Between The Fences

As a writer, inspiration can come from the strangest of places or at the strangest of times. Many times, it’s the inspiration itself that is strange, and the event that gave rise to it is as boring and mundane as it gets. So it was with this story. My wife and I were removing our solar light strings from the fence in our backyard in favor of ones that would be brighter. I remember reaching over the fence to try and dig out a piece of zip tie that had gotten stuck between the slats.

That was the inspiration! You see, our yard and the neighbor’s yard are both fenced, and in between is a space that was no more than a few inches wide. But then I asked myself, randomly, what lay between the fences? Cassidy’s story was born in that moment. I remember explaining the idea to my wife almost immediately, and the smile I got in return told me that this was a story that needed to be told.

I didn’t really expect it to take such monumental turns and develop into something almost beyond my control, for this story began to tell itself shortly after I began writing it. But Cassidy’s story is one of fear, surprise, and heroism. The expectation from the start was a tale about half as long as what I ended up with, but it grew bigger and more intense with each passing day. I became nothing more than a chronicler, which, for a writer, can be one of the most exciting experiences! Like many of my stories, too, it eventually ended up tying back into other stories and a greater narrative that I’m developing for upcoming novels.

I hope you enjoy the ride, dear Reader, for Cassidy’s tale is one to remember.

1. The Storm

The lightning flashes outside of her window, revealing a ghastly shadow of a tree that flickers with the strike. Thunder cracks along the path of the bolt, sounding like ripping aluminum until it bottoms out and rumbles loudly across the sky. Cassidy Beaumont lay in her bed with a full bladder, but too afraid to get up and use the bathroom. You would think that, for an eleven-year-old girl, the fears of a bedtime summer storm would have gone the way of the dodo a few years prior. But our little Cassidy is special. She sees and hears the things we all did as children; the Boogeyman, the trolls, the giants, and every other night terror that reduced so many kids’ forty winks to no more than thirty. Little Miss Beaumont, though, knew they were real… she had proof.

She dared never show anybody, for she knew also that nobody would believe her. It would only be the ramblings of a girl with a vivid imagination. A vivid imagination and a bedwetting problem, she thought as the pressure on her bladder grew. Thunderstorms were the purview of the Boogeyman or the black-eyed children.

Cassidy had never gotten a good look at the Boogeyman, for it always hid under the bed, waiting to grab your ankles and pull you under with it. In all of her learning about the creature, she was yet to find out where it would take the children it caught. All she knew was that it had grabbed her twice, but she was able to escape without a heart attack, its red eyes haunting her sleeping and waking hours for several days after. The black-eyed children were a totally different abomination. Their mere presence made you sick to your stomach, and your fear flowed out of you like the shit that was about to fill your underwear. Your mind would be inundated with horrific visions of being beaten by your parents, or falling down the stairs and breaking your legs, or vomiting uncontrollably a mixture of blood and half-digested food. The children would paw and claw at you while whispering threats that became maggots in your brain.

Interestingly, in a terrible way, the fear that each provoked was nearly similar. And no matter how many times you encounter them, you never get used to the fear.

Cass threw her eyes to the bedroom door to her left and over her shoulder. One foot on the floor, one step to the door, open and out, she thought. It should only take two seconds, three at the most. The urgency in her bladder was now at a fever pitch. She didn’t even realize that her body was dancing the “peepee shuffle”, but she was afraid that, even if she mustered the courage to try for the door, that one and only step to the door would make her bladder give way. Instead of wetting her bed, she’d wet her floor. Would she be able to escape the black-eyed children or the Boogeyman?

The lightning flashed again. The shadow of the tree outside her window blinked into terrible existence against her door, its limbs and branches tangled into long arms and fingers that seemed to reach for her. Cassidy felt the goose flesh rise on her skin and, despite the ongoing “peepee shuffle”, it shuddered through her body.

“Fuck it,” she whispered, taking a page from her dad’s lexicon.

