Round 8 of our writing group was the annual Halloween story. For this one I decided to try my hand at writing a truly scary story - and what could be more scary than one of my kid's stuffed animal toys?! My second son had a favorite little plush dog, and I used to tease him that it was actually evil - so I thought why not write a story about what would happen if that was really true? Hopefully this story didn't give him nightmares and qualms about his favorite little buddy! ;-)
Baley
by Rusty Keele
"Ring around the rosies
Pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down"
Caution: This story has been voluntarily rated PG-13 for several disturbing images of violence, possession and rotten food.
Read it at your own risk
It was true. I felt a premonition - and a bad one at that. I knew that something bad, something evil - so very evil - had entered our lives. And it hadn't come from the death of Molly either - it was more, so very much more, than just the hole her absence had created in our lives. It was a gigantic, evil sense of foreboding doom that was hanging over the very fabric and essence of our miserable existence. It affected even the weather - all cloudy and gray with frequent rain storms and fits of violent, cold, piercing-to-the-bone wind. If I had found it difficult to pull myself out of the depression and fits of heart-felt, gut wrenching tears that beset me on nearly every occasion - that was nothing compared to what was coming.
I'm not quite sure when I finally decided that it was there. It was after the funeral, yes - but when it exactly entered our lives I am not sure. I first noticed it distinctly that Friday afternoon as I looked for Johnny. Both of us prone to depression, and all the baggage that comes with it, I had to force not only myself to eat and do other "normal" things, but I also had to force Johnny to do the same. It had been hours at least and days at most since we had eaten a decent meal. I had reluctantly scraped up one of the many casseroles in our fridge and heated it with about the same amount of enthusiasm. I had been nearly done with the portion too, when my thoughts turned to Johnny. I scoured the house, but he was nowhere to be found. I tried the front yard along with the adjoining driveway and garage. Finding nothing I turned to the back yard.
I spied him from the sliding glass door in our basement. Even then I noticed the hazy, swirling effect that surrounded him - but I naively attributed it to the cold, the wind and the glass. But even those couldn't hide the fact that he had been kneeling on the lawn, his back to the house, crying terribly for some time. I made my way towards his small frame as he shuddered out the last of the emotional gasps and slumped forward onto the grass in a final act of desperation. I had a brief fear that his life too would soon end and further destroy my being, but I pushed it out with the knowledge that another unexpected death would result in my own.
That he had given up hope there was no doubt - it was just the reason for doing so that escaped me. I stood hovering over him like a surly angel when I could take it no longer and inquired as to the reason for his heartfelt release of emotion. When no answer was given I assumed it had to do with his dearly and recently departed mother.
"Johnny..." I started, but I too was overcome by a trembling voice. I forced myself to continue on, "...life will eventually get better. We will move on. We'll be okay." It was a lame attempt at consolation I know, but the best that I could summon at the moment. We shared a strange sort of intimate moment then, he and I. Finally he found the courage and strength to utter his true feelings - and quite a surprise they held for me.
"Daddy... I can't find Baley." Such a simple, unforeseen sentence that it nearly struck me dumb. I came up with a reply, a very bad reply, and quite oafish at that:
"Your stuffed animal? Well... where did you put him? That's no reason to cry - buck up son." I felt none of the confidence that I tried so poorly to convey. Nevertheless, my heart nearly burst with the pity and empathy that I felt at one more set-back for my poor son.
Pity and empathy were not the feelings that he returned to me however. "I don't know where I left him! If I knew that he wouldn't be lost would he!" I was taken aback by the biting, sarcastic response from my little boy.
"Son..." I started but was unable to finish as he quickly fled back to the house. Dinner for Johnny seemed out of the question now, and I couldn't stomach the thought of more casserole, so I just stood and watched the cold October winds bend the trees in the dusk of our back yard.
