MicroHorror

Fragmented moonlight filters through lace curtains as I drift into troubled sleep.

I dream.

Muscle spasms wrack my arms and legs as they flail wildly. Thick, coarse hair sprouts, creating an unbearable itching that makes me writhe like a man on fire. Pitiable cries howl from my elongating mouth as fingers convulse uncontrollably while nails grow thick, dark and long. Muscles ripple beneath overstretched skin as my legs grow longer and leaner. I grow claustrophobic and search frantically for an exit. A window explodes outward and I am free.

I sprint silently through Central Park, so swift and light on my padded feet it seems that I fly. With boundless energy I feel I can run forever. My body has shape-shifted and has never felt stronger.

Something runs ahead of me, bounding clumsily through the trees and underbrush, something panicked, screaming, stumbling. I slow my stride. The distinct odor of hot urine pervades the air. There is a tantalizing scent of fear. I taste the adrenalin sweating off my prey. My senses come alive like a sunburst in my brain. The scent of fear and taste of adrenalin alone are worth the hunt. They excite me.

The creature stumbles into an Osage orange tree, the thorns tearing into its arm, causing profuse bleeding and eliciting more cries. I stop momentarily to kiss the offending thorns with my tongue. The savory, hot, red liquid clinging to the thorns explodes upon my senses. Blood lust overwhelms me and my self control is lost upon the wind. I close the distance to my prey in the wink of an eye.

Eyes glazed with terror confront me. My ears drink in the shrieking screams that invigorate me. There are babbled pleadings, kicking feet, futile struggling before I deliver a crippling blow. Desperate whimpering moans issue from my quarry as I lick the salty, adrenalin-laced sweat from its face and neck before I give in to the hunger. My jaws open wide and the elongated canines do their work.

I savor ragged hunks of living flesh oozing a warm, sweet liquid that courses through the thick hair of my neck and chest. I appease my appetite, gorging to excess. What follows is an almost orgasmic sense of fulfillment as my hunger is satisfied.

Massive physical changes begin as claws recede and teeth shorten. Hair falls out in bunches until only bare skin remains. My body experiences painful contortions as muscles lose mass and bones shrink and reconfigure.

My heightened senses are dulled to near non-existence. I feel robbed, cheated, a mere human once again. The limitless energy reserve drains away and weariness overwhelms me. My eyes lose focus. The world blurs and I stumble through the dark, finding home by pure instinct.

Sleep consumes me for days. I awake to a repulsive sight–a huge splotch of blood and gore on the bedspread. I hurry to the bathroom mirror and behold in horror the dried blood and torn, soiled clothes. Bits of stringy meat stare accusingly from between my bloodied teeth. I wash the dried blood from my face and hands, brush teeth, floss, then toss my clothes and bedclothes into the washer. I guess this is the price for surviving a werewolf attack, which I did only last week. It was a most unsettling experience. I check the calendar. Twenty-six days before the next full moon. I lie on the couch rubbing my belly that bulges dramatically, like a woman seven months pregnant. A twinge of guilt presents itself then fades away. It’s not something I can control, not my fault. I close my eyes and try to forget but it’s hard to forget your first time.

I sleep without dreams.

The sea is quiet after yesterday’s storm. The shipwreck was the stuff of nightmares and I marvel that I survived unharmed, although I did lose every stitch of clothing. I see a tiny isle in the distance but this current carries me away from it. I wonder if any man made it there to safety. Regardless, I am alone. On the horizon is a beacon of hope–our sister ship, the Imp, in full sail. But she is still so far away.

I have no doubt the helmsman–the lovesick fool–daydreamed us into this disaster. All he could talk about was his girl. Well, damn him and his love that waits across the sea! I hope his rotting, bloated carcass washes up at her feet!

