A Brand New Short Story: The Invitation

Sometimes actors can get a little too caught up in their roles. That can be especially true if you're filming in a haunted house. Check out "The Invitation" at They're Only Shadows.

New Scary Story: Essay: Why I like living in a small town

Small town life in America is often romanticized, but there is a dark side to some rural villages, and you can read about one such town in my new story "Essay: Why I like Living in a Small Town" at That's the Spirit.

The Changing Room - New Short Scary Story

The Patterson's are moving into a turn-of-the-last-century Victorian home that has seen its share of change, but nothing like what Paul experiences when he finds a secret room at That's Going Too Far!

Ping - A New Short Scary Story

We've learned not to text and drive, but that's not the only situation where texting can be dangerous, even deadly. Read "Ping," my latest short scary story at They're Only Shadows and you'll never take texting for granted again.

Unforgivable, a new short scary story

Some transgressions can be quickly forgotten, but others are unforgivable. Check out my latest short scary story at They're Only Shadows.

Short Scary Story - The Boy in the Mirror

You're son is a budding psychopath who claims he's being controlled by a boy in his bedroom mirror. Is it just his twisted imagination or something more? Find out at That's Going Too Far!

Latest Short Scary Story - "I'll Never Die"

I'm not very comfortable with self-promotion, but I posted a short scary story on Reddit that has been getting a lot of favorable responses. Here are some examples:

 “This is fantastic :) Well done.”

“Kudos. Applause”

“Awesome!!!”

“I. Love. This.”

“Loved every second of this story, kudos!"

It's now posted on my short story blog, "They're Only Shadows." Check it out. Thanks.

New Short Scary Story - It Runs in the Family

Spiders. I hate spiders, but they can be fun to write about. Check out my latest short scary story at They're Only Shadows and get a case of the creepy crawlies.

The Girl Next Door - A New Scary Short Story

The girl next door isn't exactly the kid you'd like your child to play with. Find out why by visiting They're Only Shadows.

New short story: The Soul Borrowers

Here is an excerpt from "The Soul Borrowers."

"You should be unpacking the kitchen not putting books away. They can wait,” shouted the testy Izzy from the downstairs bathroom.

            The lean, blue-eyed, darkly handsome Matt Ketchum knew she was right, and that’s what irritated him. “Just a minute,” he replied.

            He had pulled out and arranged all but one last book that lay at the bottom of the box. It wasn’t one he’d recalled seeing before. Picking up the aging hardcover, he turned to read the spine. “The Soul Borrowers by Arthur Edward Singletary.” He was about to call out to Izzy and ask if the book was hers when a photograph fell from between the pages and floated to the floor. Picking it up, the first thing he saw was the image of a cherubic little blond girl around three in pajamas standing up in her crib. It didn’t take any guessing to know this was a photo of Izzy as a child, playfully mugging for the camera. Matt made his best educated guess that this was an evening when little Izzy wouldn’t go to sleep and for whatever reason, a harried and sleep deprived Mom decided to take a picture. Then he noticed something in a corner of the room, a shadow that seemed to have the shape of a very tall person clothed in black gauze. He squinted. Pulled the photo closer. At one glance, it was simply the dark corner of the room that the flash did not reach, but at another there was a human shape to the black mass just to the left of Izzy.

            “Having fun?” asked an exasperated Izzy leaning in the doorway, her pale skin glistening.

            He looked at her and then back at the photo. “What is this?”

            She tiredly wiped her forehead and came in to the room, taking the photo from Matt and examining it closely. Her expression subtly transitioned from irritation to confusion to consternation. “That’s me, but…. What the hell is that?” she asked, pointing to the shadow.

            Matt shrugged. “I have no idea, but it’s creepy.”

            Izzy turned the photo over and read the inscription. “’Isabella. July 1987. Duluth.’ I was three. That’s my mother’s writing, but it doesn’t explain anything. Where did you find this?”

            He held out the book. “It fell out of here. It’s called “The Soul Borrowers.” Ring a bell?”
            Izzy took the book from Matt and leafed through it. “Yeah, it does ring a bell. It was one of my mother’s books. She’d only saved a few when she went into the nursing home, but I remember this was one of them. In fact, a few days before she died, she said I should read it.” Izzy looked up at Matt. “She was saying some crazy stuff around that time so I didn’t think anything of it. I just brought it home with everything else she had, which wasn’t much.” She inspected the photo again. “Wow. Creepy is right. Maybe I should read this.”

Read the rest at They're Only Shadows.

