Alex and The Gruff (A Tale of Horror) Read online

CHAPTER TWO

  It rained heavy that night and the howling wind blew so hard that the bedroom window rattled Alex awake. He lay on his fold out bed, trying to keep completely still and holding the covers over his face but creeping them down just enough so that his eyes could peep through and see if any ghosts or ghouls or goblins were scratching at the window frame.

  He needed to go to the bathroom, but he couldn’t move.

  He was too scared.

  Every time the wind howled, the window rattled and every time the window rattled, Alex flinched and every time Alex flinched, the rusted springs on his fold out bed screeched and squawked and every time they did, he pulled the covers back over his eyes and he shook and he shivered and he told himself, “there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  But the rain it was relentless and all he wanted to do was to run away because robbers or monsters were probably coming up the stairs now and with the lashing rain and the howling wind, nobody would be able to hear their hooks and chains, dragging along on the ground behind them.

  And because of the thunder clapping so loud, nobody would be able to hear the monster’s grunting and nobody would be able to see the monsters salivating, because of the rain that would wash it all away and so Alex curled in a tight little ball on his creepy and creaky fold out bed and he wanted to scream and he wanted to yell, but he couldn’t find his voice.

  He looked to his right and his brother was sound asleep on his bed and he was snoring so loud. And then to his left, sharing the bigger bed were his two older sisters and they were sleeping head to foot and one was kicking the other and the other was nudging and kicking back and in the dark, Alex couldn’t tell who was who.

  But with all the nudging, they didn’t wake up.

  The wind whistled through the gaps in the window and Alex slowly lowered the covers over his eyes. He didn’t want to look. But he had to. He stared out the window, out into the black night and he saw the shadows swaying this way and that and it looked like a hole had opened up in the night; a swirling and ravaging black mass, and from it, stretched and stemmed the digits of devilry, long scratching finger nails that rode the howling wind and reached out from the back abyss and rasped at his bedroom window and he couldn’t look away, not for a second; should the devil itself use that time to have its way with him or his sleeping siblings.

  “I’m not scared of ghosts,” he said.

  But it was untrue. He was petrified. He thought; maybe if they believed him, if they heard his voice then maybe they would pester some other child whose fright had kept them awake.

  He tried to throw the words like a swinging fist but the warning in his voice, what amount there was dissipated in the cold night air before it had even left his tongue and what came out was more of a plea, a prayer or an apology than it was a threat.

  He could hear creaking from the front door.

  It was a small apartment. More like a box than an apartment. And Alex’s room was like the piece of stapled cardboard inside that box. And outside his door was a tiny living room with a dusty green bean bag on the floor and in front of it, an old black and white television that hummed, even when it wasn’t plugged in. The door to the left was the other tiny room where his mother and father slept and beside it, the shower and the toilet.

  And in front of his room, just three or four steps from his creaking fold out bed was the front door and he could hear the cry it made as the handle turned slowly as if someone were holding their breath, standing against the splintering wood and ever so painfully, pulling down on the handle, inch by inch, stopping only to let the little cry vanish in the howling wind before pushing again, another inch and then another inch and Alex looked to the window and the devil was still scratching on the class and he looked at his brother and he was still snoring with his face buried in his pillow and he looked at his sisters and they were still nudging and kicking, but they wouldn’t wake up and Alex hadn’t the voice to shout so all he could do was watch and listen while the devil rasped at his rattling window and a monster or a ghoul or a robbing ghost, held its breath while it slowly and painfully pushed down on the handle of the front door and edged its way inside.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said, to the devil at his window and the robber at his door.

  He could see the handle turning even though the door was closed. And he thought he could hear the lock clicking and he pulled the covers over his eyes and he couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t cry out any louder than the night already was and if the night couldn’t wake his brother and his sisters, then how could his muted plight?

  “I’m not afraid of ghosts,” he said, finally admitting, though, that they were real.

  He threw his covers in the air towards the rattling window and he twisted the handle and ripped open the door and dived to the left and opened the other door and he ran towards the bed and he scampered up through the middle of the covers between his mother and father, like a small dog or a frightened child.

  And he didn’t want to wake them so he curled in a ball and he watched through the open door at the ghosts who couldn’t get him now because he was next to his daddy.

  Alex couldn’t feel the blankets being pulled over him. He was sound asleep in seconds and couldn’t feel the light kiss his mother gave him on the back of his head. He was curled under the blankets and rolled over so that he was facing his father, catching his warm and heavy breath against his own.

  Nothing on earth was as big as his father.

  Nothing.

  And now that the robbers and the devil couldn’t eat him, he felt safe. Safe enough to dream. And he dreamt that he was with his family and it was a sunny day, but he could see in the distance, there was a black cloud slowly rolling in, but they were at the mall so that didn’t matter anyway.

  His mother was trying on some pants and a few t-shirts and so were his sisters while his brother was busy talking to other boys by the entrance to the store, speaking loud and looking cool to the girls on the other side that were spying on the boys and giggling and blushing every time they were looked upon.

  Alex watched his brother wishing he could be with him, but he had his friend beside him, pestering him to sneak away. But Alex didn’t want to. He didn’t know who the boy was, but apparently he was his friend.

