| Monster of Midway Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |
Sorry it’s been awhile, but honestly I was debating whether or not to continue the story. Reliving these events has been… well… it was overwhelming for a few days, and I almost deleted the posts entirely, but I feel like if I do that then I just continue being a slave to this for the rest of my life.
I can’t tell you how terrifying those first days were after seeing the creature in the woods outside my bedroom window. I was uncertain of everything around, questioning my very understanding of the workings of the world, and my perceived safety therein.
Worst of all I had no one to talk about my experience with. No one to give me context– some anchor to tether myself to my new reality.
I know it may sound far fetched. That what I’ve written so far is nothing but the imaginings of someone who is as bored with their life as they are disturbed within it.
I assure, for what it’s worth, that I wish as much as you do that what I’ve recounted so far was nothing but some waking nightmare which could be rationally removed from reality.
If what I had experienced before the events of that night had been isolation, and depression– what I experienced after was nothing short of despair, and hopelessness.
When I finally returned to school, I had all but forgotten about Danny Merrick, and Rebecca Redding’s insistence that he was innocent. I had something else to think about. Something consuming, and unrelenting.
The place in my mind that had once been occupied by Danny Merrick, was now filled with skittering men made of twigs who clicked and cracked as they moved side to side like crab’s on all fours. The little hole in my brain where my own personal boogeyman lived.
Those were lonely days. I didn’t trust my mouth not to recount the events, events that would surely sound like nonsense to anyone who listened, and so I kept my mouth shut, and my head down.
Aaron and I had already begun to grow apart. Our parents had kept us from one another the remainder of the summer, and we’d each stewed in our trauma alone.
Maybe that’s where we learned we no longer needed one another. Two boys becoming men, separately coming to the same conclusion that our friendship had run its course.
When I kept my eyes down, and my mouth shut passing him in the hall, Aaron took the opportunity to keep walking himself and that was that.
Our friendship, which had begun in pre-school, was over.
Rebecca Redding, however, wasn’t so easily shaken loose.
It was the third day back, when I noticed her staring. I could see it out of the corner of my eye. Her, just staring, waiting for me to look back at her. Waiting for our eyes to connect and her opportunity to harass me to present itself to her.
I nearly made it to the weekend before, while yawning and absent mindedly looking about, our eyes connected. She smiled, splitting her face in two, waved enthusiastically, and rushed over.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, matter of fact, and placing her hands on her hips as if to scold me.
I remember looking at her for a moment before responding. Her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders, carelessly twisting in long attractive loose curls. I couldn’t decide if I was mad that she’d interrupted my self pity and dark introspection, or if I was happy to have someone break the cyclical thoughts in my head.
“No I haven’t,” I blurted out, less than convincingly.
“You have,” she replied, taking none of my nonsense.
I turned my eyes down for a moment as I tried to find that well deep within me, where I’d buried any will to socialize, or be seen. That’s when Rebecca reached out, placing a hand on my arm.
I winced, as if she meant to do me harm, and instantly felt ridiculous, but before I could explain away my cowardice, Rebecca bent down slightly, pulling my gaze from the floor.
“You okay?” She whispered so only I could hear.
I tried wiping the tears from my eyes, but no matter how fast I cleared them, they still managed to fall down my cheeks.
“Yeah I’m-” I tried to say fine, but the word wouldn’t move past my lips.
“Tell me,” she said, so earnestly I knew she meant it completely.
Could I tell her? I thought to myself.
But of course I couldn’t, she wouldn’t understand, how could she possibly believe what I had to tell her, what I desperately wanted to say was impossible.
I stayed silent, chewing my lips, as that dark truth sat like a painful lump in my throat.
“You wouldn’t believe me,” I whispered, instantly regretting the words.
I knew she’d think this had to do with Danny Merrick, and my time at Fort Worden, and what happened the night Mark was murdered, but it had nothing to do with it.
Surely, I thought, if I tell her she’ll think I’m insane.
“I’ll trade you,” she said standing up straight.
“Huh?” I sniffled, trying as best I could to compose myself.
“I’ll tell you something you’ll never believe, and then you can tell me something I wouldn’t believe.”She sounded childish, almost flirtatious, but I knew it wasn’t that. I almost smiled, and if I hadn’t been so comfortable in my own misery at that point I would have. The absurdity of this dark, twisted version of ‘I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours” was comical in its ridiculousness.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” I said, feeling that itch that had been there since the night I saw the creature, the itch to tell someone getting stronger.
“No, you’ll think I’m crazy,” she replied, laughing as she said it.
She was always so earnest. Every word she said, she meant. There was comfort in that.
Before I couldn’t accept or decline her odd offer, she clapped her hands together as if to sign the deal handshaking herself.
“Ruby said you live over near Dirk Marsh, right?” I nodded. It was startling how well informed she was.
“Right, meet you at 9pm under the third lamppost past Elmore Street. You know Elmore Street, right?”