A fin breaks the surface at twenty yards. Shark? No, no, no! Not with rescue in sight! Getting out of the water on this small piece of wreckage is impossible. In dread I watch the fin slice through the water and slip behind a half-submerged barrel. A creature rises from the sea and… what’s this? A woman? A mer… no! It can’t be! Yet there she is. By all that is holy, the legends are true!

She swims the barrel closer and pulls herself further from the water as long, kelp-green hair clings to her shoulders and cascades over her chest. Gentle curves hint at what lies hidden beneath the tresses. I venture a smile. She returns a grin, lips parted slightly, but moves no closer.

Her head swivels quickly to the side. What attracts her? Gray fins, and no doubt this time they are sharks. With a splash my new friend is gone and bloody turmoil erupts thirty yards away. I cry out in terror as the sea heaves and panicked sharks leap from the water. She is fighting them!

I look and the Imp is within a mile. I’m going to make it! And I have this charming, heroic, mysterious being to thank. I am in awe of this creature and her ability to keep the savage sharks at bay. Oh, the tales I shall tell to mingle with those of the other old salts. My fear vanishes and I whoop in exultation!

She swims back beside the barrel, rising out of the water to her waist. Magnificent breasts glisten as water drips from erect nipples, no hair concealing them now. That remarkable grin returns as she breathes deeply. I feel the beginnings of an erection. I can’t believe the effect she has on me. I have to laugh; though in grave danger I find myself contemplating the sexual possibilities to be enjoyed with this creature that probably isn’t even human. Ah, I’ve been too long at sea.

She submerges silently. Moments later I flinch as she takes hold of, then releases, my erect penis. Startled, I inhale sharply. She is cold, cold as the sea. My erection fades as she surfaces ten feet away. She studies me intently, just like a… Oh my dear God, no! I’ve been so enamored by her human-like charms that I failed to notice the eyes. They contain no warmth. They are the eyes of a fish, the cold dead eyes of a predator. The smile that endeared her to me is not a smile at all, but the grimace of a sea creature too long out of the water. In the wink of an eye her beauty fades. She hasn’t been fighting sharks to protect me–she has been laying claim to me. Her lips curl back to reveal a beak like a parrot fish, a beak designed to tear flesh and crush bone. She utters an ugly, croaking sound before she slips beneath the waves.

I see the Imp clearly now.

It is so close.

But not close enough.

She is coming.

The magnificent silver rocket descended on a column of fire and gently kissed the cratered plain of a rocky, windswept planet. Three astronauts emerged and took the first tentative steps on the stony soil to a nearby boulder field.

Crewman Stiles gazed at the lifeless landscape. “It doesn’t appear my services as biologist will be in demand. What desolation.”

Captain Adams nodded. “Reminds me of Mercury. Remember?”

Stiles nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead. “That sun is a beast. At least the air is good and we’re not confined in those damned suits. It’s odd, though; usually an oxygen-rich atmosphere goes hand in hand with vegetation.”

Adams shrugged. “We’ll leave that puzzle for the scientists back home. We only have half an hour on this unscheduled stop. Some bored geophysicist back home wants new rocks to look at.”

“Any rocks in particular?” asked crewman Jensen.

“One big one will do,” the captain replied, irritated their trip home was delayed and not in the mood to be overly generous to the pencil pushers back home. He pointed to a clutch of assorted boulders ranging from ten inches to two feet. “I like that little boulder right there.”

Jensen guessed the rock at two hundred pounds. “That thing? No way!”

“No, the medium-sized one with the blue banding.”

“It won’t fit in the container. I’ll grab one of the smaller ones.”

Adams shook his head and scratched thoughtfully behind an ear. “No. I want the blue one.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Adams shrugged. “It’s pretty.”

Jensen laughed. “It’s pretty?” He sighed. “Okay, you’re the captain. I’ll have to bust it up, though, to make it fit.”

“Do it. Make it fit.”

Six swings of a two-pound sledge did it and Jensen packed the pieces into the sample crate. “There, made it fit. Wow, it’s even prettier on the inside.”

