We Become the Night
Chapter 4:

Fairy Tale? More like Horror Story

I wake slowly, disorientated. The first thing I notice is that I’m not in my bed. The only reason I figure can this is because the carpet underneath my cheek is rough and not the soft cotton pillow from my bed. I’m also freezing thanks to the fact that I’m not under my blanket.

The next thing I’m aware of is that I can see. I mean without my glasses on, I can see just fine. Which is a good thing since my glasses are next to me on the floor, smashed. I pick up my glasses, or what’s left of my glasses, and put them up to my face. With the lenses close to my eyes, everything is fuzzy. Yet, when I move the glasses away, I can see clear as day. I feel a little like Toby Maguire did in Spiderman when he wakes up after being bitten by that spider. With glasses, poor vision; without glasses, great vision. Except I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider and I’m certainly not like Spiderman, no matter how much I might wish that that’s what happened.

I look around my room and it. Is. Trashed. I mean, WWE hosted here, trashed. My blanket is crumpled up on the floor about two feet from where I woke up. I pick it up and see it’s not just crumpled but is also shredded as though fed through an oversize paper shredder. My bed is, well it’s broken, that’s the only word I can think of. Just broken. It’s leaning to one side and sagging in the middle. The headboard is splintered and there’s pieces of wood all over the room. The mirror behind my partially open door is in pieces on the floor. The glass that remains in the frame shoots my image back at me multiplied. I can see that my hair is up on end and there’s an imprint of the carpet on my cheek. My nightstand is.... Well, you get the idea. My room is trashed.

As my brain catches up with current events, I freak out, finally remembering bits of what happened last night. Those yellow eyes lunging forward towards me shoot through my memory. I break out in sweat as those eyes flash through my brain.

I check my body frantically for injuries. The only thing I notice is a few scratches and bruises along with a bite mark on my abdomen. These injuries, though, look several days or even weeks old. The bruises are already yellow, the scratches and bite mark are pink and closed as if they’ve been healing for a while. I know that I didn’t have these when I went to bed last night. I search my memory for what happened, but all I can remember is those horrible yellow eyes.

Then I remember the crashing and yelling from my dream. Considering the growling was real, I figure maybe those were too. I shove my shirt into place and leap up, tripping over my blanket. I don’t even notice when my bare feet hit the shards of glass in the doorway.

I check Cole’s room first. I find him on the floor, spread out and, at first, I think he’s dead. There are scratch marks down his chest, and these aren’t like mine where they are almost healed. These scratches are deep, and blood is pooling around them and dripping from his chest to the floor. There’s already a large puddle of blood around Cole’s body. I rush to my brother’s side. Barely, just barely, I see his chest moving as he struggles to breathe. His eyes are closed, and his eyelids are moving as he dreams. He’s making groaning noises as though he’s in pain. No wonder he’s in pain, I think to myself, just look at him.

My eyes start to tear up, and I swallow down the hysterical sob that is lodged in my throat. I think back to my first-aid training. Of course, this is nothing like what we were taught, but it’s better than nothing. I know that I need to get the blood to stop, or he’ll bleed out before I have a chance to get the EMTs here. I look around his room. His room isn’t trashed like mine is. In fact, it seems the only issue here is that my brother is lying on the floor with gashes down his chest. Other than that, his room looks just as pristine as ever. My brother always has been a bit of a neat freak.

I grab his bedsheet from his bed and start ripping it up into strips. I take only a moment to marvel at the fact that I can rip up the fabric with only my hands. I place the strips over his scratches which soak with blood immediately. I keep piling more strips on his chest adding as much pressure as I can. I lift his torso a little bit to scoot a length of sheet behind his back. I then use that length to tie the strips onto his chest.

I look at his face and realize he looks almost peaceful now, the groaning has stopped, and it seems as though some of the pain has receded. Though I’m not much for religion, I send a silent prayer out hoping someone is listening and can help him. Then I get up and go check on my parents knowing there’s nothing more my limited knowledge can do to help Cole.

My parents aren’t as lucky as Cole and myself. Their room’s door is knocked off its hinges and is in splinters on the floor. Their bodies are laying in the middle of the floor and are completely ripped to shreds. There is blood and guts everywhere, the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. It’s like a really over done crime scene from the show, CSI. The sob I choked down earlier makes its way up and out of my throat. I drop to my knees and let the hysterics work their way out of me. It seems as though I sat there bawling for an eternity, but it’s been closer to only a few minutes. It’s funny how time distorts when you’re dealing with trauma.

Once I feel cried out, my brain starts working again, and I know what needs to be done. I check on Cole and see that he’s still in the same condition I left him in, not better, but at least not worse. His chest is rising and falling with a steady rhythm, so I feel alright with leaving him for a few minutes. Then I go to my room, grab my phone, and dial 911.

After I talk to the dispatch, I check on Cole again. He hasn’t changed, but I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Then, I go outside to wait for the police and ambulance. The path from my room to the front door looks like something out of a disaster movie. The whole house is as trashed as my room. Except for Cole’s room, I remember. It looks like a large and pissed off animal ran rampant throughout the house without regard for, well, anything. There is nothing left. The furniture is broken and smashed. Clothes are ripped and torn. My whole house is just gone for lack of a better word.