***
Worries of a lost toy were far from my mind in the days that followed, and I didn't give another wasted thought to the whereabouts of Johnny's ragged dog. Nor did I try to force the boy to eat or do other seemingly normal activities. I didn't care what he did. He would eventually come to terms with the death of his mother, and I was more than content, in my sorry state of mind, to let him do it on his own terms.
Thus is was with mild surprise that I heard a children's tune being hummed from the back recesses of our house. Feeling somewhat inquisitive I investigated the source of the musings. It was Johnny's room. The door slightly ajar, I pushed my ear to the crack to listen to the long forgotten tune. It was Ring around the rosies, and though I had sung it many times in my youth, the words now seemed melancholy and saddened me. I pushed the door open and was quite astonished to see Johnny sitting on his bed clutching something that vaguely resembled the lost Baley.
"Dad! Look - I found Baley!" he cried at the sight of me. Slowly, so slowly, I directed my skeptical gaze to the thing he referred to as Baley. Chills sprung up on my arms and the back of my neck. Johnny was holding a sorry looking creature, but it definitely was not Baley. Oh it somewhat resembled the shaggy stuffed animal, with its white fur and brown spots. But this new version looked more like a dead puppy than a happy stuffed one. The plastic eyes of the original Baley had been replaced with very real looking ones - now bulging out of the thing. Its body seemed to have more heft than the original, and its pelt was greasy, lumpy and all too bony looking.
"Son, where did you get that thing?" I asked with a repressed form of horror. Johnny's previously gleeful expression began to fade into something that I had seen that day in the back yard. His brows were low and eyes dark as he directed his gaze to the floor.
"What does it matter?" he spat out at me. "Baley's back, and I'm glad!" I could only nod as he looked up at me with those eyes - once sad and longing, now full of a bitterness I had imagined only existed in horror movies.
"Okay, son" I mumbled as I backed out of his room. I cast one last terrible glance at the thing in his hands - it seemed too much like a dead puppy for me to suppress the shudder that came involuntarily to my shoulders.
***
The new Baley was too creepy of an inconvenience for me to want to check on my son. So I let him be. For several days we did not have any contact. Me sitting on the sofa and staring out the back window at the trees being driven by rain and wind, and Johnny in his room humming the same Ring around the rosies tune over and over. Occasionally I thought I heard other voices in there with him, and once or twice I made a weak effort to investigate. I could only get as far as the bedroom door however, before the renewed chills and the overwhelming feelings of evil and gloom would force me back to my den.
In this sad state of mind I must have passed in and out of various levels of consciousness. I would start awake and frantically look around only to find that several hours had passed and that night had fallen. Some days I would actually make an effort to go to my bedroom and try for a proper night's sleep. But mostly I would sit on the sofa - or recliner - and stare out the window until the gray dawn would return in all its dreary glory.
So there I sat one morning when I heard the distinct sounds of someone rummaging for food in the kitchen. The sounds grew louder, and quite obnoxious - as if a madman were seeking his long lost treasure. Finally I could stand it no more and I pulled myself from my seat and determined to put a stop to this forsaken clatter. As I approached the kitchen I was disturbed by what I witnessed. Johnny was kneeling in front of the open fridge, his back to me, eating... something... while holding Baley in his left hand. Dishes were strewn about the kitchen floor in a manner that would have made any true barbarian delighted. He seemed to be arguing with himself, and trying - against the judgment of his arm - to not eat what he held in his hand. It was as if a battle was taking place between his hand and his mouth. Finally his hand won and he took another bite.
"I realize our situation is dire, but can't you try to eat like a normal person?" I queried. He became quite motionless then, finally turning his head to glare at me through dark eyes and greasy strands of black hair. He stood up and turned, revealing to me what he had found so un-appetizing: a raw steak, sliced weeks ago - rotten and spoiled for some time now. For a fleeting moment I thought I saw a cry for help from the sad nine year old boy that had been so affected by his mother's death just ten days before. But whatever pleading was there was quickly replaced by the hateful fire that had previously manifested itself in Johnny's eyes. Johnny smiled a wicked smile, then raised the rancid piece of rotting meat to his mouth and proceeded to take a bite from it.
