Randy kicked back, reclining in the dining room chair as he waited for the tell-tale ding of the microwave to let him know that his late-night meal was done. It was nearing eleven-thirty, and the youth was preparing for a night of reading, drawing and music as he always did on Friday nights. As he relaxed, leaning the chair back onto two legs, which was often frowned upon by his parents, as they knew that it could kick out unexpectedly and dump the obstinate teen onto the floor in a flailing heap, his mind replayed the events of the evening.
All in all, it had been a typical Friday evening at the Frady house, or at least as typical as one could be with an imaginative teenager, who was full of life and spirited living therein. It all began with him coming home from school, dropping his school books off in his room unceremoniously and racing to the fridge to see what was to eat. He threw together a quick sandwich and scurried to the living room to watch the after-school cartoons. Soon, his parents came home, and the evening was under way. His mom began making hamburgers, while his dad went hunting in the woods below the old house. Randy was often pulled from his sketch pad, or notebooks to do some minor chore or run an errand until there was a knock at the door. Randy's friends from the neighborhood had come to hang out and kill the evening talking about everything from girls to Ghostbusters, from comic books to martial arts movies. Set up in their usual hideout, which had once been an old chicken house with a stone stove inside, the quartet of friends hung out, each applying their input to the conversation at hand.
Soon the shadows began to stretch out, enveloping the land in their twilit embrace. The tell-tale hue of violet mingled with the slightest tinge of vermilion replaced the saturated tones of daylight and served to let everyone know that the time to return home had come. Everyone bade their farewells for the day and were soon off to their homes as night crept in on the old house.
When Randy went back inside, he was greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of freshly broiled hamburgers. While he was never much for potato chips, the burgers were something that he could really sink his teeth into; and so, he had two.
The rest of the night was spent embroiled in his sketch pad, and pencils creating just whatever came to mind. The seventh grader loved to draw nearly as much as he loved to write and most of his drawings consisted of dark, eerie landscapes, castles, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, video games or whatever else captivated him for the moment. This night's endeavor was his attempt in drawing the Darksword, the magic stealing blade from one of his many Fantasy series of novels. To his frustration the image he drew was crude at best, much like most of his attempts, but he was learning the best he could… for the moment.
The microwave dinged snapping the youth back to the present as the thought of two more juicy cheeseburgers summoned him to the doorway of his own personal burger joint. Within seconds he was eyeing twin sandwiches of hand patted goodness covered in his favorite condiments, all ready for the midnight hour. A shuffle came from the living room as his dad got to his feet and turned off the television. He stumbled past the open doorway stopping only long enough to look at Randy for a brief moment.
“Hurry up, boy;” Gene said aloud his voice full of the same stoicism it had when he had gotten home that evening, “it's bedtime!”
“Okay, Pop! I will,” Randy responded with a look toward his dad. His dad crossed the living room, shut off the light, and then went on into his bedroom. As he did, Randy was nearly half way through his first burger.
The house grew still, and silence settled it's dominion over the old structure. Every so often a creak or a pop of centuries old wooden planks would break the silence and serve to remind Randy that he was still in the real world. As he was taking another bite of his midnight meal, something caught his attention in the living room. He peered up from his burger to gaze into the murky darkness of the adjacent room. Only a small amount of surplus light from the dining room spilled into the next, surrounded by the gloom which had taken over once his dad had turned off the lights. Without warning, a shadow, crossed the living room, entering the light from the right and passing on through to the left. Randy was utterly taken aback about what had just transpired. It wasn't the fact that a shadow had passed through the light which disturbed him, rather it was the fact that no one crossed into the light to produce the shadow in question.
Randy felt his hair stand on end as he gazed upon the open doorway, keeping a silent vigil as he continued to eat. He finished his late meal after what seemed like hours, having lost the joy of its taste with the incursion of the shadow upon his sanctity. He took his plate to the kitchen, then used the restroom, washed up, and made his way toward his bedroom.
To get to his room, Randy had to reenter the dining room and make an immediate left by the microwave and through a darkened hallway, by the basement and back doors, to his room. It was not a prospect which often bothered him...at least not until this night. With a loud click, the dining room light went out as the young man flipped the switch. The insufferable gloom closed in without mercy leaving him with only the light which trickled from his room to guide his way.
The hallway at the foot of the stairs was the darkest part of the old house, even on the brightest of days as there were no windows to allow any such light to enter. An eerie feeling made Randy's skin crawl as he made his way into the dimly lit passage. He could not shake the notion that something was watching him, and with a wary glance around the teen found himself locked in a gaze with a shadowy figure merely a couple of paces away. The thing was taller than him, (which was by no means a great feat as Randy was rather small for his age) and was wrapped in a cloak of darkest pitch. It's head, if that was what the bulbous formation atop its shoulders could be called bore no resemblance to anything alive or dead and was disproportionate in size. To Randy's mind it seemed likened to a large potato in its shape. The eyes, on the other hand, those orbs which had caught Randy mid-stride and held him in place- burned with a hellish blood-red glow. Randy felt as though he stared into the depths of an unquenchable flame, which wanted to devour him even as he stood there. For what seemed like an eternity, the teen and the cloaked form were locked in a midnight stand-off. Some part of Randy knew that if this thing decided to attack, there would be nothing he could do for it would be upon him before he could ever take the first step as it was merely just beyond reach.
The moments stood the felt like hours, however, he soon found that he could move once more. With this knowledge in mind, he took care to make no sudden movements, and as gracefully as a cat on the prowl, he skulked from the hallway, the dark thing's eyes following his every move. Once he was in the sanctity of his room, he closed the door, adding at least some sort of barrier between him and that thing in the hallway.
Relieved to be in the light, the young man flopped down, laying across his bed. After a few minutes, he reached up and tugged the old pull-chain turning out the light. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, something that to the interest of his inquisitive mind, did not occur only moments before. As he lay there in thought, the rabbit ear antenna on his TV began to violently whip back and forth. It was as if someone stood there, shaking it by hand, yet there was no one. Randy immediately sat up and jerked the pull chain, nearly dislodging the light fixture in the process, but he was too caught up in the spectacle at hand to notice as the antenna continued to whip about. Mere seconds after the light flooded the room with its radiance once more, the antenna came to an abrupt stop. It was as if whatever had been manipulating it suddenly grabbed it and held it still. Randy sat agape on the edge of his bed, questions filling his mind and most of them bore answers to ghastly to imagine. He knew what he had witnessed, yet even as the night crawled toward morning, the uncanny events that had taken place during that midnight stand-off played out in his mind. These events would haunt him forever more...
W. R. Frady
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