“ Why don’t we start from the beginning, Mr. Solomon”
I heard someone say to me as my blurred vision slowly came into focus and the unmistakable scent of cigar smoke wafted into my nostrils. The smooth cadence of bittersweet jazz music from a nearby record player filled my ears and the feeling of the soft leather recliner underneath my tired and sore limbs greeted me as I found my way back to consciousness.
I did not recognize the old man in the posh blue suit that sat at the polished mahogany desk in front of me smoking that high quality cigar while he stared at me expectantly with those deep crimson red eyes of his. Nor did I remember walking into this well furnished office that was laden with grim looking bronze statues and melancholy scenic paintings every which way I looked. Somewhere outside of my field of vision, I could hear the soft patter of summer rain against a window pane and the low rumble of traffic somewhere far below. I regarded the old man in front of me with an expression of confusion before I asked the first question that came to my mind.
“You got a smoke?” I asked in a hoarse and raspy voice.
The old man nodded as he reached into one of the desk drawers on his left side and produced a cigar of the same exquisite brand he was currently enjoying and reached across the desk to hand it to me. I received it with a grateful nod before I reached into my coat pocket and fished out a match to light it with. I took a deep drag from the cigar once it was lit, and let the familiar taste of tobacco fill my lungs before I exhaled slowly, feeling perhaps a bit more relaxed than I should have before I questioned the stranger in front of me.
“ If you don’t mind me asking, who are you again?”
The old man let out an unsurprised sigh before he responded.
“ I’m your psychiatrist , Dr. Sweet. We’ve worked together for some time now.”
“ That so? Well, sorry Doc. My memory is a bit fuzzy lately.”
“ No harm done. This is far from your first episode.”
He said in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring. I sat up in the recliner a bit before I pressed the doctor for more information.
“ If you don’t mind doc, could you tell me what I’m doing here right now? Everything is a bit hazy to me at the moment.”
“ You called me under a great deal of stress, asking to see me here in my office some time ago, and when you arrived you then confessed to several rather gruesome murders, some of which occurred over 20 years ago by your account, while others seem to have happened rather recently. You then began talking at great lengths about someone named Shiloh, and about a paint bucket from your father’s garage, that in my professional opinion is the metaphorical center of your psychosis.”
The casual, matter of fact, and off-handed manner in which the doctor relayed this information made the implications of his words take several moments to dawn on me. When they did, my blood turned to ice.
“ I told you about Shiloh? ”
I asked him quietly.
I could have sworn that I saw a slight glimpse of irritation flash across the old man’s face as he replied.
“ You haven’t told me enough Mr. Solomon and I don’t think you fully appreciate how precarious of a situation you are in right now. If you don’t tell me everything, I can’t promise the treatments will be effective, and you could very well end up killing someone else.”
He then pointed downward which caused me to look down and I immediately noticed the thick layer of mud that caked my shoes and the drying blood that flaked beneath my fingertips and covered my palms.
A thousand questions surged through my panicked mind like jolts of electricity. Why could I not remember how I had gotten into this office or where I had been before, and why would I tell this man, whom I didn’t know from Adam, about Shiloh when I’ve never been able to trust anyone living with that? I racked my brain for the last thing I could remember and came up with nothing.
Dr. Sweet seemed to pick up on my quickly growing hysteria, so he gently warned me that it was best to keep my thoughts on track
“ It’s best that you remain calm Mr. Solomon. Just start from the beginning, and spare no details so that I can help you. You want to get better don’t you? So hold nothing back. Tell me about Shiloh.”
There was an almost imperceptible threat beneath his words that seemed to echo off of the walls, a promise of dire consequences should I not concede to his demands. I had heard that same manner of speech from dozens of people in the past mostly from dirty cops and wannabe tough guys who harbored grand delusions of being intimidating criminals.. This man though, this “Doctor Sweet” was not like that at all. He did not need to put on airs and try to be intimidating, he simply was in a way that was difficult to put into words.
Sitting across from him, I could not help but recall that old Bible story I’d heard many times as a child from my father, about the man who had been thrown into the Lion’s den. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, wasn’t sure of much of anything to be honest. But not doing so, at least for the moment, seemed deeply unwise. So I simply laid back in the recliner and took another long drag from that exquisite cigar while I racked my brain for the last thing I remembered, when a singular image pierced through my hazy memory like light through the fog, and I began my story.