"What are you doing?" I screamed at him as I rushed forward to stop his self-destructive behavior. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" I continued to barrage him with rhetorical questions as I tried to force his hand down from his mouth. I knew then that Johnny was not himself - he had changed - for his arm would not budge, not in the slightest. I began to feel that he was toying with me, and the wicked smile grew as steak blood ran down his chin and forearm. "Stop!" I screamed in desperation, but Johnny seemed to gain strength and glee with each of my desperate pleas.
Still biting and tearing at the meat he proceeded to do something I had never imagined in my wildest and most terrible dreams. With one hand he flung me back and away several feet to meet the kitchen floor on my back. The shock of the wooden floor reverberated through my body and momentarily incapacitated me. I lay in a daze for several moments. When I regained control of my mind and my eyes, I looked up into the face of the now changed Johnny, who was standing over me with that same wicked grin. I blinked back tears as he looked directly down into my face, and I realized that he was speaking to me. "... and don't ever do that again!" I wanted desperately to close my eyes and return to that blissful realm of unconsciousness, but my gaze remained locked on his. He continued, "Baley doesn't like you. Baley says we should get rid of you. I didn't believe him, but maybe he's right. Stay away from us!" That was not all either, he let out a stream of profanity that would have made a biker blush, then stood staring down at me. Eventually his cheeks bulged a bit and he opened his mouth as a stream of vomit exploded out and desecrated me with its substance and overwhelmed me with its horrific smell. My previously paralyzed muscles were quickly called into action as I rolled onto my side and proceeded to do the same.
***
With my back sore and disturbing images of my own son haunting me I spent the next day in my bedroom, curled into the fetal position, on my bed. Though my health would swing between shivers and fevers I never strayed from the security of my own room. I lay on the same side for hours on end as I watched the closed and locked door, and frantically searched the room at every unusual sound. I would often hear Johnny laughing out loud one minute, only to scream and cuss up a storm the next. Several times the knob on my door would rattle, and sometimes a fruitless pounding would ensue. But never did Johnny enter my room. I hoped and prayed that he would just leave the house altogether.
Many times since that incident I have thought that I should have done things differently. But you must understand that I wasn't in my right mind. The unexpected death of my wife, and the unexplained behavior of my only son had produced in me the most exquisite inability to take control of my life. I only waited, in that sorry state, for the next horrible thing to happen.
It was in such a state of mind that I must have inadvertently slipped off to sleep that night. I was awoken in a terrifying manner, however, when I heard the voices. I tried desperately to keep myself absolutely still and motionless. Though I could hear nothing, I could sense something beside me. For several long moments I waited, keeping my eyes closed and feigning sleep. Though I desired desperately to shudder, I forced myself to breath slowly and rhythmically.
Then I heard it - the whispering. I did not recognize the voice, but the sound of it gave me chills as I lay there in my pretense.
"He knows we're here." The words snaked slowly out of an unseen mouth in barely more than a hushed whisper.
"Good, let him know that we have gotten inside his room," said another voice. I wanted to scream when I heard it, but fear forced me to play my passive part as I recognized the voice of Johnny - though not as I had always known it, but instead like the voice he used in the kitchen.
"Let's kill him now and be done with it!" suggested the other voice.
"No, not yet. Soon, but not yet." There was a horrible silence, and I became suddenly aware of a putrid smell - not unlike rotten eggs. "Did you hear what I said... father?" it continued, with a biting sarcasm at the word 'father.' "Your time is marked, we'll deal with you shortly."
I heard footsteps walking away - towards the bedroom door - then, along with a sort of shuffling sound. I squeezed my eyes and the tears flowed.
