MicroHorror

The legend was true after all. The strange gibberish the boys had heard from Grandpa Redding really wasn’t some campfire ghost story as the boys had presumed. The age-old Huron Indians really had cursed the backwoods with the Aiwass and furthermore, it still worked centuries later. Grandpa Redding had told them in his typical cryptic fashion that whenever a child cries or a mother screams, the Aiwass awakens and takes with it the source of torment. Now, even as that black pit seated deep within the orange wood, the boys could hear the strange hissing coming from within.

It has all been Timmy Gunderson’s fault and he alone would have to fight for sleep over the thought.

Timmy had run as fast as he could away from ten-year-old Jim Collins who was out to give nine-year-old Timmy Coslow the beating of his life. Timmy had made it to the woods behind Joseph Redding’s house, but had fallen amongst the brush and had been pinned beneath Jim who rattled his skull with numerous punches. Timmy cried out, not trying to summon the Aiwass, but rather some help from an adult. The Aiwass answered however, with a low rumble and the ghostly voices of the Huron Indians who had lost their blood upon the very same ground. Jim Collins never saw it coming and even if he had, there would be little hope beyond the abysmal opening of the Aiwass. Timmy remained in a fetal position with his arms raised defensively, unaware that Jim was being consumed by an unearthly curse summoned by his tears.

And now, all four boys stood, staring deep into the black of the Aiwass. Sean Kenoyer, Timmy, Richie LaVerne and Joseph Redding, the foursome whose yards had connected in that backyard woodland of the deep Adirondacks.

“Why is it still here?” Sean asked as he wiped his nose.

“Maybe it’s still hungry,” Richie offered.

“I think it’s digesting,” Joseph pondered aloud.

“It saved my life,” Timmy regarded.

“Your grandpa was right,” Sean told Joseph, who seemed to be in a trance, the black hole reflected in his deep blue eyes.

“Makes you think that some stories we’ve heard and thought were untrue, might be true after all,” Timmy suggested.

“We can’t let anyone know about this,” Joseph said, looking up at the others. “If our parents knew about this, we’d never get to come back here ever again.”

“And what about Jim Collins?” Richie asked. “They’ll come looking for him soon.” Joseph shook his head.

“They won’t come here and as far as I can tell, Jim Collins is way down there, and there is nothing left of him.”

And that was the first time it had worked. Grandpa Redding was right about the Aiwass and God only knew how many other tales of his were true. Somewhere deep beneath that perfectly circular hole, whose edge was rough with gnarled branches, Jim Collins would never be heard from again. And for four nine-year-old boys, nothing would ever torment them again.