There are Secrets… A short story

Rain droplets spattered on the mahogany coffin lid. The day was gray and grim, with a chilly late September storm enveloping the graveside ceremony. A cluster of men, women and children holding black umbrellas stood in a horseshoe around the hole in the earth and the coffin poised above it. An elderly priest with a wisp of fluttering grey hair stood under a canvas tent top, holding the bible in his left hand like a tray of appetizers, imploring the Lord to accept the ever-faithful William Paul Keppler into his heavenly mansion. Sarah Keppler-Hardt, William’s eldest daughter, stood solemnly under her husband Brandon’s umbrella.

The coffin was finally lowered into the muddy abyss and mourners shuffled by Sarah and her younger sister Amy, hugging them mechanically and whispering words of condolence. As the last guests made their way through the small cemetery to their cars, Sarah took Amy’s hand.

            “How’re you doing?”

            “I’ll be better once I get out of this place. I can’t believe Mom didn’t want to come,” responded Amy.

            “There are days when she doesn’t even remember being married.”

            “Does it mean Alzheimer’s is in our future?”

            “Why don’t you stop by the house before you leave town to warm up? I’ll make some coffee.”

            Fifteen minutes later, Amy was peeling off her raincoat in the entryway while Sarah bustled around the kitchen. Brandon disappeared upstairs and Amy joined her sister at the kitchen table.

            “Can’t I talk you into spending the night?” asked Sarah.

            “Thanks, but I’ve got to work tomorrow and it’s a seven hour drive back to Chicago. The coffee will help. When are you moving?”

            “We have a bid on this place, so it might be soon. There are sill things of Mom and Dad’s to go through. I have mixed feelings about moving into the house we grew up in. Freaks me out a bit.”

            “Yeah, I can appreciate that,” said Amy, her gaze fixed on some distant event. “But you’ll have a lot more room, and once you’ve painted and got your furniture in there, it’ll be fine.”

            “You couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

            “That had to do with the occupants of the house, not the structure itself.”

            Sarah put a hand over her sister’s. “I know. Sorry.”

            “It’s okay. I just got so tired of the ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ act.”

            “I can relate.”

            “I always felt like they were putting on an act in front of us. Like, they were hiding their true selves and wearing the parent mask only when they were around us.”

            “I’m no expert, but I think that’s what all parents do.”

            “I suppose, but I didn’t feel that way around my friend’s parents. Anyway that’s old news. Thanks for the coffee, but I should get on the road.”

            Sarah stood on the porch and waved as her sister pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the misty street. She regretted alluding to the past, but it was pretty hard not to do after you’d spent 17 years living with a person. Although she always tried to be the adult big sister, she empathized with Amy’s feelings about their parents. They never seemed to be genuinely engaged.

            The house sold and Sarah and Brandon spent time at their new home painting, tearing out old carpet and cleaning. Two weeks later they were officially moved in, although stacks of boxes were piled up in almost every room. Throughout the move, Sarah reminisced about events that happened in this room and that, some that were happy and others that brought tears to her eyes.

            Boxes of seasonal decorations went directly to the basement. Even as an adult, Sarah didn’t feel comfortable in the large, musty room. Shelves that looked older than the house lined two walls, and there were several pieces of her parent’s furniture connected by cobwebs piled in a far corner. Small rectangular windows let in dull, dust-filled beams of sunlight that did little to warm up the room. She remembered having nightmares about the basement as a child and would only come down the steep stairs if someone else, usually her sister, joined her. Sarah wiped her damp palms on her jeans and trotted back up to the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

            Two days later Sarah found herself back in the basement with Brandon putting more boxes up on shelves. Brandon knocked a screwdriver off of a shelf and bent down to pick it up.

            “Hey, what’s this?” he asked, kneeling down to inspect what appeared to be a doorbell button on the wall hidden under a shelf.

Sarah came over and looked. “I have no idea.”

“Should I push it?” he said smiling. Before she could answer he pushed it. There was a slight “snap” from somewhere and the entire shelf structure swung out slowly like a large door. “What the fucking fuck?” he asked. Behind the bookcase was a wood door with a padlock on it. Sarah’s expression grew concerned. Brandon turned toward her expectantly. “A secret room? You had a secret room and you never said anything to me about it?”

“I didn’t know about it,” said Sarah weakly.

“Come on. You’re kidding me.”

“No. Honestly, I had no idea it was there.

“So you don’t have a clue as to what’s behind the door?”

“No.” Her answer was tentative, and she didn’t know why.

            “And you don’t know where the key is.”

            “No. Of course not.”

