie despite the familiarity. Before we got settled back in, I insisted to my wife that I should check all the rooms. It was strange, feeling like an intruder in our own house, silently creeping from bedroom to bedroom looking for anything out of place. At last I came to Michael’s room, and what I saw in their made the color drain from my skin.
The window facing the backyard, was completely ajar, curtains blowing gently into the cold breeze. The bedsheets had been completely shredded into thin ribbons, which had been haphazardly strewn around the room. I had to stifle the scream that welled up in my throat, when I remembered the jagged claws that the figure had on its disfigured hands.
It’s been a few days since then, and at first my wife was completely understanding about having Michael sleep in our room. She chalked it up to some trauma I had from the first home invasion we suffered. But I still haven’t told her what happened, or what I saw in his room.
I don’t sleep anymore, memories of that terrible day still replay in my head, and I need to be more vigilant than ever. Because that thing is still out there, and every night I wait and watch as my phone screen silently illuminates with repeated notifications, each one filling me with dread:
“Motion detected, backyard cam.”