Hello again readers. If you haven’t seen me before, you might want to check out the first part of my story for context. You can read the second one too, but you don’t need to in order to understand this one. After my encounter with the dog, I became more cautious about where and when I went. I didn’t have unwanted encounters for a while, but to fill in the gaps here are a couple of stories by others I know well.
The first is from a married couple named August and Caroline Hall. They are friends of my parents and growing up I often saw them when we visited their house or them ours. I usually didn’t talk to them much. I was too shy and had to be dragged downstairs to spend an appropriate amount of time with them. But I did like them despite my lack of attention. Mr. Hall always encouraged my reading and gave recommendations when I was a kid. And Mrs. Hall would sometimes bring me chocolate chip cookies to munch on, even when I wasn’t supposed to have more snacks. I had to keep them secret in my room and eat them after bedtime in the dark. And when they got older they had two kids, an older boy named Harold and a younger girl named Madeline. I didn’t have much in common with two children a decade younger than me, but I helped entertain them when they were over. They were rascals, but lovable ones.
None of that is very important to the story I’m telling you now. But it is important to their story. Because they should be defined by being wonderful people, not by the tragedy that consumed them. Because they deserve better than to be remembered forever as just poor victims.
I visited them about two weeks after I first arrived in town. I had caught up with most of the people I knew and one Tuesday morning, with nothing better to do, I decided to go to their place to see how they and their kids were doing. Oddly, my parents hadn’t talked about them and they hadn’t so much as said hi since I returned. I was walking out the door when my mother asked me where I was going. They were understandably paranoid.
“To the Halls,” I said. “I haven’t seen them since I got home.” My mother’s eyes went wide.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she said.
“Why?” I asked. “Something hasn’t happened to them, has it?” My mother shook her head and smiled sadly.
“What…what happened?” I dreaded the reply.
“About two years ago Madeline was killed. They haven’t spent much time with us since the funeral.” My stomach dropped. No, I thought. Not them too.
“I…need to visit them,” I said.
“That’s a bad idea,” my mother said. “The last thing that want is someone asking a bunch of questions about their daughter’s death.”
“I don’t care. I need to talk with them. Help them.” My mind raced to think of what I could do besides show up.
“At least bring them something,” my mother said. She got up and with one arm dragged me into the pantry to show me a handful of leftover croissants from dinner the night before. I grabbed them and after a goodbye to my mother I drove to the Hall’s house.
They had a small but pretty home on the outskirts of town. Once it had been a cozy neighborhood. Now every tenth home seemed abandoned. The only two kids outside had no less than four adults watching them, and it clearly wasn’t the cars they were primarily concerned about. When I got to their house I could have known something happened even without my foreknowledge. Their lawn was completely overgrown, their flowerbeds all dead. Mr. Hall was a lawn fanatic. He would never let his yard get like this normally, even under threat of death. Nevertheless I parked and walked up to their doorstep, ringing their bell.
Mrs. Hall answered. I had seen here last only a little over three years ago, but she seemed to have aged over a decade. She gave me a smile when she saw me, but it didn’t light up her eyes the way it used to. Nonetheless she embraced me tightly. Some things never changed. After a few seconds she let go and looked me in the eyes.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you here.”
“Yeah. I haven’t been home in a while. Now I guess I know why.”
“I’m so sorry you got dragged into this place again.” I was shocked by her words.
“You are sorry for me?” I asked. “I’m one of the lucky ones I think. All I’ve had is a close call. I haven’t had anything die or any…oh, right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
“It’s alright,” she said. “I know what you mean. Here, come inside.” She gestured the way for me and I followed. Together we sat on her couch. I awkwardly handed the basket of croissants over. She accepted with a word, then thanked me when she saw what was inside. Then we sat in quiet for a couple of minutes, getting used to each other’s company after so long apart.
I spoke first. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I-I don’t really know what to say, I just wanted to help out and make you feel better, but I’m not sure how.” She smiled.
“Just you being here means the world to me,” she said. “You don’t need to do anything else. Although I do love the croissants.”
“I wish I could do more,” I said.
