Billy, always an early riser, woke up at a quarter past six. He went to the bathroom for his morning business, then down to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. He walked down the steps to the first floor of the house, careful not to make any noise.
In the kitchen he poured a bowl of cereal, taking care not to spill any milk, as he had a habit of doing. He replaced the cereal box to the cupboard and the milk to the refrigerator (which Samantha still called the fridgermator) and took his bowl of cereal out onto the front porch. He sat on the porch swing and spooned cereal into his mouth. He'd always enjoyed eating out there on the porch early in the morning, when everything was still and silent, a private moment of peace for him alone to enjoy.
At the end of the street the light turned from green to red, though only Billy was around to see it. Crickets were chirping in the grass, a sound he found comforting somehow. The swing squealed quietly as he rocked it gently forward and back. A car passed the house, turning right at the end of the block.
He finished his cereal and slurped up the last of the milk. He took a deep breath, pulling the cool morning air into his lungs. He stood up and made for the screen door. He pulled it open, the screen squealing on its hinges, but as he was about to open the front door, his hand resting on the doorknob, something caught his eye.
He let the screen door bang shut and walked over to the corner of the porch. He looked down at it numbly, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Lying there in the corner was a pile of fur and gore, and wrapped around one end was a small collar with the name LESTER on it. Lester was the name of the family cat. A cry of revulsion escaped Billy's throat, and he rushed into the house yelling for his father.
-----
The family stood around the little mound of dirt in the back yard. Karen stood with her arm draped around Samantha's shoulder. Billy stood alone with his arms crossed, and their parents stood together.
When Billy came running into the bedroom shouting, Richard Smith had leaped out of bed, his gut wrenching at the sound of panic in his son's voice. He'd expected Billy to deliver some horrible message like, "there are burglars in the house", or "I reached down into the garbage disposal and...", but he hadn't expected to be told that the family cat had died. He had calmed Billy down and asked him what was wrong. Both Karen and Samantha had awakened with the shouting and were at the open bedroom door. Vera Smith was sitting up in bed.
"It's the cat, Dad," Billy said. "It's dead."
"Lester!" Samantha said in a six year old's whiny voice.
"What happened?" Richard asked.
"I don't know; it looks like it was torn apart!"
Samantha started crying.
"Come on Sam," Karen said. "Let's go back to your room."
Karen led her little sister away. Richard put his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Come on, show me what the fuss is about," he said.
-----
After the kitty funeral Karen suggested that she and Billy take Samantha to get an ice cream cone, something to take her mind off of the dead cat. Their father had gone to work, which he rarely did on Saturdays.
A cool breeze started up as they walked back home from Ice King, Samantha licking her scoop of strawberry as some dripped down the sides of the sugar cone. Billy and Karen walked slightly ahead of her, both of them feeling glum.
"Do you think it was a dog?" Billy asked quietly, not wanting to upset Samantha again.
"Huh?" Karen asked, lost in her thoughts.
"Do you think a dog did that to Lester?"
"I don't know. I guess so. What else could've done it?"
That was the thing; their neighborhood wasn't exactly crawling with wildlife, which left a dog as the only practical conclusion. But there were only a handful of dogs in the neighborhood, and Billy felt sure that none of them would have done it. They were all were quite peaceful, with the exception of the Denker's dog, but the Denker's always kept their dog inside the house. Could it have been a stray? That could be it. But one question still went unanswered: How did the cat get outside in the first place?
"Think we'll get a new one?" Karen asked.
"I don't know. Dad probably won't want to. He never wanted to have a cat anyway."
"Yeah, but Mom will make him get a new one."
"I don't want to finish this," Samantha piped up from behind them.
Billy and Karen turned around in time to see their little sister throw her cone onto the sidewalk.
"Samantha!" they cried in duet.