            “Could be…treasure, Matey.”

            Like an excited child, Brandon rummaged through a box full of tools, pulled out a crowbar and began violently twisting and turning the lock. Sarah went upstairs to the kitchen, trying to understand the odd feelings she was experiencing. How could she not know about a secret room in the basement? What was her family hiding? She became apprehensive. Maybe I don’t want to know what’s behind the door, she thought, busying herself with tedious tasks. Ten minutes later there was a triumphant cry from below. “Got it.” Curiosity pulled her to the stairs.

            Twisting a fall of her long brown hair with her fingers, Sarah found Brandon standing in a space about the size of a typical bedroom, his arms outstretched, wearing a triumphant look. A single overhead light illuminated the cold room, which clearly wasn’t built for food storage. White soundproof panels covered the walls and ceiling. The floor was concrete with a large drainage grate in the middle of the room. Benches attached to the wall lined the longer section of the room. The smell was overwhelmingly earthy and musty, but there was also a tinge of smoke lingering in the air. It was bare of any visual hints as to its use, but it felt oppressive to Sarah and her eyes teared up.

            “Do you remember something?” asked Brandon.

            “No. I just don’t like it in here.”

            “It’s creepy. I’ll give you that. What the hell were your parents into?”

            She gave him a, “How-could-you-ask-such-a-thing” look and left the room.

            Brandon considered going after her, but the lure of high strangeness in the most common of places kept his feet from moving. Taking a second look around, he noticed details he’d initially missed. There was an air vent high on the wall that brought in fresh air and a dead bolt lock on the inside of the door. He knelt down and discovered four dark marks on the floor in a rectangular pattern, like the scars table legs might make. His mind ticked off possibilities, but he couldn’t come up with a satisfying explanation for the purpose of the room, and was especially puzzled by the need for drainage in the floor. An additional subtle odor in the air caught his attention. He could swear he smelled bleach.

            Sarah stood impatiently at her bedroom window, phone to her ear, waiting for her sister to answer.

            “Sarah?”

            “Did you know about the secret room in the basement?”

            “What? What’s wrong?”

            “A secret room behind the shelves. I was just in it.”

            “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sarah tried to speak, but her throat was clinching and tears started cascading down her cheeks. “Sarah? Are you okay?”

            “No.”

            “Listen, it’s Friday. I’ll book a flight and be there later this evening.”

            “No, that’s crazy,” said Sarah.

            “So is what you’re saying. I’ll call you when I get in.” The phone went dead.

            Amy, still wearing her coat, stood in the middle of the secret room with a bewildered expression. “I really don’t understand. What is this place?”

            Sarah leaned against the wall, just beyond the room’s threshold in the basement. “You had no idea this was here?”

            Amy turned and locked in on her sister’s eyes. “Not a clue. How could they keep this a secret for seventeen years? What’s it for?”

            “There’s one way we might find out,” said Sarah.

            “She can hardly remember what happened ten minutes ago, let alone the past thirty years.”

            “I know, but every once in a while there’s a moment of lucidity. Maybe we can tap into one. This…is such a weird thing, she might remember.”

            A short time later, Sarah and Amy traversed the hallways of the Webster Assisted Living Center on their way to their mother’s room. They stopped at room 148, each stealing a moment to inhale the stale, urine tainted air before entering. The room was dark and stuffy as usual. A small TV glowed in a corner with its sound off. Elizabeth sat hunched over and sleeping in her Lay-Z-Boy. The women looked at each other and then Sarah reached out and touched her mother’s bony shoulder. It took several gentle prods to get Elizabeth to stir from her slumber. As she did she looked around the room as if everything was new to her.

            “Mom, it’s Sarah and Amy.”

            Gauzy, marble eyes searched in confusion until they finally rested on Sarah’s face. Gaunt, her skin pale yellow, Elizabeth wore a stained housecoat and slippers, her thin silver hair a rat’s nest of neglect. She brought a bony hand up and brushed Sarah’s cheek.

            “Amy, my sweetheart.”

            “It’s Sarah, Mom, but Amy’s right here.”

            Amy leaned in. “Mom, it’s me.”

            “How nice. Is dinner ready?”

            Sarah knelt down and rested her hands on the arm of the chair. “I’m sure they’ll be serving dinner soon.”

            “The food here is horrible,” confided Elizabeth. “I swear they’re trying to poison me. Where’s William? Why hasn’t he been here to visit me?”

            Sarah knew this was going to be difficult. “Mom, can I ask you a question?”

            “Of course, Dear.”

            “It’s about the…secret room, in the basement.”

