“Oh, honey,” Melanie licked her thumb and wiped the blood from his arm. She cleaned her thumb on a tissue from the nightstand and then used the tissue to wipe a smudge from the side of Davey’s face.
“The scary noises stopped at one, zero, seven,” he pointed to the clock on his bookshelf. “And nothing happened for a long time. I almost went to sleep, but then, at two, zero, zero, I saw it.”
“Did Dad tell you scary stories before bed?” Melanie asked as she tightened her mouth.
“No,” Davey answered.
Melanie stowed her anger for later, and tried to recover a more appropriate, sympathetic look. “What did you see?”
“I saw the sideways-head thing over there,” he pointed at the corner where his dresser met the wall.
“What’s the sideways-head thing?” she asked.
“It looked normal until about here,” he indicated his chest, “but then, where the head should be, it was all sideways. And it made a sound—it sounded like this,” Davey made a low growling sound in the back of his throat. She was nodding sympathetically when he started the noise, but her head stopped moving on its own. That noise coming from her son was creepy. The hair stood up on the back of her neck.
“And it was over here?” she asked, crossing to the dresser.
Davey nodded vigorously.
“Honey, I think that was your imagination,” she said, looking around the dresser. “Or maybe you fell asleep and didn’t know it, and then had a bad dream.”
“But Mom…” he began.
Melanie cut him off, “Honey, there’s nothing over here, and if something had been here, I’m sure I’d see a sign of it.”
“But in the Stage of Possibilities…” he started.
“We’ll talk with your father about the Stage of Whatever in the morning, okay?” she asked.
“Can I just talk with Dad now? I just want to ask him something,” begged Davey.
“We don’t want to wake up Dad,” she said. “He had a long day, I’m sure.”
“Please?” asked Davey.
Melanie sighed—“Okay, I’ll go get him. You stay here,” she said. She left his light on and pulled his door shut.
Exiting Davey’s room, she noticed the light at the top of the stairs. Melanie moved quickly at first, but then slowed as she approached the stairs. She rounded the corner with her breath held, but then released as she relaxed.
What did I expect to see? she thought.
“That’s it!” Davey shrieked from right behind her. Melanie jumped and nearly slipped on the top stair. Her hand shot out and touched the wall, steadying her balance.
“Davey you scared the life out of me!” she said. “I thought I asked you to stay in bed.” She knelt down next to him.
“What’s going on?” Susan asked shuffling from her dark room, rubbing her eye with her knuckle.
“It’s okay, go back to bed, dear,” said Melanie.
“But Mom,” yelled Davey, “that’s it, that’s it. It’s right behind you—look!”
Melanie straightened up and rolled her eyes. “Okay, Davey, what?" She turned around and looked down the stairs where Davey pointed, but still didn’t see anything but stairs that descended down into their dark foyer.
Susan reached to the wall and flipped the switch for the lights at the bottom of the stairs.
That’s when Melanie’s inebriated, thirty-four-year-old eyes saw what Davey pointed at—the sideways-head thing.
Four steps from the bottom, with an outstretched arm clawing a tread, a perfectly normal body lay. But the body was topped with an abomination. The neck skin was split—torn and stretched. The man’s face was pointed down and away, his chin resting on his back. All Davey and his mother could see from the top of the stairs was the back of the Christopher’s head.
Susan crossed the hall and came up next to her brother and mom to see what the light had revealed.
Susan was the first to scream—“Dad! Oh Dad!” she cried as she pounded the stairs to her father.
“Oh, fuck,” said Melanie.
CHAPTER THREE
Mike — Present Day
“BATHROOM?” ASKED MIKE, his body halfway into the cramped gas station. It was a stretch, but he was desperate. He couldn’t imagine finding a public restroom somehow jammed into this small space—packed-in shelves filled with snacks.
“Nuh-uh,” the squat cashier said between clicks and pops of gum. “Try the Tim Hor’uns. They open.”
“Pardon?” he asked.
“Roun’ the cahnuh,” she waved. “Tim Hor’uns.”
“Thanks,” he was halfway back to the van before he mentally inserted the missing “T” and came up with Tim Horton’s, a chain of coffee shops. Sure enough, around the corner from the tiny gas outpost, they found a Tim Horton’s lighting up the darkness.
“You could call this a one-horse town, but I bet they have tons of horses, and cows, and chickens.” Mike chuckled.
“What’s that?” Gary asked. When Gary drove he dropped into a deep trance.
“They should call it a one-bathroom town instead of a one-horse town,” Mike amended, his chuckle now forced.
“Is this it?” Gary asked, pulling into the parking lot.
“Yeah, thanks,” said Mike.
Mike jumped out as Gary was still bringing the huge van to a stop. He rounded the front, walking a stiff-legged shuffle to contain his discomfort.
“Stay with the van,” he said when Gary’s door swung open.
“I want to get something,” said Gary.
“I’ve got thirty-thousand dollars of equipment in there—please stay with the van,” said Mike. His temper was fueled by his urgency to use the restroom.
“Okay,” said Gary. “Get me a doughnut.”
Mike tugged at the restaurant’s door, but his hand snapped back empty. He reached and grabbed the other handle, which pulled easily. He hustled in and found a friendly door on his right. Ten minutes later, after a loud and malodorous session which he attributed to that evening’s Greek salad, Mike exited the men’s room.
A young man and older woman stood behind the counter, staring at Mike.
He approached the counter trying to look casual, but he read unmasked disgust in their eyes.
“Could I get a dozen glazed?” he asked.
“All we got is cherry,” said the young man.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“Cherry.”
“Okay,” Mike considered, “could I get a dozen cherry?”
“All we got is six.”
“Great. Six cherry and a diet then,” said Mike, reaching for his wallet.
OUTSIDE, MIKE FOUND THE VAN abandoned and the driver’s door open.
“Gary? Gary?”
Gary poked his head around the corner of the building with a cigarette in his mouth.
“Didn’t I just ask you to stay with the van?” Mike asked his approaching assistant.
“You don’t want me to smoke in there. I went over here,” he waved.
“Can’t you close the door and lock it when you leave?”
“I was listening to the radio,” said Gary.
Mike held out the bag of doughnuts in one hand and rubbed his temples with the other. “Whatever,” he said, “let’s get going.”
“I’m on it,” said Gary, jumping back in the driver’s seat with his bag of doughnuts.
WHEN THEY FINALLY GOT BACK to the gravel lot, they found that their site had changed. Another car waited in the lot, and a group of teenagers were down next to the river.