-----
Vera had been Homecoming Queen, but that was a long time ago, and looking at herself in the mirror it seemed that that had been another person entirely. The person she saw staring back at her had lines on her face, wrinkles around her eyes. They were not prominent; most people didn't notice them at all, but she did. Every time she ran into someone who she'd known when she was younger, an old school friend or a distant relative, she had a hard time facing them, couldn't stand the thoughts she knew they must be thinking.
Oh, look how much she's changed, she imagined them saying.
She could see it in their eyes. She knew that they were thinking this, even if they didn't know it. She didn't like the woman she saw in the mirror, so she turned away. She wanted to be far away from the mirror, that mirror that could only tell the awful truth that she was not little Vera Bane anymore. She was Vera Smith now, wife of Richard Smith and mother of three. Things hadn't turned out as planned. She'd wanted to really be something after college, had wanted to teach, had wanted to be an artist, perhaps even a writer, but then she'd met Richard and things had changed. Now she was a fucking soccer mom. No, this was now how she'd pictured her future.
She decided to do a little housecleaning while the kids were gone. (After all, what's a good little homemaker to do?) She got the vacuum out of the closet. As she plugged it in she was startled half to death when it roared immediately to life. Someone had left it on again. Karen and Billy had been told too many times already to switch the vacuum off when they were done with it, not to just unplug it while it was still on.
With her left foot she pressed the lever that allowed her to lower the handle, then started in the living room, picking up whatever the carpet had collected since she had vacuumed last. She weaved her way around the furniture from one end of the room to the other. Finished with the living room, she moved on to Richard's den. Then it was time to clean the second floor, and she dreaded having to carry the heavy machine up the stairs. As she started up she heard a door slam shut somewhere above her. The upstairs hall ran out of sight to both the right and left of the stairs; the slammed door sounded like it came from the left.
One of the kids' rooms. But they're...
They're gone, she thinks. Karen and Billy had taken Sam to get an ice cream cone.
They could've come in when I was in the den. The vacuum is so loud I wouldn't have heard them come in.
But this thought seemed phony. A flutter of unease arose in her chest.
Quit being silly, Vera.
She resumed her climb.
"Billy, I need you to take out the trash. It's nearly overflowing."
There was no answer, no customary "I'll do it in a minute, Mom". She got to the top of the stairs and looked down the left side of the hall. All three of the kids' bedroom doors were closed.
"Billy?"
She was startled by a loud bang and gave out a short little scream. The sound had come from Billy's room, someone---
(something)
---had banged hard against the door from inside the room.
"Billy, is everything all right?"
The only answer was another loud bang. She realized she was still holding the vacuum suspended from the floor. She sets it down and walked to the door of Billy's room, rapping it three times tentatively.
"Billy?" she said uncertainly.
Something's wrong here, something's wrong here, something's very wrong here.
The door then shattered outward, and the last thing that Vera Smith ever felt in her life was a deep cold embrace, cold like she had never known before.
-----
Blissful in their ignorance the three children entered their home. Karen and Samantha immediately headed upstairs and Billy headed for the kitchen for a snack. Before he even got the refrigerator door open Karen yelled out his name.
"Billy, come here quick!"
Usually this would've elicited a reply like, "Hold on" or, "Whad'ya need?", but something in her voice made the hair rise on the back of his neck. He hurried up the stairs, shot a glance to the right where the master bedroom and the upstairs bathroom were, then turned left. His sisters were standing there staring wide-eyed at what had once been his bedroom door. The door now lay in splinters on the hall carpet. Billy looked at Karen.
"What happened?" Billy asked.
"I don't know. Billy, look!"
He followed his sister's gaze back down to the carpet. At first he didn't see it, but when he did the sight made his stomach contract in fear. He hadn't seen it at first because the hallway was dim; there was a spattering of blood on the carpet. Samantha stepped to the doorway and stared blankly into the room.
"I don't want to be here," was all she could say.