            “The what?”

            “Remember in your house, where you used to live with William. In the basement of that house, there was a secret room. Do you remember?”

            Elizabeth’s expression went through several transitions before it settled on agitation. “No one’s supposed to know about that.”

            Sarah shot a glance at Amy. “Right. You’re right, but we found it today. What is it?”

            An orderly poked her head in the door. “You all doing okay?”

            “Fine,” said Amy.

            “That’s the one who stole things from my purse,” said Elizabeth.

            “Mom,” coaxed the patient Sarah. “You were talking about the secret room in the basement of our house.”

            Elizabeth’s gaze turned to the window. “It was truly amazing.”

            “What was?” asked Amy.

            “You can’t tell anyone, William said.”

            “You can tell us. We’re family.”

            Yellow teeth appeared behind a sudden smile. “Remember how we used to play hide and seek?”

            Sarah’s expression morphed from expectant to perturbed at the sudden change of topic. “Yes. We remember.”

            “But every time we played, Amy used to hide in that broom closet off of the laundry room. She thought it was the best hiding place in the world. Lord, we caught her every time. Silly girl.”

            “Okay, Mom.”

            “And tell William to come visit me.”

            The late afternoon sky was a low grey blanket and the air was brisk. Sarah and Amy walked in silence across the parking lot amid swirling leaves, pulling their coats around themselves, each lost in the disconnected words of their fading mother. Once inside the car, Sarah turned to Amy. “What do you think she meant by ‘It was truly amazing?’”

            “No idea. Why do you think she brought up playing hide and seek as kids?”

            Sarah pulled the car out onto the highway. “I think we should check out the closet as soon as we get back.”

            Brooms, a vacuum, and bottles and cans of cleaning fluids were now sitting out on the kitchen floor as Sarah and Amy surveyed the small closet off of the kitchen. There was one row of shelving about chest level that ran across the three interior walls. Barely enough room for the two of them, the women bumped into each other as they searched for anything that might be out of the ordinary.

            “Look. Up there,” pointed Amy.  In one corner, near the ceiling there was a paper patch about ten inches long and four inches high. Sarah brought in a step stool that allowed her to reach the paper.

            “It’s covering a hole,” she announced, and then poked her fingers in and started tearing away the brittle covering. Reaching into the dark crevice, she pulled out a black scrapbook and blew off a layer of dust. The women looked at each other, knowing that it was hidden for a reason, and that they may find out much more than they wanted to about their parents and the secret room. Sarah stepped down off the stool with a determined expression.

            “Come on,” she instructed Amy.

            They sat on the couch next to each other with the book laying unopened on the coffee table.

            “Are you ready?” asked Sarah.

            “No, but let’s do this.”

            Sarah turned over the cover. On the first page, three photos were stuck to the thick, black material. Written in the margin next to the photos: “1967 - success.” The images were dark and not well focused, but they appeared to show a group of black robed people sitting in the secret room on the benches against the walls, six on each side. Hoods hid their faces in shadows. In the middle of the room was a waist high, rectangular table like one you might see in an old medical school photo. Candles are burning in wall sconces. Both women shook their heads in disbelief.

            “This is before either of us was born. What the hell are they doing?” asked Amy.

            Sarah reluctantly reached down and turned the page. It took a few moments for the subject matter of the seven photos to reach clarity, and when it did, both Sarah and Amy gasped. Now lying on the table was a naked body. It wasn’t the body of a living person, but a corpse. Patches of flesh hung from the body like torn material. Skin and muscle were missing along the person’s arms and legs, exposing sections of bone. Insects and time had ravaged the face and lips were missing, exposing grinning rows of rotted teeth. The body was in such a state of decay it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. A robed individual stood at the feet of the corpse, hands held out, palms up, seeming to be praying or chanting, but the face was hidden. Amy’s hand came to her mouth as she tried to hold back the nausea. Scanning the photos, Sarah came to the fifth in the series.

            “Oh my God,” she cried aloud.

            In this photo, the upper body of the corpse has risen several inches off of the table. As the robed person supplicates, the subsequent photos record the dead body sitting up until it is perpendicular, its spine poking through the thin skin of its back. Amy took her right hand and angrily pushed the book off of the table onto the floor. Sobbing, Sarah wrapped her younger sister in her arms and they both clung to each other in a state of shock and disbelief.

            “This is insanity. What were they doing?” asked Amy.

            “I want answers.”

            “What?”