  Alex didn’t want to do little kid stuff. He wanted to lean against the wall at the front of the store like his brother and all the older boys.

  His father was holding a place in the queue, waiting for his mother and his sisters to finish trying on their clothes, to choose what they wanted and to join him so they could pay and then leave before they were charged the second hour for parking. He stood in the long queue watching the entrance to the changing room and he had impatience glaring from his eyes and he would go from staring at the change room entrance to staring at the shuffling front of the queue to staring at his watch that Alex knew, was showing every second that had ticked away since the girls disappeared.

  His father was like that. He liked it when everything could hurry up and when it didn’t, he got mad.

  Alex looked back at the entrance to the store and his brother was gone. All of the cool kids were gone. There was no-one there except for an old man counting change in his trembling hands. His legs were bent inwards so he wouldn’t fall and his nose was running and it ran down his top lip and pooled off onto the floor. But the old man, he seemed more concerned about having the right change.

  Alex turned again and he saw his whole family standing side by side with his mother holding a bunch of bags, his sisters pushing and prodding one another whilst pointing at boys and giggling, his brother talking to his father and then his father, listening.

  And on his father’s shoulders, he could see his friend and his father was holding his feet so that he wouldn’t fall off just like he used to do to him. And his friend was holding onto the tufts of his father’s hair, just like he used to do.

  As his family walked side by side down the corridor and towards the au
tomatic doors, Alex noticed how the sun had been hidden behind a black cloud and he felt a little sad.

  He walked slower than his family and he watched as they didn’t. His head felt warm and he could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips as he purposelessly slowed and shallowed every step, waiting for his mother or his father to turn; expecting them to, hoping they would, crying when they didn’t.

  At the automatic doors, Alex stopped walking. The doors stayed open and they made a funny beeping sound that caught the attention of the old man still counting his loose change. It even caught the attention of the boy in the baggy shirt who was trying to steal some water balloons and thought the beeping was for him. But it didn’t catch his mother’s attention and it didn’t catch his father’s too.

  He stood there silent and sad but really expecting his mother and father to notice him gone and to turn and shout for him to catch up. They could be sad or they could be happy or they could even be angry, it didn’t matter. He just wanted them to notice that he wasn’t there. He wanted them to be worried. He wanted to them to call out for him. He just wanted to hear them shout and they were so far now that he couldn’t shout himself.

  And so Alex stood in stupid wonder as his father opened the car door and all the kids hopped in the back; his brother, his two sisters and from his father’s shoulders, his friend.

  And he watched as his mother loaded the shopping in the back; lots of new clothes for herself and the girls. And he watched as the front doors closed. And he watched as the brake lights turned on. And he watched as the car reversed. He started to panic but still, he couldn’t call out. He had no voice.

  And he watched still as the brake lights glowed red.

  And he thought, “They’ve finally noticed.”

  And then he realized they hadn’t. And he watched as the small car drove off through the car park. And he watched as it drove past the road in the distance and went through the traffic lights and took the left turn onto the freeway.

  And then he cried.

  The car was gone. His father was gone. Everyone was gone. He was all alone. He was by himself and everything seemed so big and scary again.

  And Alex cried. He started with a tiny sniffle and his eyes were glued to the parking lot, at the empty spot where the car had been. But what started as a sniffle, turned into bawling tears and desperate wailing as he looked into that empty space and thought, “they don’t love me.”

  Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Where’s dad,” he thought.

  He froze.

  It felt like a cold chill creeping up on him. It wrapped itself around the cusp of his shoulder and pressed down hard. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Instead, he stood completely still and he hoped, the thing, whatever it was, would leave him alone. And he looked at the empty car space and then he looked at the empty road and he looked at where the car had turned left and he thought and he trembled in his mind, “please mum, please dad, please.”

  The he felt another hand.

  Again on his shoulder.

  And it turned him around.

  And he was so scared that he could no longer cry. He just stared straight at his shoes and his legs, they were shaking like the old man counting change and they were turned in too so that he wouldn’t fall. He didn’t tell them to do that. They did it on their own.

  “Jesus Christ” shouted his father.

  Alex woke up in a pile of sweat and he was shivering.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” asked his mother in sleep.

  “He pissed the bed,” said his father.

  Alex looked down and patted around where he lay. The bed was saturated. And it smelt like his pee and it was still warm. He looked at his mother, but she was asleep before she finished her question. He turned then and saw his father coming from the bathroom with a white towel.

  “Come on, move,” he said.

  His father cursed to himself but more so he cursed out loud as he lifted Alex and laid the white towel over the wet and stained mattress. Alex felt so small and stupid and he couldn’t tell him about the robbers or the devil, he wouldn’t believe him. He’d just tell him to not be stupid and just go to sleep.

  “Dad?” said Alex.

  His father moaned.

  “Dad” he whispered.

  “Just go to sleep,” his father said.

  Alex lay on the white towel. His underwear and his pajamas were cold now and the towel as well was damp. And he could hear his father masking a disgusted tisking sound and he turned away from him. Alex closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but he couldn’t, not without his father’s heavy breath falling over his shut eyes and so he lay still and pretended and he shivered and he shook for the next hour or two until the sun rose and made all the monsters and the robbers and the devils and all their devilry go back into the shadows that grew out of trees.