Karen moved up behind her sister and looked in, and a terrific scream rose out of her body. Without thinking Billy pushed his sisters out of the doorway, partly to protect them from whatever may be in the bedroom, and partly so he could see for himself. What he saw was his mother lying on the bed, looking like a battered and bloody ragdoll. Samantha started to sob.
Whoever did this might still be in the house, Billy thought.
"Let's go! We have to get out of the house."
He grabbed Samantha's hand and led her to the top of the stairs. Karen stood frozen where she was.
"Karen, come on!"
She shook her head and turned her gaze to her brother, looking like someone coming out of a terrible dream.
"Karen, now!"
This time she responded and started moving. The three of them leaped down the stairs. As they neared the front door, just steps away from the sanity of the little street they had lived on all of their lives, some horrible thing decided to make its presence known. There was no spectral figure, no ghostly sound of rattling chains. Instead there was a sudden wash of cold, the kind of cold you can feel in your bones, and it stopped the three siblings dead in their tracks.
"What is it?" Karen asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
And then that coldness moved, seemed to rush at them. Billy still had hold of Samantha's hand, and now with his left hand he grabbed hold of Karen's, and he practically dragged them after him. Again he was acting on instinct; there simply wasn't time to plan the next move. He led his sisters to the door at the head of the basement stairs. He let go of Karen's hand and threw the door open.
"Go down!"
He let go of Samantha's hand, and Karen grabbed it. The girls ran down the steps as fast as they could. With one foot on the second step and one on the third Billy slammed the door behind him.
-----
In the darkness: "Is it gone?"
"I don't know, Karen."
Billy was standing in what he thought was the center of the basement. He reached up and searched for the string to turn on the light. After a moment he found it. The light was bright and at first he had to squint against it.
"I want Daddy," Samantha said.
Karen took her sister in her arms, lifted her and held her tight.
"Shh," she soothed her sister.
Billy stood at the foot of the stairs staring up at the door.
"Why didn't it break through?"
"Huh?" Karen asked. Samantha had her face buried in her big sister's shoulder, sobbing.
"You saw what it did to my bedroom door. Why didn't it break through the basement door?"
"Maybe it's gone. Maybe...maybe it left."
There was an explosion of wood as the basement door crashed inward. Karen screamed as Billy sailed against the wall with a sickening thud. That cold presence turned its regard to Karen. She turned and ran, realizing too late that she had nowhere to run to. In the corner she saw something that caused a wave of hope to rise within her. It was the axe her father used to cut down a pine tree every Christmas. She set Samantha down in spite of Samantha's vehement protest. She grabbed the axe---
It's so heavy!
---and gripped it in both hands. The cold was behind her, about to pounce like a jungle cat. She could feel it. She turned and swung the axe with all her might...then the cold enveloped her and she slipped into unconsciousness.
-----
It waited. It waited for The Man to come home. And he would be home soon, it thought. It could think, though its thoughts were insane. It could think, and it could wait. It had all the time in the world.
-----
She awoke in a stark white room. It had the antiseptic smell of a hospital. Had she been in an accident? She couldn't remember what had happened, but in time she would. In time she would remember everything.
After a time she realized that she was handcuffed to a bed. On several occasions uniformed men came in to ask her questions that she didn't quite understand.
"Why did you do it, Karen?"
"Did you use the axe? We didn't find any blood on it. Did you clean it when you were done?"
"Why did you hurt yourself, Karen? Was it because of the guilt? Were you trying to kill yourself?"
She didn't know what to tell them. She just wanted to know where her family was.
-----
The teenage girl writhed on the floor of the jail cell and moaned as if she were in terrible pain. Suddenly she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and staring, her arms flailing at an invisible enemy.
"It's here!" she screamed. "It's coming for me!"
The police officer who had been posted to observe the girl shook his head sadly at her hysterical screams. She had lost it. She'd gone nuts and killed her whole damn family. He hoped she would burn in Hell.