Adams grinned. “I know my rocks. Stiles, got those soil samples?”

“Got them. Not much more than sand, though.”

The captain nodded. “Our time here is up. Can’t say I’m sorry.”

Ten minutes walking found them beside the rocket, gleaming proudly in the blazing sun. Stiles put one foot on the ladder, cocking his head to one side.

“Stiles?”

Stiles looked around quizzically. “Sorry, Captain. I thought I heard something.”

Adams listened. A slight breeze teased his golden hair. A low moan, barely audible, touched his soul. It was the saddest sound he had ever heard. He shook his head and said quietly, “It’s only the wind.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah… the wind.”

The sound of sorrow rolled over the boulder-strewn plain to envelop the three astronauts. It was a desperate sound that demanded attention, like a baby’s cry. Adams could scarcely believe his eyes were growing hot and moist while goose bumps erupted on his arms. He dared to look up at Stiles and Jensen and saw them reacting the same way. The sound increased and seemed to be coming from all sides.

“Captain?” Jensen stammered. “It’s heartbreaking.”

“Has to be the wind, through the boulder-field. Has to be.” Adams nodded up the ladder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Minutes later tongues of fire licked the terrain as the silver rocket roared to life and streaked into space.

“Monsters, Daddy! Real-life monsters! You never told us monsters were real!”

“I… I never knew.”

“Real, Daddy!”

“I swear I didn’t know.”

“Daddy, did you see how fast they moved?”

“Incredible speed. Incredible!”

“Daddy, what about…”

“Sshhhhh.”

“But where…?”

“Gone. Just… gone.”

“You mean forever?”

Through waves of emotion he grappled with the impossible emptiness beside him, an emptiness that for millennia had been occupied by his mate. He remembered her cries at every blow of the terrible hammer. It was more than he could bear. In excruciating torment the ancient, weathered boulder vibrated in sorrow, setting up a sympathetic vibration from the other boulders. He comforted his children and cried tears of sand.

The sea was angry and I, negligent. My thoughts were on my lady across the sea and the suitable attire I should don to greet her in port.

Immersed in thoughts of sinful vanity I too late became aware of the jagged spires of undersea mounts just visible in the rise and fall of the waves, tickling the surface like the crowns of undersea kings. My fevered spinning of the wheel proved fruitless, a desperate attempt born of panic to avoid the unavoidable.

The initial impact wrenched savage groans from every wooden seam an instant before Poseidon unleashed his fury. Wind, waves and jagged rock splintered wood, shredded sail and utterly destroyed what was a proud vessel only moments before.

Shrieks of terrified sailors were howled into the tempest. Then of a sudden I was cast with my shipmates onto unforgiving spikes of saw-toothed lava. Oh, Holy God! The screams of my mates gutted my very soul. I joined their screeching agony as sea and rock conspired to separate body and soul in the most ghastly fashion. Their screams subsided one by one till mine was all that remained to mingle with the crashing of the waves.

My own tortured cries continued as sea and jagged lava committed one atrocity after another upon my helpless body and then I, the cause of it all, borne by bits of hull and waves tinged red with the blood of my companions, rode the winds of fate to this deserted shore.

The sea has exacted a terrible toll. Arms and legs sprawl shattered with white spears of bloody bone protruding. Internal things that should remain hidden lie shamelessly exposed through jagged abdominal tears. Undamaged purple arteries pulse in plain sight, laid bare to sand, sea and sun. I marvel at the forces that permitted them to remain intact when the least damage would have ended this ordeal quickly.

The shock of trauma is wearing off. Agony is devouring me in huge gulps. Death, why do you tarry? Draw near, rest your hand upon my brow and still my anguished mind. Let not the night find me still coupled with this hideous pile of bloody flesh, bone and pain.

And yet in my mind a seed of fear sprouts. After death has claimed its victory shall I soar with angels in heaven? If so, praise God! But I recall my shipmates’ howls of terror and know I deserve nothing better than the eternal torments of Satan’s hell.