Colter, Indiana was a town of kind faces and cold hearts. A place that on its surface was indistinguishable from any other reasonably well off town in the American Midwest, but for those who dared to look deeper, underneath the carefully crafted facade of dreary rural normalcy there was a darkness waiting to be seen hidden in plain sight. A darkness that did not speak, but that was always listening, and always watching.
Colter was far too large to be considered a small town, and yet at the same time too small to be a city. Surrounded on all sides by tall corn fields and irregular patches of dense forest that seemed almost comically out of place amidst the decaying, abandoned farmhouses and tall grain silos that dotted the landscape around them all overseen by a sky that seemed perpetually cloudy and overcast.
It was on one such cloudy, overcast day in October that the carefully constructed blanket of denial and willful ignorance I had wrapped myself in could protect me no longer and I decided that I had to ask my father about something I had seen in our garage a month earlier. Something that still keeps me up at night, even to this day. I didn’t know what I was going to say to my father that morning, only that I had to say something. I couldn’t pretend anymore, couldn’t act like everything was alright and that I hadn’t seen what I knew I saw. That I needed some confirmation that I wasn’t insane.
In all of the imaginary scenarios I played in my mind where I confronted my father with what I saw he always had an entirely reasonable explanation for it, some perfectly benign answer to the question that haunted me whenever I laid down to sleep. An answer that would make me feel stupid and perhaps even guilty for ever questioning that my Dad was anything other than the hard-working, kind, and compassionate person that I knew he was. That everyone who knew him knew that he was.
Afterall, my father William Solomon was the kind of man that everyone wanted to have as a neighbor. The kind of neighbor you could borrow power from if you couldn’t afford to keep yours on for awhile, or that you could call to pick you up when you’d had too much to drink and had no way to get home late at night. A contractor by trade, he was always ready to greet you with a warm smile and a strong handshake whenever you walked through his door, no matter who you were.
Neighborhood kids affectionately called him “Pops” and would listen to him tell wild stories out by the firepit in our back yard for hours on end with all the theatrical vigor of a master storyteller. I remember when he used to pick me up from school when I was a kid in that clean, polished work truck of his that was his pride and joy, and how my chest would always swell with pride when the other kids would look at him in awe and ask who that imposing giant of a man was and would answer
“ That’s my Dad.”
He was the kind of father a son could be proud of, and I was proud of him. Which is why when I finally asked him the question that had been eating at me, I fully expected him to lay all my doubts to rest. Doubt is a funny thing though, it has a way of enduring even when it has no reason to, like a quiet voice in the back of your mind that never goes away despite all your attempts to drown it out and sometimes, you find that the voice is entirely correct, no matter how much you want it to be wrong.
I remember hearing the soft patter of rain outside my window that morning, and rolling over in my bed to see the glaring red display on my clock on the nightstand as it read 6:30am. Somewhere down stairs I could hear movement in the kitchen, a steady thumping sound that I knew to be the rhythm of my Dad’s heavy work boots against the tiles which was entirely ordinary for that time of day. Dad was always up at 6:00, eating breakfast by 6:30, and out the door by 7:00 like clockwork. It was his daily ritual, and Dad always carried out his daily rituals meticulously.
I was always up relatively early in the mornings , so I sometimes ate with him down in the kitchen when I was awake enough and had the time to spare before I headed to school, and as I shook off the half-delirium of sleep and dressed myself in near total darkness, I decided that today would be the day that I asked him about the paint bucket. Apprehension and nervousness crept into my thoughts as I descended the stairs and went down into the kitchen where Dad was waiting for me with his back turned as he hunched over the coffee pot on the counter. The kitchen light was not on, so the only illumination in the room was the small light that hung above the stove and in the deep shadows of early morning, Dad looked more imposing than I ever remembered him looking like before. He stood over 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders and defined muscles given to him by a lifetime of hard manual labor. In that dark kitchen, he reminded me of a troll from some old fairy tale, huge and formidable.
He must have heard me after a moment or so, because he flipped on the kitchen light and turned to look at me with a curious expression on his gruff, bearded face before he just said
“Morning kiddo, how are you doing?”
