Lunar Park Part 25

I picked up the flashlight and trained the beam on the thing, which had stopped moving-seemingly confused.

Outside, Victor's barking became hysterical.

The thing resumed rus.h.i.+ng us.

And that's when I dropped the flashlight again. The bulb cracked, drowning us in darkness as the thing continued rus.h.i.+ng toward us.

I grabbed Robby's sweaty hand and ran to his room and opened the door.

I tripped as I fell into the room, hitting my face against the floor. I felt wetness on my lip.

Robby slammed the door shut and I heard the lock click.

I stood up, wavering in the darkness, and wiped the blood from my mouth. I shouted out when Robby steadied me with a frightened hug.

I listened closely. It was so dark in the room that we were forced to concentrate on the scratching sounds.

Suddenly the scratching subsided.

Robby's grip on me loosened. I exhaled.

But the relief couldn't be sustained because there was a cracking noise. It was pus.h.i.+ng itself against the door.

I moved to the door. Robby was still holding on to me.

"Robby," I whispered. "Do you have a flashlight in here? Anything?"

I felt Robby immediately let go of me and heard him move in the direction of his closet.

In the darkness of the room a green light saber appeared. It floated toward me and I took the toy from him. The glow was faint. I aimed the light saber at the door, illuminating it.

"Dad," Robby whispered, his voice shaky. "What is it?"

"I don't know." (But even as I said this, I knew what it was.) The scratching resumed.

I was asking myself: What is it scratching with?

And then I realized it wasn't scratching. (I remembered something.) It had never been scratching.

It was gnawing at the door. It was using its mouth. It was using its teeth.

And then the gnawing stopped.

Robby and I stared at the door, which was now bathed in green.

And we watched in horror as the doork.n.o.b began to twist back and forth.

In a sickening flash I understood that it was using its mouth to accomplish this.

I had to remind myself to breathe again when the doork.n.o.b rattled violently.

There was a snarling sound. It was the noise of frustration. It was the noise of hunger.

And then it stopped. We could hear the thing dragging itself away.

"What is it? What does it want? I don't understand. How did it get in?" This was Robby.

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l it is," I was saying absurdly.

"What is it, Dad?"

"I don't know I don't know I don't-"

(Note: This was not technically true.) Our moaning was cut off by the sound of Sarah screaming. "Mommy! Mommy! It's getting me!"

I rushed through the bathroom and into Sarah's room. In the instant before I grabbed her off the bed I waved the light saber over the scene.

Sarah was backed up against the headboard as the thing attempted to pull itself onto her bed. It had fastened its mouth over one of the bedposts and it was moving frantically and squealing.

"What's happening?" Robby was screaming this from inside the bathroom.

I shouted out in disgust and grabbed Sarah off the bed. As I carried her toward the bathroom, the thing froze and then leapt onto the floor and I could hear it rus.h.i.+ng toward us.

I slammed the bathroom door shut, and Robby locked it. I was still holding Sarah and the light saber. We were waiting while staring at the door.

Calmly, I asked: "Where's your cell phone, Robby?"

"It's in my room." He gestured over his shoulder.

I was contemplating something. I would unlock the door that led into Robby's room and find the phone and run back into the bathroom and call 911. This was the idea that formed inside my mind.

Victor continued his freakout in the backyard.

Then something slammed into the door to Sarah's room with such force that it bulged inward.

Robby and Sarah screamed.

"It's gonna be okay. Robby, unlock your door. We're gonna get out through your room."

"Daddy, I can't." He was weeping.

"It's gonna be okay."

The thing slammed into the door again.

The door cracked down the middle. When the thing hit it again, the door was falling off its hinges.

This moved Robby to immediately unlock his door and run out of the bathroom.

I followed, still holding Sarah and the light saber.

We ran through Robby's room and Robby unlocked the door and without hesitating we started moving down the staircase. The moon was streaming through the window and now we could see more clearly.