I exit out the front door, which is hanging by one hinge. I sit numbly on the front porch steps as I wait for the police, fire department and ambulance to arrive. I think, a bit disjointedly, why would the fire department need to be there and then dismiss the thought almost as soon as it made its way through my head.

The paramedics check me over and state that the only thing wrong with me is that I’m in shock. I lift my shirt curiously. Surely, they would’ve seen the claw marks, bite mark and bruises. I look down at myself in disbelief. My skin is smooth with no remnants of the injury I noticed only forty-five minutes prior. I want to yell at them and tell them that they’re wrong. That it’s not just shock, something happened, and I have no idea what. I want to scream at them that they need to save my brother and not worry about me. I want to.... I don’t know. I want, if I’m being totally honest with myself, to go back to yesterday morning when my parents were alive, and my brother wasn’t fighting for his life.

A large group of people gather, as people will do when something like this happens. I see Max through the crowd on the other side of the police barricade. He tries to get through, but the cops won’t let him. I tell them that it’s okay for him to come through.

“Cal? What happened?” Max asks as soon as he’s next to me as I sit in the back of one of the ambulances. I don’t even know where to begin, so I just shrug.

“I don’t really know. Something attacked us last night, but I don’t know what. Cole is hurt bad.”

“What about your parents?”

I can’t even answer as tears well up again. I just shake my head. He gasps and puts his arms around my shoulders to comfort me. I reach up and hold his arm that is across my chest. He doesn’t say anything and just holds me. His silent support has me crying harder. My crying has him squeeze my shoulders harder and he buries his face behind my neck. We sit like that, two best friends holding each other for nothing more than the support we each need, for another few minutes before I can stop the tears. I gulp in two large, shaky breaths and release Max. He doesn’t say anything, but he moves back and sits beside me. We see the medics exit the house with Cole and Max rubs my back in more silent support.

My brother is taken away in the ambulance, the lights flashing and sirens echoing as it speeds off. My parents are taken away in a coroner’s van. They try to block my view of them being taken out of the house, but I can see just enough. Besides, I will never be able to get that image of my parents in their room out of my head. My house is taped off with police tape. The front door was temporarily put back with some nails and a hammer a neighbor brought over.

“Son? Son?” a policeman is trying to get my attention, but it takes a few more seconds before I can comprehend that. Max jostles me to get me to pay attention to the policeman.

“Huh? What?” I say, dazed. I shake my head and rub my eyes. I realize that I was staring off into space and the bright sunlight was hurting my eyes. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you have someone you can stay with?” the policeman asks. I shake my head “no.”

“I don’t have any family near here. My maternal grandmother lives about four states east and the rest of my family is de....” I almost say dead, but I can’t get the word past my lips.

“You can stay with us. I’m sure my parents won’t mind,” Max says to me and then adds to the policeman, “We live just down the street.” I’m about to agree, I mean I don’t really have any other choice, when I hear a voice from the crowd.

“He can stay with me,” the deep voice says. I recognize that voice and I look up from my hands that I’m now staring at to see Mr. Smithin making his way towards us. I didn’t even know he was there. I look around to see if I can see where he came from.

“And you are, Sir?” the policeman asks. Mr. Smithin goes on to explain that he works with my school and can provide housing and make sure I get to school. Since I’m a minor, the police are hesitant to let me go with Mr. Smithin. Honestly, I’d rather live with Max at this moment, I don’t know Mr. Smithin that well outside of school, but I don’t know if I can handle seeing the remnants of the house every day. Max nods at me as though he understands.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind going with him,” I say completely deadpan to the police officer. He hesitates still, but in the end, I think he realizes I don’t have much of a choice. He hands me a business card with his name and number on it.

“Here. This is my personal number written on the back. If you need anything, and I do mean anything, call me immediately. Even if it’s just to talk to someone. Call me if you need to.” He’s smiling as he says this, but I can see that he’s serious. My eyes almost fill with tears again, but I somehow keep them away.

The paramedics clear me to leave, so I say goodbye to Max and thank the officer then I follow Mr. Smithin to his car. I don’t have any clothes other than the blood-soaked ones I’m wearing. I don’t have my schoolbooks or even a toothbrush. Mr. Smithin must be reading my mind because he looks at me and says, “Don’t worry about your things. We’ll work on that tomorrow. As for today, I think Principal Daltry will give you a pass considering the circumstances.” Mr. Smithin gives me a smile and for the first time since I woke this morning, I feel somewhat at ease. Something about his smile makes me feel that maybe, just maybe, I can somehow get through this.

We climb into his car, which he had parked down the street. My hand passes lightly over the soft leather of the seat, and I turn to look out the back window at my house and Max standing in front of it. He’s still talking with the officer that gave me his card. The crowd is dispersing and most of the emergency vehicles are gone. Looking at the past isn’t helping me, so I shift and turn around in my seat and look towards the future.

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