Slowly she rolled onto her left side, the strain in preventing her urine from soaking the bed forcing her to hold her breath. When the urgency subsided just enough, which were only moments that felt like an eternity, Cass threw the covers to the side. Knowing that she didn’t have the strength to slowly sit up, she decided instead to just sit bolt upright and hope that her urinary levees wouldn’t break. And while her levees did, indeed, hold, a wave of mild nausea swept through her. She focused on a spot on the floor and let out a quiet, pained sigh to quell the urge to spill her dinner on the floor.

One foot, one step, and out the door, she thought again. The creak of her bed resulting from the upright “peepee shuffle” startled Cassidy into a growl. That growl was the courage she needed, and she continued it as she lowered her foot to the floor. The lightning flashed as her toe touched wood.

From under the bed, a louder, more menacing growl joined her own. But she was past the point of no return, and so was her fear.

“Go, Cass!” she yelled quietly to herself.

She pushed herself off the bed and attempted the single step to the door. She didn’t have to see it to know that the hand that grabbed her ankle had long fingers, muscular hands, and skin as black as a midnight shadow. It wrapped around her ankle like a vice and pulled with the force of a black hole. It all happened in slow motion once the Boogeyman touched her. Cass could feel every imperfection in the vinyl wood flooring as her toes swept across it. She could see every leaf blowing in the wind as the lightning flashed their shadows on the wall. She could hear the utter terror in her scream as it escaped her lungs. And she could hear the wind rushing past her ears in harmony with the feeling of the urine running down her leg as he bladder let loose.

The scream ended abruptly as she impacted the floor, her sight going grainy and dim after her nose struck first. Then she felt the pull of the Boogeyman, the pull into inevitability. Cass half-rolled onto her side and put her free foot against the frame of the bed. She knew she hadn’t the strength to fight the monster, but she had to try. The low rumble of the Boogeyman’s growl sent tremors through her heart, and those shining, red eyes pierced her soul.

Then the world went white… Had lightning struck in her room?

“Cass! Jesus Christ, Cass, are you alright?!”

It was Dad. She was saved. The tears of relief flowed from her eyes as the urine had flowed from her bladder only moments before. She lay there in her own piss, the lights of her bedroom now masking the lightning outside. Cassidy felt the reassuring grip of her father help her to her feet.

“Oh, honey!” It was Mom this time. “What happened in here? Your nose is bleeding!”

She didn’t even care. She also didn’t care that her bare feet were in her puddle of piddle. She threw her arms around her father and thanked him for rescuing her. The sobs of joy and pain were comforted by his calming embrace.

“I didn’t rescue you, Baby Girl. You slipped on your sock,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get you in the shower and get this room cleaned up.”

The next twenty or so minutes passed by in a haze. Mom took her to the bathroom and stripped her down and prepared the shower. As Cassidy washed her body, numb to anything but the feel of the water against her skin, those horrible red eyes seemed to be staring at her from every corner. Even the lights didn’t dim the terror those eyes held. She stepped out of the tub and onto a towel, Mom sitting on the toilet and waiting with a towel to dry her. The sounds of her father cleaning her room right next store brought a slight smile to her face, as did the concern she saw in her mother’s eyes. Cass could still hear the storm rumbling outside, but it sounded like it had lessened. Perhaps it was finally moving on.

Mom carried her to bed, handing Cassidy a small ice pack to put on her nose until she fell asleep before picking her up. Dad snuggled her in, then dangled the sock over her.

“How many times have we told you that your dirty clothes go in the hamper, sweetheart?” His

voice was an attempt at being stern, but it was an intentional attempt. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep, now. We’ll see you in the morning for some pancakes and sausage.”

With a wink and a smile, he tossed the dirty sock in the hamper and made room for Mom.