            Visibly upset, Sarah got up and retrieved the book. “I want to know what in the fuck is going on here. What does this mean? Is it some kind of sick Halloween prank? Get your coat, we’re going to the Webster Center.”

            They didn’t talk in the car as Sarah drove through the light drizzle, her hands turning white from gripping the steering wheel. The shock of seeing what their parents were involved in had both of them shaking with disgust and anger. Tires screeched as she turned quickly into a parking slot and stopped. Sarah, the book tucked under her arm, and Amy marched across the wet lot to the Center entrance. The small, round receptionist smiled as the women passed, but the gesture wasn’t returned. Sarah pushed open the door to room 148. Elizabeth wasn’t there.

            “Excuse me,” called Sarah as they approached the reception desk.

            “Yes?” the woman managed to say through her perpetual grin.

            “Elizabeth Keppler. She’s not in her room. Do you know where she is?”

            The woman referred to a log in front of her. “Oh right. Her husband came in about thirty minutes ago and took her for a walk.”

            “What?” whispered Amy.

            “I know it’s none of my business,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice, “but that man don’t look well. Not well at all.”

Black Holes - A Short Story

The lanky kid and his younger brother stood over the dying couple sprawled on the kitchen floor. Syrupy blood was still pooling around the large, lumpy bodies of the man and woman, but the kids needed to make sure, so they watched and waited. There was no movement for several minutes, no moans or twitches, and the older boy let the red-stained knife drop to the linoleum floor.

            “They wasn’t right anyway,” he said.

***

Dreary midday clouds hung low in the sky like oil-soaked cotton balls. A stiff wind swirled and stirred pine branches in an undulating current that flowed from one tree to the next. Dried brittle oak and maple leaves danced a whirligig in the open spaces just above the smattering of dingy snow still frozen in shady crevices where the warm rays of the sun did not reach. It was mid-November along Minnesota’s North Shore, nine miles north of Two Harbors, and Jim and Cam Leisling and their 16-year old son Sean drove slowly up a dusty, snaky gravel road leading to the family cabin for a late fall weekend getaway.

            There was little conversation during the three-and-a-half hour drive from Minneapolis. Their marriage on life support after seventeen years, conversations between the two adults were perfunctory and focused on needed information, leaving Sean to entertain himself with his iPad in the back seat. The SVU bounced and teetered along the rutted road until the Leisling’s passed a low tangled hedge and rolled into a clearing surrounding the family’s Northwoods cabin. Having more in common with a 1970s suburban two-story home than a rustic pine lodge, the only thing cabin-like about the house was the surrounding wall of dense woods and bramble. Headlights swept over the small weathered shed at the end of the drive, and Jim pulled the vehicle to a dusty stop a few feet from the front steps.

            The clearing was deep in evening shadows as Jim, a tall, sinewy man with a cascade of wavy brown hair and the obligatory day’s growth of beard, got out and stretched his back. The silence was profound after three hours of humming tires and alt rock on the radio. He jumped a bit when Sean slammed his door shut.

            “Need help with the luggage?” asked Cam, her tone flat, her body already turned toward the house.

            “No,” he replied automatically. “I’ve got it.” He watched his wife walk into the house, her tight Levis covering a slim and athletic body that many younger women would kill for. It reminded him momentarily of the enthusiastic sex they used to enjoy and how much he missed it.

            Once moved in, Jim turned up the heater and built a fire in the fireplace while Cam organized the kitchen. Sean disappeared to his room moments after they arrived.

Jim poured himself a glass of wine. “Would you like some?”

Cam stopped shelving cans and pushed thick dark brown locks out of her eyes. “Sure.”

Taking his glass outside, Jim leaned against the front porch railing, hoping Cam might follow him, but she continued working in the kitchen. The night was chilly and he exhaled small white puffs of air that existed for a moment, then vanished. Tomorrow he and Sean would hike a nearby trail for three miles to Birch Lake where they’d fish and camp for the night. It was an annual tradition that Sean was growing less and less enamored with. It saddened Jim to think this might be the last year. Of course, it might be the last year for a lot of things.

The sky the next morning was a depressing matte grey and the temperature hovered around a bone chilling 30. In her bathrobe and flip flops, Cam helped Sean cram a few final items into his backpack. Jim came downstairs, his bag slung over his shoulder.

“We about ready?” he asked.

Sean, a thin, under weight boy, struggled with his overstuffed pack. “Yeah. Ready.”

Jim smiled. “You remember we’re only going to be gone one night.”

“Duh. I need things to do because the fishing is always crappy.”

“Well, Mr. Sunshine, let’s be on our way.”