“The third lamppost? So random,” I chuckled to myself, briefly breaking my solemn mask, unable to stop myself.
“It’s right outside my house,” she replied.
I blushed. I knew she wasn’t flirting, but it was the first time a girl had ever invited me over to her house, even if her invite only extended to the sidewalk outside her front door.
Thankfully the class bell rang interrupting us, and she turned away to pack her bags, as the flushness in my cheeks faded away. Turning back she smiled, and slung her backpack over her shoulder, before joining the throng of students shuffling their way to their next period.
The rest of that day was a blur, as I practiced what it was I planned to tell her. I tried every single combination of words I could think of. In some iterations of the story, I played it off as if it were just a man in my backyard who tripped and fell before running away into the bushes, a failed home invasion.
Other times, I tried inserting a lie here and there to make it more believable, but no matter what combination of invented medications or waking nightmares it only sounded more absurd.
No matter how I conjured the story, and no matter the ingredients I used to get to the conclusion, it only sounded more ridiculous to me than the original impossibility of what I’d seen.
Before I knew it I was sitting at the dinner table, across from my mom, who twirled spaghetti noodles around her fork as she stared at me.
“What are you thinking about?” She asked, bringing me back to reality.
“Nothing mom,” I replied, flashing her a brief smile.
“No, it’s something,” She placed her fork down and leaned forward onto her elbows examining me.
“Stop.” I said, feeling her gaze inspecting me.
“What’s her name?” She asked, point blank.
“Mom…”She leaned back, letting it go, and threw a knowing glance at my father who was being less than attentive to our interactions at the table.
I wish I appreciated those little moments with my mom more. Those little moments when she’d try and tease me out of my shell, poking and prodding until I reacted to her in some way. At the time I still felt hurt, knowing that she, along with my dad, had doubted my innocence in the Fort Worden tragedy.
Looking at her that year, she felt so far away, like a moat sat between us. Me, up in my castle, guards at the ready, defensive and on guard. Her just standing there, looking up, only a few feet shy of falling into the water below. Waiting for the drawbridge to come down and let her back in.
I asked to be excused, and without waiting for an answer I packed up my knife and fork onto my plate, put it in the sink and shuffled off to my room.
We ate early in my house, at that point in the night, the sun had just barely set. My room was filled with amber tones, and reds exaggerated by the spattered cover of heavy clouds thick and fat with rain.
I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling listening to the television blaring down stairs. I had spent so much time at home by then that I knew my parents nightly routine better than they knew it themselves.
And a good thing I did, because there was no way they’d let me out past dark, not after the near death experience I’d had that summer.
So I waited till I heard the television turn off, and the sound of my dad’s footsteps stomping up the stairs. I strained my ears to hear my mom rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher, before she sat for 10 minutes glancing at her latest romance novel as she enjoyed the quiet of the house.
Then the gentle knock came at my door, and the doorknob turned.
My mom poked her head in, and smiled at me.
“Goodnight my baby boy,” she said.
“Goodnight mom,” I replied, practiced and without conviction.
Normally she’d close the door, and go to bed, reading a little bit more before turning off her bedside lamp. The click of the switch the period at the end of the sentence, signifying her day was over.
That night she looked at me a little while longer. There was sadness in her eyes.
“You’ll be alright,” she said softly.
I heard that same earnestness in her words, that Rebecca had spoken with.
She truly meant it, and I nearly believed her.
“Night mom,” I said once more.
I wish I said more, it was much less than she deserved.
I lay in bed, regretting the distance between my mom and I. We’d always been close, and I couldn’t tell if it was my fault or hers, but like teenagers do, I blamed her as I pushed it to the back of my mind, and waited for the click of her bedside lamp switch.
Click8:30pm, just in time.
I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that both my parents were morning people who relished in waking up at the crack of dawn.
I moved slowly about my room, grabbing a sweater and jacket. I threw my shoes out the window, knowing I could move past my window sill with more ease, and with less noise in socks than in shoes.
I moved through my mental checklist, making sure I was over prepared for my kilometer long jaunt to Rebecca’s lamppost, and finally moved to throw myself out my first story window.
That’s when I froze.
I was standing exactly where I’d seen it, the creature in the woods.
I felt cold sweat burst out from every pore, as I anticipated its reemergence.
But it never came.
For a few minutes I saw a phantom moving in the shadows. A darkness, darker than the night outside, but it was only my eyes playing tricks.
Still, I was terrified.
Breathing deeply, I counted to 10, closed my eyes and threw myself out of the window, holding my breath until I landed.
If I landed, and nothing moved in the bushes, I was safe. There was no monster, nothing to attack me, nothing to eat me or kill me and crush my bones silently in the night while my parents slept.
That’s the resolution I had made with myself.
I landed, nothing moved, and I exhaled.
Resolution or not I moved to lace up my shoes quickly with one eye glued to the tree line.
