whatever it is you see out there,” I explained. “They’re not real, Russ. We’re hallucinating. It’s like a bad acid trip.”
“It’s not…not real?”
“No. It’s just the darkness. Something in the darkness is fucking with our heads, man.”
“She’s not there.”
It wasn’t a question, but I shook my head anyway. Russ rubbed his eyes and hung his head. His shoulders sagged as if he’d been bearing a heavy load. I heard him sniffle and figured he was getting ready to cry. I was about to give him some space and check on Christy—who was still kneeling in the middle of the road—when Russ stopped me.
“Look at this.”
He shone his flashlight beam at his feet. I glanced down and frowned. A series of weird symbols had been spray-painted on the road, on both sides of the yellow dividing line. I bent down and examined them. The characters and shapes formed a picture of some kind, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It wasroughly shaped like a square. A door, maybe? Open or closed; I couldn’t tell which. The red paint was still fresh—not wet, but bright and shiny. A white, crystal-line substance had been poured along their edges, outlining them. I wet my finger, touched the stuff and then tasted some. It was salt. I got the feeling this wasn’t just graffiti. The design seemed more deliberate than that. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before. There was a snake winding around a cross, several stars, some crescents, and something that looked like it belonged to the local Freemason’s lodge. There were a bunch of other symbols that didn’t look like anything at all—at least nothing I’d ever seen. Something had been written across the top. I assumed it was Latin but had no way of knowing for sure. The symbols looked like runes of some kind—maybe something you’d find on an eighties heavy-metal album cover—a classic from Iron Maiden or Blue Oyster Cult or Slayer. Or a diagram from one of those paperback spell books from the metaphysical section of the bookstore. I’d always found those a little suspect. If there was a book that really let you summon demons and shit, would it be wise to mass produce it and sell it at Barnes & Noble for seven bucks?
Here’s what the picture in the road looked like. Now, keep in mind, I’m no artist. If it looks like a little kid drew it, that’s because I can’t fucking draw. Before this, the only thing I’ve ever drawn was stick figures in school and the occasional crude genitalia on various bathroom walls. This is neither. I’ve tried to draw it from memory, so some of the details might be a little off. But for the most part, I remember it looking like this:
“What is it?” Russ asked me.
“I don’t know. Some weird ass shit, whatever it is.”
As we studied the graffiti, my grandfather appeared again.
“ Get rid of it, ” he urged. His voice was louder. Almost frantic. “ Take a sledgehammer or a jackhammer or something to it. Dig up the ground around it. If you love me, you’ll do it. Get rid of those silly doodles, and then we can be together again. ”
“No. I told you to fuck off.”
“Who are you talking to?” Russ asked me.
“My dead grandfather.”
“What?”
“I told you. That’s who I saw in the darkness.”
“Is he still there?”
I nodded.
Russ sighed. “My ex is still there, too.”
“Ssshhhh,” the darkness hissed. “Robbie, you’ve got to get rid of it.”
Ignoring the voice, I stood and walked over to Christy. She was still crying, but she hadn’t moved from her spot in the road. She looked up when I approached. Black mascara ran down her cheeks. I offered her my hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed dirt and debris from her jeans. Then I pulled her close.
“You know it’s not real, right? Whatever—whoever you saw out there in the darkness? They’re not real. It’s just a trick.”
She sniffled against my chest. “I know. That’s why I’m crying. It was my dad, Robbie.
“It’s not…not real?”
“No. It’s just the darkness. Something in the darkness is fucking with our heads, man.”
“She’s not there.”
It wasn’t a question, but I shook my head anyway. Russ rubbed his eyes and hung his head. His shoulders sagged as if he’d been bearing a heavy load. I heard him sniffle and figured he was getting ready to cry. I was about to give him some space and check on Christy—who was still kneeling in the middle of the road—when Russ stopped me.
“Look at this.”
He shone his flashlight beam at his feet. I glanced down and frowned. A series of weird symbols had been spray-painted on the road, on both sides of the yellow dividing line. I bent down and examined them. The characters and shapes formed a picture of some kind, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It wasroughly shaped like a square. A door, maybe? Open or closed; I couldn’t tell which. The red paint was still fresh—not wet, but bright and shiny. A white, crystal-line substance had been poured along their edges, outlining them. I wet my finger, touched the stuff and then tasted some. It was salt. I got the feeling this wasn’t just graffiti. The design seemed more deliberate than that. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before. There was a snake winding around a cross, several stars, some crescents, and something that looked like it belonged to the local Freemason’s lodge. There were a bunch of other symbols that didn’t look like anything at all—at least nothing I’d ever seen. Something had been written across the top. I assumed it was Latin but had no way of knowing for sure. The symbols looked like runes of some kind—maybe something you’d find on an eighties heavy-metal album cover—a classic from Iron Maiden or Blue Oyster Cult or Slayer. Or a diagram from one of those paperback spell books from the metaphysical section of the bookstore. I’d always found those a little suspect. If there was a book that really let you summon demons and shit, would it be wise to mass produce it and sell it at Barnes & Noble for seven bucks?
Here’s what the picture in the road looked like. Now, keep in mind, I’m no artist. If it looks like a little kid drew it, that’s because I can’t fucking draw. Before this, the only thing I’ve ever drawn was stick figures in school and the occasional crude genitalia on various bathroom walls. This is neither. I’ve tried to draw it from memory, so some of the details might be a little off. But for the most part, I remember it looking like this:
“What is it?” Russ asked me.
“I don’t know. Some weird ass shit, whatever it is.”
As we studied the graffiti, my grandfather appeared again.
“ Get rid of it, ” he urged. His voice was louder. Almost frantic. “ Take a sledgehammer or a jackhammer or something to it. Dig up the ground around it. If you love me, you’ll do it. Get rid of those silly doodles, and then we can be together again. ”
“No. I told you to fuck off.”
“Who are you talking to?” Russ asked me.
“My dead grandfather.”
“What?”
“I told you. That’s who I saw in the darkness.”
“Is he still there?”
I nodded.
Russ sighed. “My ex is still there, too.”
“Ssshhhh,” the darkness hissed. “Robbie, you’ve got to get rid of it.”
Ignoring the voice, I stood and walked over to Christy. She was still crying, but she hadn’t moved from her spot in the road. She looked up when I approached. Black mascara ran down her cheeks. I offered her my hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed dirt and debris from her jeans. Then I pulled her close.
“You know it’s not real, right? Whatever—whoever you saw out there in the darkness? They’re not real. It’s just a trick.”
She sniffled against my chest. “I know. That’s why I’m crying. It was my dad, Robbie.
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