With a wide, warm smile.
“ I’m alright, how are you?”
“ Oh just grabbing a cup of coffee before I head out, you want some?”
“ Sure”
I then took a seat at the table while Dad reached into a nearby cabinet and produced a plain white coffee mug and filled it to the brim before handing it to me. When he did I finally let loose the question.
“ Dad, can I ask you about something?”
“ Sure, What’s on your mind?”
My tongue suddenly felt several tons heavier in my throat and I answered somewhat slowly.
“ What’s in the paint bucket?”
There was no detectable change in his placid expression as he answered.
“ Well you usually keep paint in paint buckets kiddo, it’s right there in the name.”
“ I mean the one in the garage, the big one.”
Again his expression told me nothing about his inner thoughts as he replied.
“ I don’t keep paint buckets in the garage, you sure you’re not thinking of something else?”
“ It was a big 5-gallon bucket under your work table by the door.”
He scratched his head as if to show that he was trying hard to remember.
“ Nope. doesn’t sound familiar.”
“ It was…moving, like something inside was trying to get out. I could hear it crying”
That made him chuckle
“Sounds like you had a nightmare kiddo, too much sugar before bed and what not. There’s no paint bucket in the garage.”
He said with a reassuring smile. The smoothness of the conversation made my earlier apprehension about having it seem somewhat silly and childish. Dad’s confident demeanor made me wonder if maybe I had dreamed that night in the garage, that explanation seemed plausible to me at the time, or at least, I desperately wanted it to be. The alternative seemed too terrible to consider.
“Can I ask you something son?”
Dad asked, suddenly shifting to a tone of voice that told me he was deep in thought about something, effectively changing the subject.
I was somewhat timid in my reply, because Dad only called me “son” when he wanted to talk about something serious.
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
“Do you still believe in angels?”
He asked hopefully.
I couldn’t really fathom where this question could have come from or how it fit into that conversation, and the vague hint of desperation in Dad’s tone while he asked it was more than a bit off putting, but I answered anyway.
” Yeah, I guess.”
A look of relief washed over Dad’s face as he listened to my reply.
“That’s really good to hear. This world punishes believers, so many stop believing as they get older. I’m so glad that hasn’t happened to you… You know I used to think I was your guardian angel when you were a baby, that I had to be your sword and shield, to protect you from all the putrid wickedness of the world. Now that I’m older though I see that I had it all mixed up, and that the truth is that you are my guardian angel son. You and Shiloh are my lights amidst all this darkness. You keep me sane. I love you and would do anything for you two. I hope you know that.”
My heart twisted in my chest at his mention of my younger brother. Shiloh was a stillbirth that destroyed my parents. They were never the same afterwards. Both became wilted shadows of the people they used to be. My mother would stay in bed for days without moving, and even when she did get up she rarely spoke and ate very little. I recall waking up late one night while dad was still out working to the sound of her sobbing uncontrollably, and when I got up to comfort her, I found her not in her and Dad’s bedroom, but instead in the room that was meant to be Shiloh’s. I found her propped up against his empty crib, surrounded by little toys and clothes that had been gifts from our relatives. Once symbols of joy, now macabre reminders of what could have been. I tried to help her up and take her back to bed, but she didn’t move, didn’t seem to notice me at all. She was a woman totally defeated by the callous indifference of the world, and none of my attempts to comfort her made a difference. Or if it did, I have no way of knowing about it, because one morning I woke up to find her gone. It was just me and Dad after that and while I was devastated, my father’s reaction seemed to be to retreat into himself and live in a state of denial. He refused to acknowledge Shiloh’s death and he never talked about mom skipping town . Whenever he spoke about Shiloh however, he spoke as if he were alive, and it saddened me greatly every time I heard it. I never contradicted him when he got like that. I didn’t have the heart to. So I just nodded and played along as I believed any dutiful and caring son should have and said…..
“Stillborn?”
Interjected Dr. Sweet, cutting off my recitation. I had been so lost in memories of the past that I had almost forgotten he was sitting across from me. Never speaking, but always listening, and always watching. Until now. His interruption caused me to lose my train of thought and I stammered with my immediate response to his question.