Then, before the officer's startled eyes, livid teeth marks began to appear on the girl's upper arms and shoulders. She let out a deep animal scream, a scream from the depths of her soul; it turned his stomach to hear it. Her arms continued flailing around, as if she were trying to fight off Hell itself. Blood streamed out of the wounds on her arms and shoulders as a new gash opened up on the left side of her face. Her teeth showed through the gash, perfect and white.
Officer Banner finally broke free of the paralysis that had overcome him and had prevented him from responding. He opened his mouth to call for help, but at first only a croak escaped his throat. Then he found his voice.
"I need help!" he yelled. "Hey, I need help in here!"
He unhooked the key ring from his belt. His fingers were numb as he tried to sort through the keys. He couldn't find the right key. He couldn't find the key, and something very bad was happening in that cell.
My God, she's dying. This can't be real.
"Please! Help me!" the girl screamed, pleading for his help, but his stupid fingers were fumbling with the keys, and he couldn't find the right one.
Please let me find it. Please.
The girl's prison jumpsuit was torn apart and deep cuts opened up on her belly, new blood welling up out of the wounds. One of her sneakers came off of her foot and sailed against the cell wall with a thud.
"Something's happening here!" Officer Banner shouted. "I need help! Please!"
The screaming. Oh, please stop that screaming.
He found the key just as Officer Handey came storming in, the crumbs of his lunch still on his chin.
"What's all this racket? It sounds like someone's being murdered in here," Officer Handey said before being stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes fell on the girl in the cell. If it hadn't been for all of the gashes and the blood he might've thought she was having an epileptic seizure. "Jesus Christ! What's going on?"
"I don't know," Officer Banner said. He went to the cell door. At first he couldn't get the key in. He nearly dropped the key ring, but he finally found his mark. He turned the key and heard the cell door unlock with a dull clanking sound.
At that moment the girl was picked up off the floor as if by the hand of some invisible giant. With a squeal of hinges Officer Banner pulled the cell door open, and as he did so the girl was flung against the back wall. As her body met the cold stone there was a terrible sound, the sound of a person being broken.
Officer Banner rushed to the girl's side and turned her over. Blood had trickled out of her nostrils and her eyes were half closed, just the barest hint of her irises visible. He felt for a pulse and found none.
"She's....," he began, but didn't finish. He didn't know what to say.
-----
A week after the incident the officers were sitting together at a booth in a greasy spoon café. They had both ordered burgers with the works, but neither had eaten much. From the looks of them, neither had gotten much sleep either. After recounting their bizarre tale to their superiors, both men had been put on temporary leave and it had been suggested (strongly so) that they seek professional psychiatric help. Surely, it was said, they had not seen what they claimed to have seen. There were a few people who would always think that they'd killed the girl themselves, and that they'd gotten away with murder.
Handey looked up at his longtime friend with haunted, red-rimmed eyes.
"You know, it could've been worse. It could've happened to some innocent person."
Banner didn't respond. He just stared down at the plate of food he knew he wouldn't eat.
"I mean, she was a murderer," Handey said. "She killed her whole family. If it had to happen to someone, better it happened to a murderer than to some random person. Right?"
His voice almost broke with that last word. He needed to be comforted, to be reassured that it hadn't been as bad as it could've been, and though Banner was no longer sure that the girl had really killed her family (he remembered her words, 'here he comes again'), he said, "Right."
Handey's eyes seemed to brighten a bit. He'd heard what he'd needed to hear, what would help him sleep at night. After an internal struggle, Banner asked a question he'd wanted to ask since that horrible night.
"When we were in there, did you feel anything?"
"How do you mean?" Handey said, picking up a fry and tossing it into his mouth.
"Something strange. Something that didn't belong."
Handey only stared at him blankly, and suddenly Banner felt foolish for asking.
"Never mind. It was just a stupid thought."
Officer John Banner would never tell anyone, but when he'd been at the girl's side checking her pulse he'd felt something brush against him. Something icy cold.
(here he comes again)
From that day on he felt that he knew something of Death. It was cold. And it was hungry.