“I wish I could too,” she said. “But that chance has passed. Now all I can do is try to keep the rest of my family from falling apart.” We talked about each other and trivial things for a while before I got to the big question.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Madeline?” She winced.
“Please don’t say her name. It’s too painful.”
“I’m sorry, I-“
“Relax, you didn’t know. You need to stop apologizing so much. But I’ll tell you. I’m tired of hiding it in my memory. And I know that curious mind of yours wants to know.”
“Only if it doesn’t hurt,” I said.
“It will,” she said. “But it’s the good kind of pain, the kind that reminds me of her.” She began.
“Two years ago our family went down to Piney Creek. This was before much had happened and we were all trying to pretend things were still normal. Nothing had happened at the creek or in broad daylight yet, so I didn’t think it was any trouble. My husband suggested it, but I didn’t listen. So we had a picnic down there on the grass while the kids put their bathing suits on and swam in the water. The current is almost nothing, you know that, and there’s never any problems with the river. So I didn’t see an issue with it.
“Me and August had swapped shifts watching the kids while the other ate. But we stopped paying attention towards the end. And we never got in the water ourselves. We were content to feel the cool breeze filtered through the thick trees and the sun coming through the canopies above. I should have gotten in with them. I should have done a lot of things. But I didn’t. I was too focused on myself.
“We heard plenty of shouting and shrieks of fun from the kids all the time, so we learned to filter it out. When they first started at the end I didn’t pay attention until I heard the shouts for Mom and Dad. We looked for them in the war and saw our son getting out of the stream. He was running while crying our name. We ran up to him and asked what’s wrong. He told us something had Madeline. August spotted her head in the water and we at once ran for it. August jumped in the water to help, expensive clothes and all. He grabbed her and from her babbling realized she was saying she had been grabbed by something. So he swam down and realized she had her foot entangled in some underwater tree branches.”
“Well he got her out of them without much trouble, even though she kept screaming there was something in the water none of us could see. The two of them swam to shore and he helped her get out. I saw she had some scratches on her legs and resolved to get her to the doctors as soon as we could, just in case there was infection. She was trembling as she stood there by the shoreline. She should have…I should have made her come further, should have listened and asked what she saw. But I didn’t. I just stood there relieved nothing was wrong. And August just got out and walked to Harold to thank him for warning us.”
“That was when something leaped out of the water. I only saw it for a second, but I remember every detail. It was some green scaly creature with the longest arms I had ever seen, and gnarly thin fingers. It’s upper half erupted out of the water and from the river it grabbed my daughter by the throat. Then it dragged her in and vanished. It never made a sound, not one croak. August turned around and jumped into the river to swim for her while I tried to track it by the shoreline. We followed it for a minute, but it was too fast in the water. It sped past me, past August, all while my daughters arms and feet occasionally broke the surface as she struggled for air. After it reached the curve ahead it passed, and we never saw it again.
“We searched all day and all night, called the police, but we didn’t find a hint. Not until four days later when somebody from down in Brunswick reported a body. Her body. But it wasn’t her anymore. It was just a body, all wrinkled and pale as a ghost. So that was it. We had a funeral, we cried for weeks straight, and we’ve regretted every moment of life ever since. Now where we are. Here with nothing to do but keep each other company and raise our last child.”
There wasn’t much of interest to any of you after that, so I’ll skip the details of the rest of my visit. Those were more private anyways. So now you know the Halls, their beautiful family, and their tragedy. I hope people out there remember them. Remember their lost child, but even more remember them as who they were and are. Don’t let their loss define them. Let their joys and sorrows be their tale.
The other story I have is from one of my only childhood friends. His name is Theobald, or Theo for short. We met in the fourth grade and remained passing friends through high school before I went to college and he joined his father’s auto repair shop. After I got my flat tires from the incident with the man-dog I visited his shop to fix them the next morning.
The shop looked surprisingly normal when I arrived. Everything was a bit of a mess, but that’s the usual with them. A couple of other customers were there too, neither of them standing out as odd. I went to the front counter and waited for Theo’s father to show. Instead Theo himself did. He looked haggard. His front was filthy, but again, expected. He smiled when he saw me.