“What?” I asked him confused.
His aged face was a placid mask, but I could see frustration and anger in his red eyes that burned like hot coals as he clarified his question calmly.
“You say your younger brother was a stillborn? You’re being inconsistent again Mr. Solomon. The last time you told me this story you said that your younger brother Shiloh died at the age of 15. A few nights after the two of you confronted your father in the kitchen together about what the two of you had seen in the garage.”
I blinked a few times in response before I voiced my confusion.
“ I did?”
“Yes, and the time before that you said that Shiloh was just a friend of yours from next door that your father ran over with his work truck while pursuing you. Which is it, Mr. Sharp? I’ve endeavored to be patient with you given how peculiar and extreme your situation is, but even I have my limits. Who. Is. Shiloh?”
Dr. Sweet asked in a tone heavy with thinly concealed malice. I felt doubt sink Its cold fingers into my mind as he spoke. Was he lying to me? Or was I lying to him? Why does he want to know about my brother Shiloh so badly? Shiloh was my brother, of that much I was certain of. I could still see his face in my mind when I closed my eyes. I could picture his unkempt blond hair, and even after all these years I could still vaguely recall the sound of his voice. But then I realized that didn’t make sense. Shiloh died at birth, So how could I have memories of him being much older?
“Nevermind.”
Said Dr. Sweet with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“What did you say to your father next?”
After that I said to him….
” Of course Dad, I love you too.”
He nodded and took another sip from his coffee mug before he went over to the coat rack by the door, donned his work jacket, and walked out into the shadows of early morning without saying another word to me. As I stood alone in that kitchen, watching him start up his truck from the window and vanish down the street, I was certain of only one thing and that one thing was that my Dad had lied to me. The veneer of unshakable confidence that he wore like a mask had slipped off just long enough for me to see that the question had shaken him. I didn’t know what he was hiding, but I knew that I wasn’t crazy, and at the time, that was enough for me.
I’ve often pondered how different my life could have been had I chosen to run away at that very moment. If I had, maybe things would have turned out differently. Or maybe if I hadn’t boxed him in like that with my pointed questions, Dad wouldn’t have felt threatened enough to do what he did and I wouldn’t have all this death on my conscience. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking though. Maybe it was already too late to stop him by then, I don’t suppose I’ll ever know, because I didn’t run away. Instead I decided to go about my normal daily routine as if nothing had changed, with the intent to search the garage after everyone had gone to sleep for that paint bucket, and whatever was within it that Dad was hiding from us. That night however, someone that was not altogether human began to keep watch over me as I lay in my bed.
The first time I saw him I thought that he was just a shadow, which was an easy mistake to make, because this entity, whatever he truly was, was a thing of shifting darkness that stood tall and motionless against the wall across from my bedroom window, leering over me . He had no distinguishing features save his two crimson eyes that burned bright red in the dark, never blinking, and never moving from where I lay in my bed. The heavy scent of rotten eggs clung to him like a pungent veil which always confused me back then. I would wonder to myself how could a shadow have a smell and why that smell in particular? My mind simply couldn’t comprehend it until many years later, when I learned that people often mistake the scent of brimstone for the scent of rotten eggs.
Eventually, after at least a few hours spent petrified of an attack that never came, I worked up the courage to try ask him
” What are you?”
I’ll never know if he was capable of speech, because he never spoke. But I knew that he understood me, because he shook his shapeless head at the question, as if to tell me that it was inappropriate to ask such a thing.
Gradually, my fear turned into fascinated curiosity, and I began to ask every “yes or no” question I could think of.
“Do you have a name? Something I can call you?”
The Shadow did not offer any answer to me beyond a slow nod.
“ Are you here to hurt me or my family?”
This time he shook his head, as if to say “no.”
“ Are you going to hurt anyone I know?”
Again he shook his head.
“ But you are here for a specific reason?”
This time he nodded. I was getting somewhere, and excitement bled into my voice as I continued to question him.
“ Are you from another world?”
He shook his head once more.
As I questioned him I became acutely aware of how dry my throat was and I decided to go down stairs for some water before I asked the Shadow anything else.
“ I’m gonna go get some water from downstairs and then I’d like to ask you some more questions, I’ll be right back..”