I remember the regret of sneaking out that night. It was unlike the times I’d slipped through my window to meet Aaron for little to no reason other than to break the rules.
That time was different. I was off to see a girl, and while I wasn’t going over to her house, like I said she had invited me over the lamppost just outside, which still felt monumental to me then.
I jogged my way down the street, anticipating my house lights to turn on, and my dad’s car to pull out of the driveway and chase me down like an escaped convict, but they never did.
I giggled to myself, feeling the adrenaline of rebellion wash away my fears and anxieties for 5 minutes or so as I trotted along, before I rounded the bend, and saw the green Elmore Street sign.
I could see Rebecca Redding already outside, with her back to me. Her auburn hair was shimmering like a waterfall of copper flames under the streetlamp. She wore a black hoodie, matching black joggers, and a pair of converse. I laughed a little. Rebecca always dressed so much more feminine to school.
“Rebecca,” I huffed as I came to a stop.
Rebecca turned to me, and smiled.“
Ready?” She asked, as the smile fell from her face.
“Right here?” I felt dumb asking, but it felt odd to share secrets underneath the lamppost outside her house. But then again, what did I expect, a moonlight walk recounting past trauma?
She sat on the curb, and I followed.
I stared at her uncomfortably, trying to make sense of her sudden personality change. I knew Rebecca Redding as the bubbly girl next door. The earnest, and straight forward girl who wouldn’t leave me alone, but on that curb we sat shoulder to shoulder in silence.
“So…” I said, breaking the silence. It was the best I could do.
“Me first, right…” She hugged her knees.
I mirrored her, hugging my own knees tighter to myself. It was cold, and I could feel the rain begin to spit on us.
“A secret for a secret,” she muttered to herself.
Somewhere far away a train whistle blew and drifted over hills and houses.
“I think I know who killed Mark,” she said, abruptly as if knowing it would be painful for me to hear.
I had nothing to say.
I felt my cheeks go red for the second time that day, but that time from anger. What the hell was the point of this? Was she obsessed? Was she only talking to me because she had some true crime kink she was trying to work through?
I wanted to shout at her, but the lump in my throat returned and tied my vocal chords in knots.
“It wasn’t Danny Merrick, because Danny was at his mom’s house that night,” she said pointing across the street at a pale blue house.
It was a modest house, two stories, painted different shades of blue, that were so alike that they clashed with each other like trailer park garden pinwheels of assorted colors and shapes do.
“I watched him break into his house, and steal food. Then I watched him walk across the road, and sit right here, and cry till the sun came up.”
That sounded more unbelievable than what I had to share with her. Danny Merrick crying? I’d never heard of him speaking, much less expressing emotion or sadness like a normal human.
But, what did I know about Danny Merrick? Not much.
“Why?” I asked as the anger subsided, and gave way to curiosity.
“I don’t know, but I want to find out.”
We sat there in silence for a while longer, and I tried to imagine the boogeyman of my childhood sitting on the curb like a little boy, and crying.
“Didn’t he run away?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Mrs. Merrick kicked him out, I think.”
“What for?”
“She’s not a good person,” Rebecca said, turning to me.
I looked into her green eyes, and felt ready to believe anything she told me next despite how far it felt removed from what I knew about Danny Merrick, and Mrs. Merrick– the darling elementary school teacher beloved by all.
“He couldn’t have killed Mark, because he was here, kilometers away, sitting on the curb, crying by himself. I think he wanted to come home but Mrs. Merrick wouldn’t let him. She’s mean you know, I can hear her scream and shout all the way across the street with my window shut, and it used to be every day. Everyday, until Danny Merrick ran away, or was kicked out or whatever.”
She took a moment to catch her breath, and calm down. I could tell the image of the boy devil all alone had left its mark on her.
Me, and Danny Merrick– Rebecca seemed gravitationally pulled towards lost boys.
“If Danny didn’t, then who?”
She looked away from me, resting her chin on her knees pulled all the way up and close to her chest.
“Don’t laugh,” she said, with a slight pout.
“I promise.”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she insisted, looking back towards me through the corner of her eye.
“I won’t. I promise.”
“I think it was Mr. Merrick.”
I couldn’t tell if I had heard her right, the words barely sounded like English to me, and I’m not sure if my brain just couldn’t comprehend the idea, or the words in that order, or if it’s because she mumbled them.
“Danny Merrick Senior… I think it was his dad.
”I tried to hold it in, but I laughed.
Part of me still thought it was a sick prank, and I chose to laugh with the joke, then to be the butt end of it.
“I’ve seen him!” She hissed at me, “Just standing and watching.”
I deflated, all the laughter gone, and my face dropped. I felt that same hair raising feeling of being watched fall on me again.
“What?” Rebecca said, leaning away from me.
I was shaking.
“You’re scaring me.” She said, tensing her shoulders.
“You’ve seen him?”
“I think so,” she said, nodding her head.
I’ll try to update sooner this time.