The trailhead was just a ½ mile north up Highway 61, the main thoroughfare running along the shore of Lake Superior north to Canada. Cam watched Jim, six –foot-two, broad shouldered, walk next to the much shorter, spindly Sean who was taking comically long strides to keep up, and she smiled despite herself. It was not something she did often anymore. Their marriage hadn’t ended on a particular day or as the result of a single event, it had been eroding for several years like a porous sea wall, and you really didn’t see the impact until you stopped and looked back at the crumbling edifice. She still loved him, but was desperately unhappy living with him.

By late afternoon she had all of the supplies they’d brought put away and beds made and some laundry going. She was about to boil water for tea when there was a knock at the front door. This is unusual, she thought as she walked through the living room. The sun had descended behind the trees to the west and the clearing around the house was gloomy and shadow-filled. She flipped on the porch light as she opened the door. Standing just beyond the dull yellow glow of the light were two young people, a lanky pre-teen boy with an unusually pale complexion and a tousle of sandy hair and what appeared to be a younger boy, maybe eight or nine, his face mostly hidden in shadows under a dark hood. Why weren’t they standing on the porch, was her fist thought?

            “Sorry to bother you,” said the boy, his strange drawl drifting into an uncomfortable silence.

            “Uh, that’s okay,” responded a confused Cam. “Can I help you?”

            “My brother and I are looking for work.” The younger boy hadn’t moved a muscle. “We were wondering if you needed anything done, like painting or cleaning. We could sure use the money.”

            Cam began to quickly form her response that, no thank you, they really didn’t need any work done at the moment, when she finally noticed the older boy’s eyes. Despite the shadows and enveloping darkness around them, she could see his eyes were black. Not merely black pupils, or dark contacts, but entirely black, like glass marbles filled with ink. As she stared, the boy shifted from one leg to the other.

            “Could my brother have a drink of water? He’s really thirsty.”

            A shiver coursed through Cam’s body, and she suddenly felt cold, from the inside. “Uh, sorry, but you’ll have to go now.” She took a step back into the house.

            The boy put a scuffed brown shoe up on the porch. “Please, Ma’am. We’re tired and thirsty. Won’t you let us come in?” His voice was affected, unnatural.

            Cam’s eyes widened as the boy’s face became clearer in the sick yellow light. Black eyes gleamed behind a strangely pale, almost translucent face, like one of those clear Halloween masks. Her heart now racing dangerously fast, Cam slammed the door shut in a panic and leaned with her back bracing the door. The handle jiggled. “It’s cold out here, Cam,” came the plaintive voice. In her terror, she managed to flip the dead bolt with a trembling hand.

            Seconds, minutes passed. Her body shook. She tried to slow down her breathing, but kept picturing those little monsters right on the other side of the door. Door. She ran through the living room to the kitchen and quickly locked that door, too, then peered out into the small back yard. It was empty, but her antenna was up and on high alert. Soon her rationale side began tamping down the terror. They’re just kids. It was probably a prank with special contact lenses. Locals who get their kicks from scaring city folk.

After ten minutes of peeking out windows and seeing no one, she sat down on the couch with a glass of wine, her heart rate finally returning to normal until the boy’s final comment reached the surface of her consciousness. “It’s cold out here, Cam.” How do I make sense of this, she wondered? How did the boy know my name? We only arrived yesterday. I didn’t go anywhere. Could her husband have put the strange children up to this? She rejected that idea immediately. They both detest practical jokes. Unfortunately, she had no way to contact her husband and discuss this mystery as he had purposefully left his phone at the cabin.

Finishing off another glass of wine, the still unnerved Cam double-checked all of the door and window locks and went upstairs to change for bed. Catching her still trim and firm naked body in a full-length mirror, she wondered what had happened to the passion they’d shared for so many years. He wanted to be more experimental. She wasn’t comfortable with that. She’d wanted more intimacy. He was impatient. Slowly, the hairline fracture in their love life grew wider and wider until it was a deep canyon separating two humans who led separate lives under one roof. She put on a t-shirt and boxer shorts and slid under the comforter, wondering which was more frightening, creepy black-eyed kids or living by herself. She couldn’t decide.

            Last night’s encounter seemed almost like a disturbing dream to Cam as brilliant sun streamed in through the kitchen windows and the smell of coffee permeated the house. She still kept a wary eye out the closest window as she showered, dressed and made herself a light breakfast, but with distance now separating her from the children, the fear and concern for her safety had dissipated almost entirely. Around four that afternoon, Cam was happy to see Jim and Sean walking into the clearing looking weary but satisfied. She went to the front porch to greet them.

