Better Wait

Author's Note:

I've always loved the old folktales of our people. I find them so witty and imaginative and fun. And some, I find creepy. But what's the boundary between creepy and horrific, I wonder? Is it an element of reality? Is it an element of the fantastic? Perhaps it's both. In an attempt to answer that question, I try and craft a world with both reality and the unreal ever-present. I hope you all enjoy it.

It was dark that night. I remember that much. I think it was raining, too. This is important, because either one or both of these things led to my car crash. I'm not sure which. I don't remember what I hit, but I specifically remember being at the side of my car, trying to use the phone. I don't remember why I was unsuccessful, either my phone was dead, or I couldn't find a signal. It's all so important, why don't I remember it?

I'm sorry, most of this story is a bit fuzzy. I think I hit my head at one point. I think I hit my head. I can feel the pain and hear a faint hum even now, even though it's been hours – I think it's been hours – since the injury. Maybe I'm concussed? Anyway, if this story is confusing, I apologize.

So, I was standing next to the car, yeah? And all of a sudden, my body just felt stuck. Like a deer in headlights, almost. I looked ahead, not towards the actual road, but instead I looked at the woods I was near. There was nothing there. No, really, there was nothing there. It was so dark, that I couldn't see anything, not even the trees. Sorry, what? Yes, I know I should see the forest for the trees, but no I don't find that funny at all. You don't get it, sir, you really don't.

It all was just so dark. I was looking into the woods, but I didn't see anything. My mind was racing with possibilities of what dangers could lie beyond. See, the darkness knew it was hiding something. I could feel deep within my soul that there was a sinister secret hidden behind every shadow in front of me, and the shadows were hiding that secret intentionally. It fucking knew! I'm sorry, but I won't calm down, you don't know what it was like. I was sitting there gazing into the woods, and I knew that I was in danger. I watch these nature shows all the time, and they always show these gazelle or zebras grazing, but then a lion or a snake sets their sights on them, and they all know that they're in danger. They can't see the danger, but it's like, for one moment, they know not to trust the ground they're walking on. Call it instinct or something deeper and more spiritual if you want. We've all been graced with the ability to sense danger, and tonight my danger senses were going off everywhere I turned.

The darkness was intentionally hiding something; I was sure of that. It unnerved me to stare into its inky blackness, knowing that it was attempting to draw me in and trap me in its tendrils forever. Even though I tried to ignore the darkness, I was certain that there was a malevolent being behind it, I could sense it.

I did what any rational person would have done, and I ran. Wait, did I run? I mean, I think I did. All I know is that, one moment I was transfixed by the darkness in front of me, the next moment I was in front of a house, struggling for air to enter my lungs.

I can say that it was old. I have no idea how old, but I wouldn't have been surprised if it was the first house built in this state. It was made of broken, rotting wood that didn't appear to be capable of holding anyone without crumbling. The windows were long and cracked, with mud and mildew making it impossible to see inside. The wind blew, and the house gave off a great moan, almost like a scream of agony. That house, like the darkness, was alive.

I was going to leave, not because I didn't think there was anyone home, but because I knew that the house was evil. I knew that if I went into the house, something horribly unimaginable would happen to me. I was right, wasn't I? You saw what was in the basement. You can't blame me for...

You're right, you're right. I need to stick to the facts. I'm sorry. It's just--I did not want to be there.

I'm not sure what I was thinking exactly, but I turned away and tried to get to the road. I walked down the brick path and reached the gate. Did I mention a gate before? I didn't? No, I didn't mean to leave it out, I only just now remembered the gate. I don't remember seeing the gate when I first reached the house, though. I don't remember anything from before I reached the house.

I couldn't leave the house. No, sir, the gate wasn't locked, just closed. It's just...the house didn't want me to leave. At that moment, the darkness came back. It was bigger than last time. This time it seemed to swallow up the whole world with it. I looked out into the darkness beyond the gate, and I just knew that I did not want to go there either. I don't know what I wanted to do, sir. I guess I figured that I'd just stand in that spot until morning. I didn't know why I thought that, I had absolutely no idea how long I'd have been there, something in my brain just told me that it was the right thing to do.

Then again, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe my mind was just so terrified that it froze my body, and I was too lazy to get it to move again. Maybe I only convinced myself that standing in front of the gate was safe because I didn't want my fear to grow. I stood there for god knows how long.

At one moment, I knew that someone was watching me. I didn't want to turn around, but I did anyway. I shouldn't have turned. I should have stood there with my eyes closed until morning. I was stupid to look back into the house.

He was just standing in the doorway. His long, dirty, blond hair flowing in the October wind. His face was almost entirely red, with every inch covered in boils, acne, or rashes. Looking deeper into his face, I saw his surprisingly perfect teeth were presenting me with the friendliest of smiles. He wanted to help me, the teeth seemed to say. His blue, bulbous eyes said otherwise. His eyes looked at me in maniacal hunger.

