The Midnight Men
I told Sally to go up to bed, promising her that I would soon join her. My mind was still racing, and I needed to drink my beer, wind down. Lying there on the sofa in the dead of night, the old man’s words ran through my head on a continuous loop.
Was the old man simply insane? Or was his rant the result of close contact with those strange, unearthly figures?
What was it these people were offering that could make sane people like the Robinsons, like Ted and Alice, up and leave in the middle of the night?
Musing on these terrifying questions, I slowly spiralled down into sleep.
#
When I snapped awake, I heard my son’s voice in the living room with me, speaking to someone in a low, hushed tone. My heart burned with fear and I sat bolt upright, peering into the darkness. The only thing I could see was the LED display of the VCR.
It read: 12:03
“Caleb!” I shouted.
I heard a movement behind the sofa and when I glanced round, I found my son crouched on the floor, the telephone handset pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he was saying in a quiet voice. “Yes, I will.”
I rushed over. “Caleb, who are you talking to?”
He looked straight through me, his eyes glazed, as though he was sleep-walking.
“Yes, all right,” he said, oblivious to my presence.
I snatched the handset off him, and put it to my ear. “Who are you?” I screamed into the mouthpiece. But there was no reply, only a harsh, bronchial breathing, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling . . .
A sudden bright light flooded the living room, spilling in through the bay windows. Dropping the phone, I staggered over to the curtains and tore them back. Squinting into the blinding glare, I found the outline of the dark figure which had come for the Robinsons, for Ted and Alice. The alien hum of that engine bore into my brain.
“Caleb, go get your mother,” I said, but when I turned around I realised that I was alone in the living room. Caleb was in the hall. I could hear him struggling with the front door latch.
“Caleb! NO!”
I charged into the hallway, just as my son opened the door. For a split second I saw the shape of that black figure on our pathway. I snatched Caleb up in my arms and slammed the door, pushing my full weight against it.
Caleb struggled in my embrace, screaming like some demented, brainwashed child. “Daddy! We have to go! We’ll die if we don’t go!”
“Caleb! Calm down,” I said, trying not to shout, trying to sound like the voice of reason. “What did they say to you?”
“We won’t die, Daddy! If we go with them, we won’t die!” Tears flew from his eyes. “I don’t want to die, Daddy!” His hand reached desperately for the door. “Please don’t let me die! Please!”
I felt a wetness across the front of my shirt and when I looked down I saw blood. Caleb’s violent struggling had reopened his knife wounds. I recalled the sight of Caleb on the hospital gurney–his shirt spattered with blood, his face a white death mask–and for a moment I relived that sick dread feeling which filled every part of me at the thought of losing my precious son, my flesh and blood.
I looked through the frosted glass, saw the ominous silhouette right outside our door. I could hear that hollow, ragged breathing.
Ignoring the blood, I held Caleb tight to my chest, trying to muffle his screams, but at the same time pouring all my fear and love into his body. God help me, but I began to wonder if these men–these creatures of the night–could really take away that fear forever.
A large, colourless hand tapped twice on the glass.
Tak! Tak!
“Caleb, stop screaming.”
Sally’s voice. Calm, soothing. Caleb immediately stopped. Sally stood at the foot of the stairs, an overwhelming sadness in her eyes. She reached out towards us and Caleb passed from my arms into her embrace. The madness seemed to have left him, and he buried his face in his mother’s neck.
“They want us to make a choice, Ben?” Sally said softly. “Is that it?”
The choice.
The choice Phil Robinson had to make. The choice Ted made. For their loved ones.
The choice: To face the inevitable anguish of a mortal life, the pain of losing those we love, or . . .or eternity with them.
That dead hand rapped once more on the frosted glass.
I looked at my wife and my beautiful son, and for a moment I was imagining a world where they would never die, where I would never have to bear the pain of losing them.
“Maybe,” I began, “maybe we should go with them. Like the Robinsons. Like Ted . . .”
But Sally was shaking her head, her eyes bright with fear. “Remember the man in the hospital, Ben,” she whispered. “Remember what he said.”
Yes, I remembered.
. . . and they will take everything from you that makes you human . . .
“Is that what you want, Ben?” Sally said. She looked at the shape hovering outside our front door. “Is that what you want for us? Survival at any price?”
I found myself slipping down the door, all strength in my limbs gone. The drone of the vehicle’s engine was a dagger in my brain.
Sally was right. She was always right. In the end, the choice was very simple.
#
It’s been three days since they came to our house, three days since we made our choice, and now we’re the only ones left in Cedar Road. The houses are all abandoned, the front doors left unlocked. The cars sparkle in the dwindling light. The days are growing steadily shorter. Last night seemed to last forever. And sometimes, during those interminable twilight hours, when everything seems so fragile, so human, a part of me still wonders if we made the right decision. It’s not the one everyone else made but, I guess, sometimes you just have to choose.
Now, all we can do is wait.
Outside, night is falling.
This story originally appeared online at Dark Recesses Press in their July 2006 issue