            “No bear skin? What kind of woodsmen are you?”

            “The tired and hungry kind,” quipped Jim.

            “We saw a moose,” said a wide-eyed Sean. “Thing was huge.”

            “Wow,” responded Cam. “Did it see you?”

            “I dunno,” said Sean, brushing by his mother. “I’m going to make something to eat. I’m starving.”

            Jim set his pack down and collapsed in one of the porch chairs. Cam leaned against the railing. “We had a good time. Fishing stunk, of course, but we hiked around and did…you know, woodsy guy stuff.”

            “Woodsy guy stuff. Cool. Thanks for taking him. He may not act like it, but he really enjoys doing that with you.”

            “I enjoy it too.”

            “Come on. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

            “Uh, can it wait for a minute?”

            “Sure. What’s up?”

            “I did some thinking while we were up there…thinking about us. What I realized was that I truly don’t want to lose you, Cam. We used to have such a great thing between us. I would really like to try and get that back.”

            Cam took a deep breath. This was unexpected. “Kind of caught me off guard there, J-Man. It’s been a tough few years.”

            “I know. I know. And I know that we can’t just turn things around like flipping a switch, but we can work on it. If you want to.”

            Cam put a hand to her mouth and began tearing up. This seemed so out of the blue, but also damned welcome. Fighting back a total meltdown, she nodded “yes.” Jim stood up and wrapped his arms around his wife warmly, pulling her close and kissing her hair.

            Their week at the cabin was one of the best they’d ever experienced as a family. The weather was cool but sunny, the hiking, canoeing and fishing seemed to please everyone, and the entire family dynamic was vastly improved. Part of this was clearly the result of long overdue and passionate sexual encounters between Jim and Cam after Sean went to sleep. For reasons she couldn’t quite understand, Cam never mentioned the black-eyed children to Jim. It was silly, of course, but she felt that talking about it out loud made it real, whereas now she could just keep it taped up in a box in the basement of her mind.

            Back in Minneapolis, the Leisling family renaissance was in its second month when Cam began worrying about missing her period. After several bouts of morning nausea, she found herself in the pharmacy section while grocery shopping, flushed, looking around suspiciously as if she were buying porn. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub at home, she was struck with unfathomable dread and unimaginable joy as she stared at the LED “Yes” in the tiny window of the plastic wand. Pregnant…at 37. She’d had Sean when she was 20. Tears tracked down her ruddy cheeks. What do I do now, she asked herself?

            Cam prepared for several days before broaching the subject with Jim, girding herself for the inevitable and heart wrenching abortion discussion, but to her surprise, he was overjoyed at the prospect of a baby. He called it “a sign” that truly marked the rebirth of their relationship. Her enthusiasm was real, but also tempered by the reality of pregnancy and the rigors of carrying for an infant at this stage of her life. Regardless, Cam allowed herself to be as happy as she’d been in many years.

            The pregnancy was difficult, and after eight months Cam was exhausted and put on bed rest. The baby was doing fine according to the most recent ultrasound, but she was a physical and emotional wreck, and had regretted the decision to go through with the pregnancy more than once. Jim and Sean were being helpful and encouraging, but she wished someone else could carry the baby even for a few hours. She felt far more uncomfortable and gloomy than when she was being pregnant with Sean.

            Bored and feeling useless, Cam flipped off the TV and decided to do some picking up around the now messy house. Just getting to her feet was a struggle, but she managed to waddle to Sean’s room where she began collecting dirty pants and shirts that had been tossed in a corner of the room. Under a shirt on his bed Cam discovered Sean’s phone, which he’d forgotten for the millionth time. Picking it up, she accidentally activated the screen. It was a paused video of what looked like the camping spot that Jim and Sean had stayed at their last trip north. They had showed her lots of photos of the site, but she hadn’t seen any video. Cam tapped the “play” icon and the camera wiggled and swung in a slow arc around the wooded area while Sean narrated.

            “This is our camp site. It’s cold out here. That noise is my dad breaking sticks to make a fire. As usual, we didn’t catch any fish.”

            The camera moved until Jim was in the frame, and he smiled and waved as he tossed small branches into the fire pit. The camera started to pan again, but Cam thought she saw something and went back, stopping the video at the point where Jim is waving. Squinting, she looked deep into the shot. Her face went pale. Behind Jim, barely discernable in a tangle of shadows, brush and branches, stood the black-eyed boy and his brother, looking directly toward the campsite.

            “What the hell is this?” she said, accosting Jim with Sean’s phone the moment he came through the back door.