***
Eventually I regained control of my emotions, and I realized that I desperately wanted to get away from all this horror that I was now experiencing. I lay in my bed for several minutes - perhaps more - until I could stand it no longer and fear pushed me into action. First I went to the bedroom door and slammed it shut, after which I proceeded to lock it. Nervous, so very nervous! I flipped on the light switch to my room and then double checked the door lock. Satisfied, I quickly sprang to the bathroom and made my way to the medicine cabinet. It was here that I caught sight of another ghastly inhabitant of the house - me. I examined the strange gauntness of my face, the hollowness of my eyes and the straight string-like hair that drooped from my head. Pitiful! Ugly! I couldn't stand the sight!
Frantically I moved to open the cabinet when I realized that I hadn't shut the bathroom door. Quickly, so quickly, I turned, stepped and hastily pushed the door closed. Again I set the lock and prayed that there was enough time.
I turned back to the cabinet and sink, and began to fill the basin with the coldest of water - hoping that the chill would bring back some of the life to my specter-filled face. Why was it so slow! Aah - the agony! I could wait no longer. I bent over the sink and quickly splashed a couple of handfuls of the icy water on my face, then reaching for the medicine cabinet I froze and my blood did the same: In the mirror I saw that Johnny was in the bathroom with me! Behind me the door was opened wide, and my former son - that lurking evil - was standing there looking up at me through greasy black strands of hair. I couldn't move - how could I? I was frozen in place by the horror of this new reality! Slowly, so slowly, my arm dropped and I turned to face what I thought would be the certain death of me. Still those eyes, more black than they had ever been - more than is naturally possible - stared up at me.
I noticed then that Johnny's hands were not empty. In his left was that small but ever so potent beast, Baley, and in his right was a knife from the kitchen's wooden block.
Several long, agonizing moments passed between us then. I was sure that the thing standing so brazenly before me was only the hollow shell of my son, now filled with the putrid essence of evil. At length it spoke to me - removing all doubt that my son was still in control of his body - in a high pitched and garbled voice. "Baley hates you!" it screamed at me. "Baley wants to kill you - NOW!"
That devil - that monster in a boy's body - made its move then, lunging towards me with the dagger of death ready to bury itself in my chest. But - oh the sweet irony - I was ready! I moved first - in all the haste of a rabbit fleeing the wolf - I jumped so quickly, so very quickly to the side of Johnny and slammed the door with all the might my sorry, ghastly specter might hope to muster. Fantastically - amazingly - it worked! The door slammed into him and knocked him against the door frame, pinning him there. I made no delay - none at all - and instantly relieved him of the slicing tool. The shock of a sudden and decisive response from me, the previously cowering father, must have... no did... catch him so completely off guard that I was able to win this battle. I removed the knife from his hand and tossed it further into the bathroom, then used the rest of my strength to crush the door against him. It didn't take long for that spawn of the devil to regroup. The strength he had was amazing! He flung the door open and me along with it. I was thrown against the wall, but came back to the ready as quickly as I could. Alas - he was gone - gone away to pursue other dark motives no doubt.
I figured that this was my one chance, my one advantage, and that I must press it to the fullest. Seeing that Johnny was gone I quickly made for the knife. Then panic - that friend of our ancestors - tried so very hard to take control of my emotions - but I wouldn't have it. I beat it down - slowly but surely - until I had the reigns to my emotions once again. Still I felt that I must press my advantage, so with my knife as my only security against the forces of Hell, I left the bathroom and went demon hunting.
***
The cold, piercing winds of that late October night were at the height of their fury as I slowly stalked my prey in the dark. I had no idea which way the beast had fled, and so relied upon my aural senses to hint as to its whereabouts.