Um...yes, sir, I suppose you could say it was like if I'd seen a watermelon for the first time in ages.

The man at the doorway chilled every bone in my body. I tried to turn away from his gaze, but I feared the worst if I did such a thing. I weighed my options mentally, trying to decide whether I should stand where I was or go inside. I naturally made the dumbest decision of my life and chose to walk inside with the smiling man. At least there was light in the house, I thought.

The interior of the house matched the exterior. The walls had large, gaping holes in them that led to who knows where. A lot of them seemed damaged from years of floods, leaving mold growing all over the house. The smiling man gestured to a tattered, smelly couch and I unwillingly sat there as he invited. As I planted myself on the too-soft coushins and tried to ignore the century old odor, I fought the urge to cry. I knew how trapped I was when I heard the door lock slide into place.

The smiling man chose not to sit on the couch with me, nor in the chair across from me. He simply stood in the middle of the dilapidated living room with the same, hungry grin as before. He said no words to me, and I said none to him. We simply stared at each other for a time.

The front door opened, and my heart leapt. I was uncertain if it was out of joy or fear. Probably both at first, but Joy was soon stabbed in its back. The man who entered the room had wet clothes, probably condensed from the growing fog outside.

I just remembered the fog. Why couldn't I remember the fog? The growing darkness, it was the fog wasn't it? And the fog was from the rain...don't speak, sir. I know, I'm sorry for interrupting again. I understand that you need all the facts.

The man was wet, that was the first thing I noticed. He removed his coat the second he walked in, and I heard it fall to the floor with an audible 'clunk'. My bones went from zero Celsius to zero Kelvin when I saw his T-shirt. A Confederate Flag was frozen in motion upon his chest. It were as if I were looking at a comic book villain who'd just imprisoned me in his death trap.

"Paul," the wet man said to the smiling man, "what've we got here?"

"I found him outside the house," Paul replied in a Southern voice with an insane tone that matched his face, "I think he was lost." Each of Paul's words were punctuated by a small, unnerving chuckle that reminded me of characters in too many movies I'd seen.

The wet man seemed annoyed with Paul's answer, "Well, I can see that, Paul. What do you s'pose we gonna do with him?"

For the first time, Paul turned away from me and gave the wet man a knowing look, "I'm thinking we should wait 'til Martin comes."

The wet man's expression turned serious for a second, but then his mouth twitched into a smile, "If that ain't the smartest thing you done said your entire life..."

The wet man proceeded to sit down at the chair. He also didn't say anything. I didn't say anything to him, either. I tried desperately to calm down, reminding myself that nearly every white man I'd met in my entire life had Confederate memorabilia. I just had to wait until morning, I reminded myself over and over, just wait til morning.

There was a knock at the door. I didn't know whether to be happy or nervous of the possibility that this was Martin. The wet man walked to the door and opened it, allowing in another, bald man. The bald man took one look at me and turned to the wet man. I could see a tattoo on the nape of his neck, but I could barely make it out. I think it was a cross?

"What's with the nigger on the couch?" He said to the wet man.

"Paul found him lost outside," he laughed, "thinks we should wait until Martin gets here. You got any other ideas?"

The bald man turned his eye ever so slightly to me. I felt compelled to look away, but found that I couldn't.

"Nah, let's wait until Martin gets here."

The bald man walked over and sat on the couch with me. There were four cushions, of which we would each only be able to take up one. He elected to sit on the one right next to me, and I shivered at the very thought of why.

Pretty soon, there was a knock at the door again. This time, however, before the wet man could go to it, the door slammed open. It hit the wall with a loud 'boom' that made all of us jump. The three men crowded the new arrival and spoke with him in the doorway. They all spoke for some time, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

Suddenly, the three men walked out of the new arrival's way, and I finally saw the man. The man walked tall, giving an air of dominance over the three others. This man in the long, white cape and hood was the clear leader of the other three men. It was then I came to accept the fact that I was in real trouble. Martin was here!

Though I couldn't see his eyes well, I could feel them gazing fire upon me. That man was bearing into my soul, deciding that everything, even the good, was unacceptable.

"What should we do, Ricky?" Paul said, addressing the man before me.

I was in Hell at that moment. So much so that I did not need to hear what Ricky said next, because I already knew his reply.

"Better wait til Martin comes, boys. Better wait til Martin comes."

*

That's everything, Officer. I gotta say that I'm so glad that I'm here now, talking to you. All that time I was waiting with those guys, I didn't think that I'd ever get away. No, it's perfectly alright, I don't mind giving my statement. Do you know anything about the accident? No? okay, I understand.

You want me to what? I understand, it's just...no, I see, you have to wait for your superior officer. I just assumed you'd know what to do, I guess. The other room, you said? Okay, Officer Martin, I'll be waiting for Martin Senior to arrive.