“Robin!” he said. “It’s good to see you. How long have you been back?”
“A couple of weeks,” I replied. “Or long enough to know this place’s new inhabitants.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, I’m afraid you picked a bad time to come home. Have any problems yet?”
“One of them is why I’m here. Some man-dog-thing caused my car to crash, and now I have two flat tires. I was hoping you and dad could fix them for me.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “Let’s see your car.” After that I gave him my keys and he got to work. I hung out with him and chatted while he worked. Not standard procedure, but we were old friends catching up. After some mundane conversation I asked him where his father was. In all the years I had know Theo’s family never once had I heard of his father not showing up to his own workplace. Theo was turned away from me when I asked that, but I could tell from his tensing of muscles and lowered head it was a touchy subject.
“I’m sorry, if he’s gone I didn’t mean to hurt you-“
“He’s not dead,” Theo said. “He’s just gone a little mad.”
“What happened?” I asked. He shook his head.
“We aren’t quite sure. He’s been suffering from intense nightmares for a year. Every night, all night. He can barely breathe, he can’t wake up until dawn, and he’s been-been going crazy from it. I don’t know how to help him.”
“Is it something medical or…you know”
“Supernatural,” he replied. “We don’t know what exactly it is, but a few times we’ve seen something. The first time was a couple of weeks after his initial nightmares. I heard my mother scream and ran into his bedroom to see the problem. When I ran in I saw something on his chest. It was…demonic looking. Like a hairy devil crossed with a cat. It had yellow eyes and black fur and skin, and it was sitting right on his chest. It didn’t move when I came in, except its head. It looked at me right in the eyes and I was stopped in my tracks. It was like I was hypnotized. I couldn’t move a muscle, my thoughts were swept away. My father needed me and I was useless.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “I had something similar happen to me when I first came here. Some monster in the fields took control of my own mind and I almost died.”
“I know it’s not my fault,” he said. “That doesn’t help the doubts in my head. But enough of that, back to the story. I didn’t try anything, but my mother did. She got out of bed and tried to deck the thing right in its face. Her hand passed right through and passed the other side like it wasn’t even there. It looked at her and stopped her from moving just like it stopped me. That gave me my freedom again, so I ran to the cabinets to get out our family rifle. I loaded it, carried as many bullets as I could, and then ran right back into the room.
“It was still focused on my mother, so I put the gun right to its head and pulled the trigger to blow the fucker’s brains out. The bullet went through too. It didn’t even bother looking at me. I loaded and tried again. Nothing happened except a hole punched in our wall. Tried a third time. Same result. At that point it look at me and I was frozen. Evidently my mother got out my father’s pistol by the night stand and tried her own shooting. Same result. After that we took turns throwing things at it, trying to touch it, shooting it, nothing worked.
“So we tried to move my father instead. I grabbed his upper body, she his lower, and together we tried to pull my father off the bed. He didn’t move an inch. He was just frozen there, his chest stuck under that thing. And they harder we pulled he started to scream and scream. The his breath got hoarse and we realized he was unable to breathe. That got us to let go. He kept breathing after that, but we had no ideas on how to help. So we just sat there and watched that thing torture my father until daylight when it vanished as soon as the sun came into the room.
“Ever since it has been like this. Every night he suffers horrible nightmares, and every month we see that creature sitting on that chest. Only a few times a month or so though. The rest of the time we still can’t move him, but we don’t see it. I think it’s still there though, just invisible. My father has been suffering so bad recently he’s stopped coming to work, leaving it up to me and the other boys.”
That was the end of that story, for a time. I got my car fixed and we made plans to hang out at a local diner for lunch sometime next week.
Two months later his father killed himself. It was the first funeral I attended since I got back. I suspect it will not be the last.
So that’s the end of this tale, or tales I guess. To more families, too more tragedies. I wish I could say things are getting better, but they aren’t. In fact things seem to be getting worse as we approach the end of the year. I’m told this has happened in previous Decembers. Hopefully everyone I care about will survive this one. Good luck, and I hope you all have a better winter than me.