The Shadow shook his head and before I could react, he disappeared from his spot in front of my wall and materialized in front of my bedroom door, as if to block my exit.
I was bewildered.
“ What do you mean “no?” You can’t just keep me in here, I need water!”
The Shadow then reached down with one of his tendril-like limbs, passing through the carpeted floor as if it were not there at all, and then retracting back into the room after a few moments with a filled glass of water that I recognized from the kitchen, which it then handed to me.
I had no idea what to make of this situation, but felt that it was best to express gratitude, since I had no way of knowing everything that this entity was capable of, or any of his motivations.
“ Uh.. thank you?”
The Shadow did not respond, simply stood there motionless until I decided to get back in my bed, and then it resumed its silent vigil against the wall across from me.
It was clear to me now from the shadow’s behavior that he was a kind of guard, ment to keep me in my room through the night, and the implication of that realization brought questions to my mind that needed answers, though I was afraid of what those answers might be.
I looked up the Shadow that was my jailer, and summoned up the courage to ask him what was on my mind.
“ Did someone send you here to watch me?”
In response, the shadow gave me yet another slow nod of confirmation.
“ Was that person my Father?”
The Shadow did not respond to the question, or any others for the rest of the night, he just stood at his post stoically until exactly 6:00 am and then dissipated, leaving nothing behind but the faint stench of rotten eggs and some discoloration on the paint of the wall he had been standing in front of.
Downstairs, I could hear Dad’s work boots against the tiles again, and the sound filled me with a dread and uneasiness that it never had before . It was as if my house, the place I had grown up in, had become some unfamiliar and hostile alien landscape, where every familiar sound and creak of a floorboard suddenly sounded foreign and threatening. For the first time, I understood that I did not know my father, or what he was capable of nearly as well as I thought I had. If he could make something like the Shadow obey his will and follow his orders, I shuddered to think of what else he could do.
As I descended the stairs again after getting dressed I wondered what I could possibly do next in that situation, but the answers eluded me and I carried a haunted expression with me into the kitchen, despite my best efforts to appear normal and unbothered. Dad didn’t seem to notice it, or at least, he didn’t acknowledge it as he greeted me with a smile and steaming mug of coffee like he always did.
“ Morning kiddo”
I accepted the mug and thanked him quietly.
“ Did you have a long night?”
He asked me casually as he turned to the stove and used a spatula to stir some eggs he was cooking. I opened my mouth to answer, but no words left my throat. I had no idea what to say and I was equal parts terrified and aghast at how flippantly my father was treating the whole situation. As it turned out, I didn’t need to say anything. Dad could sense my fear and unease, and took it upon himself to address the proverbial elephant in the room with a sigh while he made me a plate for breakfast.
“ I know you have questions, Son. It’s only natural. Believe me, I wish I could tell you everything, but it’s too soon, you’re not ready yet.”
Now that the subject was out in the open, questions poured out of me like water from a burst dam.
“ What was that…thing? Where did it come from? What are you doing in the garage?”
Dad’s expression was pensive as he evaded my questions.
“ I really do admire you, son. It takes a lot of courage to ask the things you’re asking right now. I know you must be confused and maybe a bit frightened, but I need you to trust me when I say that everything I do, I do for you, for our family. You’ll thank me when the work is done.”
“ Are you going to hurt us?” I asked.
Genuine hurt and sadness washed over Dad’s face at the question before he answered indignantly.
“ I would never! I love you kids more than anything in the world! It’s why I pulled an angel from Heaven itself to watch over you and keep you safe!”
There was a look of mad certainty in his eyes while he said this, the expression of a person who could not, and would not be argued with no matter what you said to them, and who under no circumstances would consider that they were wrong. I knew from experience that it would be pointless to continue with that particular line of questioning, so I moved on to my next one.
“ Are you going to hurt someone else?”
Dad suddenly looked very tired when I asked that.
“ Leave it alone son, please, for the good of our family just leave it alone. You’ll understand why I had to do it when the work is done.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the front door bell.
“ That’s probably Haley, you should let her in.”