I heard something - towards the main bath. Slowly, so very slowly, I moved in that direction - wielding my knife in self defense. I moved closer and then I heard it - that old children's tune that had become so familiar again these past few days - being sung slowly and in the mocking voice of a child:
Ring around the rosies
Pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down
Over and over it was sung, the tempo growing slower, the words fainter... until, finally, it ceased altogether. I was at the door of the bathroom then, it was slightly slightly open and light was flooding out. Too fearful to do anything but press on I slowly pushed the door open. Oh! How can I describe the evil I saw that unholy night? How can I explain the feelings of utter hopelessness that overcame me? How I can ever rid myself of that scene - I will never know - perhaps death only can free my mind. There on the bathroom floor, kneeling with his back towards me was Johnny. He was still humming the tune - yet so lightly and slowly that I could barely hear it. Next to him, standing on the toilet, was some sort of impish creature - a small demon - looking as if it had come straight out of a medieval text. Its skin was brownish-red, yet sagging and hanging off its frame as if it was ancient leather. And it was shining - covered by some sort of slimy mucous - giving it the effect of a newborn baby - but an ill-born one at that. The demon was leaning in towards Johnny and was whispering into his ear. What vile words could such an agent of the devil be telling my son I've no idea, but I was so astonished and horrified by what I saw that I could not help but gasp and shrink back from the scene.
Noisy! Too noisy! The demon turned its ugly head to look at me. It was the face of a fully grown and grotesquely misshapen man - its lips curled back and lidless eyes glaring at me. It shrieked and Johnny immediately jumped up, turned and rushed towards me. So fast and furious was his approach that I stumbled backwards in an uncertain reaction. Yet he didn't come out, he only slammed the door shut instead. I sat, on my rump, in the hall and blinked in surprise. The bathroom door flung open and out leaped the rabid Johnny, this time towing Baley in his left hand. Instinctively I rolled onto my back and kicked hard - so very hard - at my son's stomach. He jumped against the kick and flew over my head - crashing to the floor behind me. Quickly I swirled and jumped to my feet to meet a new attack. Johnny did the same. We stood there for a split second then, facing each other as former father against one-time son. Then something in Johnny's expression changed, and I knew that he intended to kill me. He smiled an evil grin and began moving towards me. What could I do? I was just a grown man and he was a servant of the underworld in a nine year old's body. I still had the knife, and I figured it was better to go down fighting than... well, not fighting.
Three paces... two paces... one step from me he was. I raised my weapon-yielding hand and brought it down with all the force I could summon. He must not have known that I had the knife, for a brief look of panic flashed across his eyes as he glanced up at it. A quick defensive reaction brought his left arm up to shield his face and head. Oh praise! Oh the glory of that fortuitous move - for his left hand still held Baley. I made an instantaneous decision and a slight alter of trajectory, plunging the knife deep into Baley. An ear-piercing shriek rang out and reverberated throughout the house. I removed the knife and plunged it into Baley again and again - fearful to give up my small advantage in this battle. I continued - driving the knife deeper and deeper into the thing. Johnny screamed out in pain and dropped Baley. I wasn't about to let my concentration break - I continued to hack and slash at the mutated dog thing. I sliced, stabbed and hacked for several minutes as the shrieking continued - from Johnny or Baley I am not sure. I relented not. Finally, it was done. Baley was in pieces and Johnny lay writhing on the floor and sobbing uncontrollably. It truly was Johnny again, and my heart went out to him - but I wasn't done yet. I scooped up the tattered remains of Baley and carried them into the kitchen where I dumped the pile onto the tile floor. I grabbed some matches then, and proceeded to burn Baley's remains into ashes. Eventually I stamped on the remaining cinders, then scooped up every last one of them and proceeded to carry them outside where I scattered them into the cold October winds.
I stood there in my thin clothing and let the cold pierce me to the very bone. I watched as the last of the ashes floated away, and the first of my tears started. I clambered back inside and made my way to Johnny, who was unconscious on the floor. I scooped him up in my arms and made my way to the garage. Johnny and I took a drive then, a very long drive, a very long one way drive. We never owned a dog of any kind again.
The End
This story copyright © 2006 Rusty Keele. All rights reserved.
