The Dark by David C. Cassidy

Author:David C. Cassidy [Cassidy, David C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller, Horror, The Dark, David C. Cassidy, Evil
Publisher: David C. Cassidy
Published: 2014-12-15T23:49:12+00:00

Harmon stumbled to the barn door but couldn’t bring himself to open it. This was all so insane.

His mind spun. The Dark had stolen his flesh and his bone and his blood, had ripped this ratty old shirt of a man to rags. And now? It had stolen his final innocence, answering the question that had haunted him with every thought and every dream. Every nightmare.

Had he known all these years? Or had he been lying to himself? His boy had never been found—not that anyone had looked all that hard, he was just a dirt-poor black kid, after all. Yes, he supposed it was possible that what they had told him was true. Drowned. Current took him. All the way to the lake, a mile downstream. But he never really believed that. Some things, a parent just knows.

He had known. He had.

His boy was lost … lost to the Dark.

I have your boy, it had said in his dream, and even there he had shuddered at the assuredness, the cleverness, in its voice. The pride. The words had nearly stopped his heart.

Still, there had been another face behind its mask. Something fragile in its boast, shallowness in its arrogance. Underlying that cool collectedness, he sensed doubt.

It had taken his boy … but did it have him? To possess the body, the flesh, was not enough. The Dark wanted; it needed. Only a soul could tame its hunger.

Was it possible? Was his son still fighting? Still out there?

That fading dream had kept him alive all these years. The Dark had tried to crush him with its words, but in its wake of lies he found new resolve. It had taken him, Harmon Jerome Wyatt, had turned a good man into a Tree Man, but it did not have his boy. It did not have his boy.

He could do this. Somehow, he could.

Harmon opened the door and slipped inside. He cursed the light. Daylight spilled in from the broad cavity in the roof. It fell on the spade, illuminating it like a glowing cross in a midnight mist.

He loathed it, yet found the strength to pick it up. It felt heavy, like the weight of the world. He set it down.

He turned. His throat tightened as he swallowed what felt like a jagged brick. He had almost forgotten. Had tried to.

Harmon stepped toward the far wall, the area imprisoned by shadow. He moved slowly, as if fighting his own will. Then, before he couldn’t, before he screamed, he pulled the tarpaulin away.

The stench lingered in the pair of troughs, like urine on an old mattress. His wife and his daughter had lain here. The ice they had lain with had long since vanished, turning to putrid water and finally to nothingness. Most had leaked out. The rest had dried up with their souls.

He ran his hand inside, close to where their heads had rested. The rolled blankets were still there, rotten and moldy. They reeked of death. He would not touch them.

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