Dad said as he turned his back to me to pour another cup of coffee for himself, effectively ending our conversation. I was by no means content with being dismissed in such a manner with my questions unanswered, but the mention of Haley’s name sent a cold, nauseous feeling down my back that settled in my stomach and made me feel sick enough to momentarily put aside my questions to go see her.
Haley Mathis was our neighbor and one of my closest friends since elementary school. She would often come by in the early morning to make sure I was awake for school and to walk there with me when the weather permitted it since the walk was usually only about 15 minutes or so, and her father, Lucas, didn’t like her walking anywhere alone. She was an outgoing and friendly person, which was a pretty steep contrast to my own somewhat introverted personality, and she had a way of getting me to come out of my shell and engage with people in a way that my other friends really couldn’t do.
Now, from the outside, one might be inclined to mistake our close friendship for romantic interest, God knows more than a few of our other friends and even our parents would love to tease us with that insinuation, though that wasn’t the case. I didn’t really understand this at the time, or maybe I just had a real hard time admitting it to myself, but I was gay.
In hindsight, I think Haley knew before even I did. She would love to talk with me at length about movie stars and boys from our class that she found attractive while I would just nod my head non committedly. She had a peculiar awareness of unspoken feelings and a talent for reading between the lines, which is why when I opened the door for her that morning, she could immediately tell that something was wrong. Concern painted her face as she spoke to me.
“Are you ok Wally?”
I did my best to compose myself as I answered.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just not really awake yet, it’s nothing.”
Haley started to move past me to enter the house, and I instinctively threw my arm up to block her entry.
“ No It’s alright, I’ll be out in a second, just stay here please.”
Before she could reply I felt my father’s firm grip on my shoulder and heard his voice melt back into its usual confident and friendly tone.
“ Morning Haley! Come on in, I just made you kids some breakfast.”
I wanted to scream. To yell as loud as I could and tell Hayley that she couldn’t come into the house, that it wasn’t safe, but fear kept me silent. Uneasy confusion began to crawl over Haley’s face as she noted the clear tension between my father and I, but she remained her usual polite and upbeat self as she responded.
“Morning Pops! That really does sound great, but Wally and I should really start walking, we’re gonna be late for school if we don’t.”
I turned as much as I was able to see my father’s mildly disappointed expression at her cordial refusal, before he relented.
“ Oh, alright. I’ll put it in some tupperware for you guys to eat when you get home. Have a good day at school and stay close to one another on the way there alright? In the dark, all you have is each other.”
He squeezed my shoulder tightly as he said this, before he handed me my bookbag and ushered me out the front door, closing it gently behind me and vanishing back into the bleak darkness of the house. I must have sprinted off of the porch and down the driveway like a bolt of lightning because the next thing I remember is Haley’s panting and exhausted voice probing me for information.
“What’s going on Wally? You’re freaking me out!”
I looked back at her with fear and uncertainty in my eyes, completely unsure of what to tell her. I knew that I couldn’t lie to her, But I also didn’t know if she would believe the truth if she heard it. So I told her what I could.
“ I think my Dad’s going crazy.”
I said between deep, labored breaths.
“What do you mean?”
“ He’s doing something in the garage. I don’t know what. I hear terrifying sounds coming from there at night. I’ve tried to find out what makes them, but he’s started locking me in my room at night. I think to keep me from finding out what he’s doing there.”
“ Are you sure you didn’t just have a nightmare?”
She wondered aloud, clearly uneasy with the implications of what I was telling her.
“ It wasn’t a fucking nightmare Haley! It’s real and I’m fucking terrified that something awful is about to happen!”
“ Ok, ok calm down. Why don’t we go to the police then?”
“ And tell them what? That I’m hearing weird sounds? they’ll laugh us out of the station!”
“Don’t scream at me! I’m trying to help-”
Our conversation was cut short by the low rumble of the police cruiser that broke through the early morning fog and slowed to a stop on the road beside us,then rolled down its passenger side window to reveal the slightly obscured, but still recognizable face of officer Miles Morgan. A thin, wiry man in his late forties with a carefully trimmed mustache and cloudy blue eyes set behind wide rimmed glasses that neighborhood kids often teased him for. He lived a few houses down from Haley and I, and I shared a few classes with his sons. I never really liked him much. Not because he was unfriendly, quite the opposite. He was always very polite and friendly to Haley and I. But it was the kind of superficial friendliness that very transparently indicated some kind of ulterior motives. I could tell even then that he badly wanted our trust, though at the time I couldn’t really fathom why and to put it bluntly, it gave me the creeps. He smiled at the two of us and pressed a quiet breath through his yellowing teeth before he spoke.