Dear God, choose between the two and be done with it! Aaaghhh! Christ! Stop tormenting me! My God, it is too much! Up through the sand damned vermin emerge to dine on my defenseless flesh. Flies and other winged demons alight on my face. They find their way into my nose and ears where they crawl, crawl, CRAWL! They seek the open wounds and–damn them!–deposit their eggs. With revulsion comes the knowledge that maggots will soon be devouring my mangled limbs. The damned hideous devil-crabs creep from the sea to find my immobile legs with shattered bone and exposed muscle and pinch off bits to eat and fight one another over scraps till the gulls catch them unawares and send them scurrying back to the sea. And the gulls, oh Jesus! One flies off with the ring given me by my beloved Cindy, flies off with the ring and the finger which it adorned! God of mercy, end this! Take me! Something please take me! Cindy, my love. You wait across the sea. Cindy… you wait.

What is this? A stillness? A curious peace and warmth envelopes me. The light of my eyes fades as the agony of nature’s predations recedes in the distance. The restless sea stirs uneasy. Lonely waves tumble ashore, stranding water that hesitates and swirls before returning to the sea, dragging my soul with it to the deep abyss.

Shrinks. They sit in a chair that costs more than my car, with that smug, condescending smirk on their bewhiskered, bespectacled faces and drone on and on about inner children, sexual conflicts, obsessive-compulsive BS, etc., etc., and of course, etc. Oh, and let me never forget Dr. Burnstein’s favorite—“’somatoform pain.” They do love to hear themselves talk and it only runs you about two hundred bucks an hour for the privilege of listening to them.

The medical doctors gave up on me long ago. They could find no cause for the severe pain I complained about. They all wrote me off as an addict looking to get his hands on pain pills. But now doc Burnstein is getting desperate. Three years in with no results has him a little edgy so now he wants to try something experimental. He teepeed his fingers to rest his hairy chin on. “The first thing we’re going to do is eliminate that ‘pain’ (wink). With that out of the way we’ll dig down deep and discover the real you.” He reached over and tapped me on the chest. “The real you is inside there, Spencer. We just need to find you. So, a new drug, since you have proven to be so resistant to hypnosis. A new drug to eliminate that (wink) pain (bastard!). It shouldn’t affect your psychological state in the least, according to the latest experiments with lab rats (really? rats, huh?). It will get rid of that somatoform ‘pain’ (what, no sly wink? no mini-lecture on the nature of psychosomatic symptoms?) and then we’ll get down to finding the real you.”

Well, a week has passed and–I’ll be damned!–the quack was right. No pain! My next appointment is in six days but I can’t wait. I’m too impatient and excited. Ha-ha! Progress at last!

I had to do a little shopping first but now I’m ready. The first tentative cut was a breeze. Hey, doc, no pain! I probe deeper using a soldering iron from the hardware store to cauterize the bleeders (so many. the damn things are a nuisance).

Now, wait… what the hell is this? Good thing the anatomy book from the library has actual pictures of real innards and not just drawings because these things look different in real life. Oh, it’s my bladder! Piss bag. How cool is that? Looks like I should have taken a leak before I started this little operation. Oh, well, no time to stop now.

Doc Burnstein will be so proud of me. He’s says I’m in here somewhere and until I find myself I won’t stop digging!

“Hey, it’s late!” chided his wife from the kitchen. “Better catch some sleep. You’ve got some serious competition in that writing contest tomorrow.”

Jerry stuffed the bloody axe into his golf bag in the hall closet, using his stocking cap to cover the crimson blade. He called over his shoulder, “What competition?”

James stood on the freshly dug pile of dirt beside a substantial hole in his back yard. His son, Bobby, was in the hole with a shovel, his arms going like windmills.

“What you doin’, son?”

