Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection by Anthony Barnhart Page B
Authors: Anthony Barnhart
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God would leave him entirely alone?
I’m not alone.
No? How do you figure?
I have Kira. She’s waiting for me. I have to get to her.
But first he needs to take care of his wounds. He knows he is lucky not to have been seriously injured in the car accident. A miracle , he tells himself. A miracle? Does he believe in miracles? Not anymore . He leaves the Garden of Hope— What a cruel and twisted name; a mockery of my present condition —and walks down Edgecliff Road. The road twists east down the hill, intersecting Monroe Street of Covington, Kentucky. He goes south on Monroe Street. The narrow road is clogged with cars on either side, sitting quietly beside the Victorian-style homes. He doesn’t see any bodies. That doesn’t surprise him. Whatever did this did it at night. He looks into the windows, imagining what lies behind the drawn drapes. Horrors he can’t imagine. He thinks about taking one of the cars— any car—but knows he’ll have to go inside one of the homes and search for a key. He doesn’t want to go inside any of the homes. He is afraid of what he may find.
He crosses onto Jefferson Street via Hawthorne Street and goes south, taking a one-way street to West 19th Street. He stands at the intersection, the stoplight swinging back and forth in the stale breeze, none of the lights working. He looks up and down either side of the street. To the east, towards the heart of Covington, a police car sits crashed into the side of the house. He goes west. He doesn’t want to look inside that car.
GLENN O. SWING ELEMENTARY SCHOOL sits before him. He stands with his fingers looped through the high fence, the playground beyond. The swings rock back and forth as the breeze kicks up. The jungle jim and slide are still and unmoving. What day is it? Saturday. Yes, Saturday. No kids would be at school anyways. That thought offers a little comfort. He walks around the fence and up to the front door. He tries it. He knew it would be locked, but he decided to try it anyways. He walks over to one of the windows, peers inside. A classroom. Watercolor paintings with children’s handprints cover one wall. On another are posters of the nine planets— Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto , he thinks to himself, proud he can remember it (most adults can’t name all nine planets). On the far side of the room, facing the desks, is the teacher’s workspace and the blackboard. Scribbled on the blackboard is: DUE MONDAY: CHAPTERS 1-3. She was one of those teachers, giving elementary kids tons of homework. He hated those kinds of teachers. He imagines her lying dead in her home. And then he imagines all the kids doing the same. He bites his lip. You can’t think about those things .
He grabs a rock next to the sidewalk and smashes it through the window. He kicks away glass stubble and enters the classroom through the broken window. Sunlight illuminates the empty desks. Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
37
He walks past the watercolor paintings, eyeing them, then goes into the hallway. He walks up and down the corridors, searching. He finds the gymnasium, basketballs sitting in a mobile net-case in the corner, the retractable bleachers folded up. The locker rooms stink of body odor, residue from young kids. He finds the cafeteria and walks into the kitchen. He opens the cabinets, trying to find food, but all he finds are industrial-sized cans of canned goods. Finally he comes across a stack of singleserving chips. He tears one open—Baked Lays—and munches on them as he continues his search. Finally he finds it. The Nurse’s Office. He tosses the empty bag of chips on the floor and enters. He fumbles through the cabinets, finds some gauze. He places it on the counter. He continues searching. Tweezers? Got it. Soap? He doesn’t find any soap, but he finds brown and gray bottles of hydrogen peroxide and providone-iodine. Even better . He sits on the patient’s chair and pulls a
I’m not alone.
No? How do you figure?
I have Kira. She’s waiting for me. I have to get to her.
But first he needs to take care of his wounds. He knows he is lucky not to have been seriously injured in the car accident. A miracle , he tells himself. A miracle? Does he believe in miracles? Not anymore . He leaves the Garden of Hope— What a cruel and twisted name; a mockery of my present condition —and walks down Edgecliff Road. The road twists east down the hill, intersecting Monroe Street of Covington, Kentucky. He goes south on Monroe Street. The narrow road is clogged with cars on either side, sitting quietly beside the Victorian-style homes. He doesn’t see any bodies. That doesn’t surprise him. Whatever did this did it at night. He looks into the windows, imagining what lies behind the drawn drapes. Horrors he can’t imagine. He thinks about taking one of the cars— any car—but knows he’ll have to go inside one of the homes and search for a key. He doesn’t want to go inside any of the homes. He is afraid of what he may find.
He crosses onto Jefferson Street via Hawthorne Street and goes south, taking a one-way street to West 19th Street. He stands at the intersection, the stoplight swinging back and forth in the stale breeze, none of the lights working. He looks up and down either side of the street. To the east, towards the heart of Covington, a police car sits crashed into the side of the house. He goes west. He doesn’t want to look inside that car.
GLENN O. SWING ELEMENTARY SCHOOL sits before him. He stands with his fingers looped through the high fence, the playground beyond. The swings rock back and forth as the breeze kicks up. The jungle jim and slide are still and unmoving. What day is it? Saturday. Yes, Saturday. No kids would be at school anyways. That thought offers a little comfort. He walks around the fence and up to the front door. He tries it. He knew it would be locked, but he decided to try it anyways. He walks over to one of the windows, peers inside. A classroom. Watercolor paintings with children’s handprints cover one wall. On another are posters of the nine planets— Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto , he thinks to himself, proud he can remember it (most adults can’t name all nine planets). On the far side of the room, facing the desks, is the teacher’s workspace and the blackboard. Scribbled on the blackboard is: DUE MONDAY: CHAPTERS 1-3. She was one of those teachers, giving elementary kids tons of homework. He hated those kinds of teachers. He imagines her lying dead in her home. And then he imagines all the kids doing the same. He bites his lip. You can’t think about those things .
He grabs a rock next to the sidewalk and smashes it through the window. He kicks away glass stubble and enters the classroom through the broken window. Sunlight illuminates the empty desks. Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
37
He walks past the watercolor paintings, eyeing them, then goes into the hallway. He walks up and down the corridors, searching. He finds the gymnasium, basketballs sitting in a mobile net-case in the corner, the retractable bleachers folded up. The locker rooms stink of body odor, residue from young kids. He finds the cafeteria and walks into the kitchen. He opens the cabinets, trying to find food, but all he finds are industrial-sized cans of canned goods. Finally he comes across a stack of singleserving chips. He tears one open—Baked Lays—and munches on them as he continues his search. Finally he finds it. The Nurse’s Office. He tosses the empty bag of chips on the floor and enters. He fumbles through the cabinets, finds some gauze. He places it on the counter. He continues searching. Tweezers? Got it. Soap? He doesn’t find any soap, but he finds brown and gray bottles of hydrogen peroxide and providone-iodine. Even better . He sits on the patient’s chair and pulls a
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