Halfway down the staircase I could see the thing rus.h.i.+ng across the landing above us.

It began to chase us down the stairs. I could hear its mouth opening and closing, making wet snapping sounds.

Sarah turned her head and shrieked when she saw it lurching toward us.

My office seemed closest. The door was open. The front door was not.

My office had the gun in the safe.

In my office we closed and locked the door. I put Sarah down on the couch. Both of the kids were crying. I uselessly told them it would be "okay."

Holding the light saber toward the dial, I unlocked the safe and pulled out the gun.

I scanned my desk with the saber until I located my cell phone.

I asked Robby to hold the light saber while I dialed 911.

Robby was just staring at the gun I was holding. This caused him to close his eyes tightly and cover both ears with his hands.

The thing began slamming itself into the door.

"Jesus Christ," I shouted out.

The slamming was becoming more frequent. The door was bulging forward in its frame. I looked frantically around the room. I rushed to the window and opened it.

(Note: The paint was peeling off the house so rapidly that it looked as if snow flurries had drifted onto Elsinore Lane.) But then the door cracked and fell to the side, hanging off the top hinge.

The thing stood in the doorway.

Even with the faint glow of the saber I was swinging at it, I could see the froth wreathing its mouth.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" Robby was screaming.

I pointed the gun at the thing as it began shambling toward us.

I pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

The gun was not loaded.

(Note: Jayne had removed all the bullets from the gun after the night she thought I "imagined" an intruder had broken into the house.) We could barely see the thing as it advanced toward us. It was making sucking sounds.

The electricity came on so quickly that we were blinded by the lights. The smoke alarm was beeping incessantly. Everything that had been turned off before bed was now on. Every light in the house was burning. The television was blasting. From the stereo blared a Muzak version of "The Way We Were." My computer flashed on.

The house was sunstruck with light.

The light kept us from witnessing the thing's disappearance.

"Daddy, you're bleeding." This from Sarah.

I touched my lips. My fingers came back red.

As I stood there I noticed the time on the battery-powered clock on my desk.

The electricity had come on at exactly 2:40 a.m.

25. the thing in the hall

Four minutes after a 911 call was made, the flas.h.i.+ng blue lights of a patrol car pulled up to 307 Elsinore Lane.

I had told the 911 operator that there had been a break-in but no one had been injured and the "perpetrator" had escaped.

I was asked if I would like to stay on the line until the officers arrived.

I declined because I had to think things through.

I had to make a few key decisions.

Would the threat I was about to relate entail something that had found its way into our house? Or would I try to push the lie (the more plausible scenario) that it was-what?-your basic home invasion? Would I refrain from using the word "creature" as I gestured toward the woods? Would I make an attempt to describe the thing in the hallway? Would I act "concerned" while downplaying the true extent of my fears since there was nothing anyone could do to help us?

The police would arrive.

Yes . . . and?

The police would inspect the house.

And they would find nothing.

All the police could do was escort us to our rooms, where we would collect our belongings, since there was no way we were spending another night in the house.

But how could I, much less the kids, explain to them what had happened to us?

We were dealing with something so far beyond their realm that it was senseless.

I realized dimly that no police report would be filed.

I had not figured out the Terby yet. All I knew was that somehow I had brought it into the house-and that it had wanted me to-but what had appeared in the flickering hallway was a secret I had to keep to myself. In this, the house and I were in collusion.

I called Marta. I chose my words carefully and explained that "something" had gotten into the house and a.s.sured her that everyone was fine and I had called the police and we were going to spend the night at the Four Seasons downtown and would she please make arrangements. I said all this in as calm a voice as I could create and I said it quickly-in a run-on sentence-mentioning the intruder in the lead so that the only thing that would register was the need to book a room in a hotel. But Marta was a professional and she was wide awake the moment her phone started ringing and she told me that she would be over to Elsinore Lane in fifteen minutes and before I could say anything she had clicked off.