Bobby wiped his sweaty brow on a sleeve and looked up from the hole. “Diggin’.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“Then why’d ya ask?” Bobby said impatiently. He couldn’t understand adults. What did it look like he was doing?

“Okay, smarty pants, there is a seven-foot-deep hole in my backyard and I’d kinda like to know why. Can you help me out here? What are you looking for? Treasure? Fish worms? China?”

“The monster that ate Billy.” He resumed digging.

James saw his hunting knife attached to his son’s belt. “Oh, you and Billy are playing. Where is he? And why do you have my knife?”

Bobby stopped digging. “For crying out loud! I told you, a monster ate him!”

“Okay, young man, come up here. You know better than to talk to me like that.”

“But Pa!”

“Now.”

“I gotta find him!”

“NOW!”

Bobby headed for the stepladder he borrowed earlier from his mom. James saw bloodstains on Bobby’s arms and worrisome scratches on his face and neck.

“Bobby! Are you hurt? What happened to you?”

“We was diggin’ for gold, Pa. It got him. It tried to get me, too.” He started up the ladder.

“What got him? Are you just pretending? Don’t play games with me, Bob…”

A dark tentacle-like thing probed through the bottom of the pit. Before Bobby could react it attached a plate-sized suction cup to his face, pulled him off the ladder and into the hole at the bottom of the pit.

Bobby’s mom came up to the pit, being careful to avoid the flying dirt. “Hey! In the hole! I need my ladder back. Bob… James? Uh, lose your car keys? What in the world are you doing?”

“Digging.”

“Digging for what? Treasure? We could use some.”

“The monster that ate Bobby!”

There was movement at the bottom of the pit.

Hide, Mama.

Take your daughters to the false security of the attic.

Take buckets of water, baskets of food.

Hide… and pray.

A shawl-covered face lined with worry peeked through the small attic window helplessly watching as dozens of her neighbors were consumed by the beast. Groups of men fought bravely but to no avail. Many died. Even some women and children were struck down on the spot while others were carried off to an unknown fate. The dead would remain where they lay. No one would dare to move them, not even under cover of darkness. The thing’s depredations had nearly reduced the town to a city of ghosts.

Mama held her two daughters close, trying unsuccessfully to quiet their fears while they hid in the attic of their ancestral home, surrounded by heirlooms and family treasures of days long past. Two sets of terrified five-year-old eyes pleaded with her for reassurance but Mama’s eyes betrayed the hollow despairing terror raging within.

Mama knew it was futile to hide. Soon the food and water would be depleted.
But she held on, for the sake of her children. She hummed the lullaby her girls loved as they settled against her bosom enjoying the comfort of her warmth.

CLOMP! Mama gasped. The girls screamed before mama could cup her hands around their mouths. Something was in their house.

CLOMP! The crash of heavy footfalls on wooden steps echoed up the stairwell.

CLOMP! Mama prayed and cried silent tears.

CLOMP! The girls whimpered through mama’s fingers. She shushed her little ones to silence.

CLOMP! shuffle…

The attic door rattled as something tried to push it open. There were inarticulate sounds… then silence.

CRASH! The door caved inward in showers of splintered wood. The dresser and old trunks piled against it proved no match for the creature’s strength. The girls’ screams were ear-splitting. Mama wailed.

The monster fixed its gaze on the ragged mass of humanity huddled beneath the table. A cruel grin stretched its taut face. A beam of sunlight streaming through the small window fell upon the dreaded SS insignia embroidered on the monster’s immaculate uniform. It nodded to a subordinate and Mama and her two screaming daughters were roughly pulled toward the doorway.

A blazing match traced a fiery arc through the attic gloom throwing grotesque dancing shadows on the walls. The monster grinned as old photographs curled into ashes and orange flames devoured the memories of generations.

Mama’s knees buckled. A moan wrenched from her breaking heart fell upon the ears of the monster but affected it not. She cried, she begged, she promised anything for her children’s sake but the monster’s armor was impenetrable, and the attic dwellers, though alive, were effectively dead as they were forced down the steps into the bitter cold day and onto the waiting truck.