“Morning kids. Everything alright?”
I answered as cordially as I could manage given the circumstances.
“Yeah Officer, we’re fine.”
Haley followed up my declaration with a friendly smile and a quick affirming nod. She didn’t like Officer Morgan any more than I did, but she was a lot better at hiding her distaste. The old cop’s eyes seemed to linger on her for a moment before he looked back at me and tried to carry on the conversation. Even though it would have been clear to any onlookers from our body language that the both of us desperately wanted the conversation to end.
“ Is your Dad home Wally? I’ve been meaning to talk with him for awhile now but he never seems to be around when I come calling. “
Now I want to make it clear that at this point, I did not trust my dad. I felt like the stress of the past year had broken his mind and that there was a very real chance that he was up to something awful, but at the same time, I trusted Officer Creepazoid even less. There was no way in Hell I was gonna tell him anything about my Dad’s whereabouts, so I shrugged off his question.
“ I think he’s at work.”
Officer Morgan made a quiet clicking sound with his teeth, followed by a sigh of disappointment before he spoke.
“ Well I might have to stop by later when he’s in, let him know I asked for him when you see him next for me, would you Wally? It’s important that he and I have words.”
“ Is something wrong? Is Dad in trouble?”
I asked, trying to keep my tone casual. But in the back of my mind wondering if he knew something about my Dad that I didn’t.
“ Oh no, nothing serious. The boys and I are just missing him down at Sully’s and I figured I’d check in on him.”
Sully’s was the local dive bar nestled on the edge of town where most of the men of Colter gathered after hours to drink their sorrows away. Dad had been something of a regular there for a few years. I had assumed that he was still going there a lot since he was often out until very late into the night for a few months now, and if what Officer Morgan was telling me was true, that left me to wonder where Dad was actually going at night.
“ What do you mean you’ve been missing him? Isn’t he in there all the time?”
“ Not for at least a few weeks.”
“ Oh, alright. Well, me and Haley have to get going to school now, officer. We’re gonna be late.”
“ You kids can hop on in if you want, I’ll give you a ride.”
He offered with a smile that he probably intended to be warm, but instead chilled me.
“ No Thanks, we like walking.”
Haley, who thus far had said nothing, suddenly piped up to enthusiastically agree with me.
“ Yeah! Nothing like a brisk morning walk to start the day off!”
Officer Morgan seemed to stare at the two of us for a few moments before he shrugged.
“ Alright. Walk safe kids.”
He then rolled up his window and proceeded slowly up the street. Haley and I shared a loud sigh of relief when the police cruiser finally disappeared from view. I was about to turn and say something to her when a familiar, pungent stench overpowered my nostrils and I froze in place.
Rotten Eggs.
There was no mistaking it. I whirled around, determined to find the source of the stench and just at the edge of my vision I caught a glimpse of crimson red eyes receding into the morning fog and I knew then that my new friend was close by, somewhere just out of sight. Watching, and perhaps waiting for something. I stood there staring into the fog completely unaware of my surroundings until Hayley’s voice broke me from my musings, and brought me back to reality.
“ Wally!”
Her voice startled me and I looked back at her with a queasy, sickened expression.
“What’s wrong?” she asked me.
“ I don’t think we’re alone.”
Her face told me that she had no idea what to think, but she nodded regardless and took my hand, keeping me steady as we walked in the direction of the school. Looking back on it now, I can say without a doubt that Haley was my best friend. She was the kind of friend I think that everyone should have in their lives, unwavering in her support, and putting her friend’s well-being first even when she didn’t totally understand the situation. She was a good person, in every sense of the term. I was lucky to have her in my life. Anyone else would have written me off as a lunatic or just a bored kid that wanted attention, but not her. She could see the fear in my eyes and knew that whatever I was dealing with was very real and terrifying.
“ Let’s just focus on getting to school right now, we’ll figure out the rest later. It’ll be ok Wally.”