            “What the hell is what?” he asked.

            “Look.”

Jim took the phone and peered at the frozen image. “Yeah, I know I look goofy, but—“

“I’m not talking about you. Look behind you in the forest. Directly above your left shoulder. See?”

“I’m still not—“

“There,” she barked, pointing to the children. “Don’t you see two children standing there?”

He kept looking, and then gave her a hapless expression. “I’m sorry.” Cam grabbed the phone from Jim and sent the video to her mailbox. “Bad day?”

She glared at him as she finished sending it. Painfully, she wobbled to the living and wobbled back carrying her iPad. After several taps, she brought up the video and then played it on the larger monitor. When she finally captured the screen shot she wanted, she handed it to Jim. “Now do you see them?”

Mesmerized, Jim slumped down into a chair. “Holy shit, you’re right. There are two kids there. I see them.”

“Are you saying you never saw them or talked to the them while you were camping?”

“No. There was no one…why are you so upset? I’ll admit it’s a little freaky, but—“

“It’s more than a little freaky. Those kids, the same ones who are in the video, came here to the house not long after you and Sean left.”

“What?”

“I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but these kids, an older boy and his younger brother, were…creepy, and I don’t just mean a little strange, I mean full on creep show, like I was terrified to be anywhere near them.”

“What did they want?”
            “The older boy asked if they could do odd jobs, then he asked for water…seriously, I think they just wanted to come into the house for God knows what reason. And their eyes…Jim, their eyes were black. All black, like some kind of creature.”

            “Why didn’t you say anything about this earlier?”

            “Because I know that it sounds batshit crazy, and all I wanted to do was forget about it. But then this….”

            Jim got up and gently hugged Cam. “Please don’t get upset. It’s not good for you.”

            “You’re sure that you guys didn’t have any contact with those kids?”

            “Cam, finding two children out in the middle of nowhere, especially weird children, is something that I wouldn’t forget.”

            “Oh, and the boy knew my name.”

            Jim let go of his wife and stepped back. “He knew your name?

            “I know,” she said, now starting to tear up. “Scared the crap out of me.”

            Jim sat on the couch holding and rocking the sobbing Cam as the living room was slowly enveloped by early evening shadows.

            Four nights later, Cam’s water broke. It was early, but not dangerously so. Jim put Sean in charge of the house and drove Cam to nearby Fairview Hospital. Excited, but in excruciating pain, Cam tried to answer the intake questions as they rolled her in a wheelchair to her birthing room. Flashes of Sean’s birth began playing in her mind and she hoped this time around would be easier and shorter. Now in bed, Jim stood next to her holding her hand. His hand was freezing. Then all emotions, senses and actions began to zero in on her pelvic region and getting this baby out into the world as quickly as possible. Nursing staff entered and left the room, smiling, reassuring her that she and the baby were doing fine. An hour passed, then two. She was dilating, but very slowly. She finely relented to an epidural and this eased some of her pain, but dulled her senses. She could make out Jim sitting in a chair by the window. He smiled and waved, but his expression was odd, distant, which struck her as a little weird, but everything about having a baby was weird.

            The doctor announced she was very close to being fully dilated and this was good news. After four hours, she was exhausted and having trouble seeing clearly from the tears, perspiration and drugs. She looked for Jim, but he wasn’t in her field of vision. Must be getting water or taking a bathroom break, she thought. A long moan erupted as she felt the baby moving downward slowly.

            “You’re doing great, Mrs. Leisling,” said the doctor in his calm, professional voice, only the top of his surgical cap visible between her parted legs. “Don’t push quite yet. There.” A nurse smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Okay, I know you’re tired, but let’s give it one big push now. Ready? Come on, Cam, push. Yeah. There you go. You’re really doing great.”

            Her 37-year old body gave all it could and three agonizing pushes later the baby finally slid out into the doctor’s waiting hands. “Okay. Wonderful. Here’s that big boy. Where’s Mr. Leisling?”

            “I don’t know, Doctor. He was just here,” said a nurse.

            Nearly hysterical, a sobbing Cam raised her head and saw her precious glistening baby in the arms of the doctor, squirming, breathing in air for the first time.

            “Oh, look,” cooed a nurse. “He’s opening his…”

            There was an audible gasp, the doctor said something under his breath, and the whole mood of the room changed. “Find Mr. Leisling. Gwen, get it to the emergency room.”
           “It?” Cried a panicked, sweat-soaked Cam, struggling to her elbows and surveying the faces of the stunned staff. “It?”