The beast exited the burning house and admired his handiwork. The mother was beside herself, wailing in utter despair. The girls screamed and fed on her fear.

The monster approached her. “Mama, don’t cry so! Auschwitz is not so bad. You have been listening to propaganda. I received word today that over five hundred Jews have left Auschwitz. And that is just today’s numbers. They have been set free… relocated.”

Mama gazed into his dark eyes. Mistrust mingled with fear.

The monster feigned hurt. “On my word as an officer!”

Mama dared allow a glimmer of hope into her heart.

“Yes, Mama, there is a way to leave Auschwitz. Once you arrive it will be explained so be sure to listen closely. Don’t lose hope. Be strong for your children.” With that the truck roared to life and soon was out of sight.

The monster nodded. “Yes, there is a final solution, a way out. One way.” He turned toward the house and watched the column of smoke billow upward.

In the poor soil atop the ridge scrub pines grew twisted and deformed, making an eerie silhouette against the darkening sky. Upon the ridge was the beast.

Warm breezes wafted up the heavily forested slope carrying telltale scents of what lay hidden in the river valley below. There was the musky scent of deer. An overwhelming urge to hunt moved the creature down the slope when suddenly there was a new odor, one of burning wood mixed with another tantalizing scent–that of flesh being charred. It sniffed audibly with flared nostrils to locate the source. It moved toward it.

Through the steamed-up windshield Sue gazed up at the crescent moon, thinking, “How many hands does he have, anyway?”

“Todd,” she said, “do you realize there are Americans on the moon? I mean right now,
this minute?”

Todd glanced upward. “Groovy. Now where was I?” He unsnapped her jeans.

“Todd!” The AM radio was playing “Hey Jude” again. Sue wanted to just sit back and listen. She sighed, “The Beatles, men of many talents; Todd, man of many hands.”

“Come on, Sue, they invented that pill for a reason.”

“Uh-huh. The hamburgers are burning.”

“Hamburgers?”

“You know, the 69-cents-per-pound hamburgers. The ones you made a scene about to the store manager.”

“It was robbery! And gas went up to 32 cents!”

“But I’m worth it. Now check the burgers.”

Jerking upright when the windshield caved in, Todd caught a two-inch-long claw in his forehead as four gigantic fingers clamped the base of his skull and squeezed unmercifully. The beast pulled and swiveled, jerking Todd through the shattered glass, sending his shredded body cartwheeling across the river, his crushed skull spewing blood and brains.

Sue barely had time to scream. A monstrous back and massive shoulders silhouetted against the night sky were all she saw. Glass from the shattered windshield continued to fall, sparkling proudly in the faint moonlight. The thing turned. As its eyes met hers she mercifully fainted.

Flashing lights and radio chatter filled the picnic area.

“Eaten,” a deputy said. “Flat eaten!”

Sheriff Harris barked, “Deputy Riker! Get a blanket and cover that… that thing!”

“It’s not an ‘it,’ sheriff. That’s Sue Erving, or what’s left of her. The car is Todd Posner’s. Wonder where he is?”

The sheriff fought to keep his supper down. “Grizzly attack, maybe. Probably dragged the boy off somewhere. But hell, there haven’t been grizzlies around here for decades.”

“Maybe one just passing through?”

“No. Check the spacing of the claw marks on the roof. No bear has a paw that big.”

Another deputy shouted from near the river, “Sheriff, look at this!”

He looked where the deputy indicated with his light. There in the riverbank lay a trail of enormous human-like tracks sunk into the rocky soil.

The deputy nodded. “Whatever it was went into the river. Bear looking for salmon, maybe?”

Harris shook his head. “No. Whatever made these walks on two legs and has a seven-foot stride. Get casts. Good God, they look twenty inches long.”

The deputy had a very uneasy feeling. “God in Heaven, Sheriff, what happened here tonight?”

He shook his head. “Other than the obvious, I don’t know.”

“The obvious?”

“Yeah, whatever it was was huge and powerful… and hungry.”

They felt a sudden chill while gazing into the dark undergrowth on the other side of the river.

The Earth continued on its endless journey through the icy cold of space. The creatures of the night resumed their calling. One of the most momentous days for America was about to pass into history, leaving in its wake three very confused law officers.

Feeble candlelight challenged the growing darkness. A savage electrical storm wreaked havoc with power lines, neon-green lightning overloading transformers that exploded in showers of vivid blue sparks.

Old-timers of Granville peeked through parted curtains. Brave ones ventured onto porches to gaze in awe at the violently churning dark green clouds overhead. It was the strangest weather in memory. It was the color that scared people–the green clouds and lightning, the green-tinted air.

Sammi Jewel dug through the overflowing junk drawer hoping for more candles but came away with only a half-dead flashlight with a dim yellow beam. Though only four PM it was gloomy and oppressive outside the house and dark inside.

Her twin six-year-old boys were giddy with excitement. Scotty and Brandon knew adventure when they saw it. Stormy weather, candles, and a big box from their new TV. Sammi sighed with relief. Two terrified kids she didn’t need.

She hugged herself. The air was alive with a pulsating energy that tickled the hair on her arms and raised goose bumps. She imagined swarms of tiny invisible spiders were crawling on her and resisted the impulse to brush them away.

She peeked in at her boys and marveled at their imaginations. They crawled giggling inside the box with their teddies and closed the flaps.

“Captain Scotty here. Time machine ready!”

“Ready!”

“Date?”

“1830!”

The box rocked and Sammi smiled.

Sharp cries of alarm erupted from within, followed by a flash of jade-green light. Then silence.

Sammi gasped, rushing to the box. She called tentatively while opening the flaps with trembling hands, “Boys?”

Empty. Sammi inhaled sharply and frantically searched the room. They must have slipped out unseen, but how?

There was another flash of green and giggles from the box. Sammi looked in and screamed. “Where have you boys been?”

The boys were confused. “In the box, Momma.”

She shook her head. “I looked and you weren’t…”

“Teddy!” Scotty shouted. “Where’s Teddy?”

“Let’s go get him!” Brandon cried. Hunkering down they closed the flaps, chanting, “1830, 1830, 1830…”

“Teddy!”

The box rocked. Green light flashed.

“No!” Sammi cried.

Flaps pulled open revealed the box was empty. Sammi screamed and looked frantically about the dimly lit room for her sons. Another flash of green startled an anguished cry from her. “God in Heaven! What’s going on?”

Brandon jumped from the box, dropped a teddy bear and ran to his toy box, screaming all the while, “Indians! Indians, Momma! The Indians got him! The Indians!” He quickly fished out his toy bow and four rubber- tipped arrows and ran back to the box. Sammi grabbed for him but he ducked and pulled shut the flaps, screaming, “1830! 1830! 1830!” Green light pulsed. Sammi screamed until her throat was raw and bleeding.

By four-thirty she was insane. Her husband arrived home at five to find his wife sitting in the box, rocking to and fro, mumbling “1830, 1830…” while clutching a blood-stained teddy bear.

By six, rays of sunlight peeked through dissipating clouds that ceased their violent churning and either melted away or moved off. The air lost its green tint and all that remained of the strange storm was the memory of it.

In Granville they still talk about it–the strange weather and the disappearance of the two boys–as if the two events were inseparable.

Sammi shuffles aimlessly in the asylum, tears falling freely from haunted eyes, mumbling endlessly about “’Indians” and “1830.” At times Sammi’s eyes brighten and she smiles an odd little smile. If she tries hard she can see her twin six-year-olds, two bright little meteors streaking through time. But when she reaches out to them they shimmer and fade, as does her sanity. The light in her eyes dims and once more she is lost.