“You’ll be alright, baby. Just hold this on your nose for a little while to keep the swelling down. You may look a little funny in the morning.” She said that last with a little giggle, which made Cassidy giggle, too.

A smooch and a hug later, and her light was out and her door was closed. The thunder outside was now a low, constant rumble, but the lightning still lit up her room. It was more of a blue now, rather than the intense white. The tree’s shadow still flashed against her wall, but it was now just a tree. If the Boogeyman was still under her bed, he was silent.

Cassidy rolled onto her right side and opened the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a small tin of lip balm. But it wasn’t lip balm. She had cleaned out the tin and put sand in it. The sand was a memento of their vacation two summers ago to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. On her first trip to the beach, she was enamored of how fine and white the beach sand was, like the sand of Ancient Egypt in every movie ever made. So, she decided to keep some for herself. In her experiences with the monsters of the night, she had come to develop a use for the sand, though. More often than not, she would pluck two grains from the tin and put one at the tear duct of each eye, just like the Sandman. It was calming for her, even if it wasn’t really a ward against them.

She laid back onto her pillow, eyes closed and sand applied. If the Boogeyman wasn’t under her bed still, she knew damn well that she’d see it in her dreams. There was no escaping those eyes.

2. Breakfast

Saturday dawned bright and early. Cass realized this subconsciously and pulled the blanket over her head. She might not get her forty winks, but she’d damn well get her thirty. It wasn’t until the cacophony of musical birds and the aroma of sizzling bacon broke through and forced her awake. As she stretched under the covers, her first waking thought was to thank God that she had no memory of her dreams from the night. Cass smiled and sat up in her bed.

Her eyes began to water profusely and she blinked furiously as they did so. It reminded her of being in the kitchen when Mom would be slicing onions, without the odor and the stinging. Cass put her hands to her face and wiped away the tears, the watering subsiding as quickly as it began. She felt a scratch along each cheek as her hands slid across her skin. Blinking more to clear her vision, Cass studied her hands. There she noticed the two grains of sand she had placed in her eyes to ward off the night monsters. Furrowing her brow, the thought crossed her mind that today may be a strange day.

The grains of sand never stayed in her eyes all night. In fact, she’d never found any of the sand she’d used following an attack. Was this the Sandman trying to tell her something? Was she not supposed to wake up yet? Cass’s heart skipped a beat, for fear or surprise she couldn’t tell. She blew on her hands to dry them and then carefully placed the two grains of sand on her nightstand. Reaching into the nightstand, Cassidy plucked up her lip balm tin full of sand and got out of bed.

Despite her reservations about the day to come, she chose a happy outfit and let her excitement begin to build. Her stomach growled furiously at the smell of breakfast as she dressed. She chose a summery yellow ruffle skirt, blue leggings to go underneath, her off-white Outer Banks t-shirt, and a white headband. Sure, it wasn’t the chic fashion statement, but at least she didn’t clash. Cass slipped on her sneakers and went back to the mirror one last time to primp her shoulder-length dirty blonde curls.

The sand, came the thought. But she wasn’t sure it was only her voice. Looking back to the bed, she reached out and stuffed it in one of her skirt pockets. A final look into the mirror was when she spotted him. At least, it looked like a ‘him’. A small yelp escaped her lips and she turned around to see nothing but her window, the sheer white curtains billowing slightly in the breeze. Cassidy had seen it, him, though, she would swear to it. The instant memory proved somewhat unreliable, but the picture in her mind showed a blurred figure wearing a long blue coat or robe. Its hair was black and messy, like an eleven-year-old boy with bed head. Its eyes were a penetrating green.

“Who the hell are you?” she whispered to her room. Cassidy sighed, closed her eyes, drooped her head, and slumped her shoulders. “Why today?” she asked. They were off to see her Grandma after breakfast, and then Francesca, her best friend, was coming this afternoon and staying for dinner. How was she supposed to enjoy her day if she was going to be haunted? She put her hand on the pocket that held the tin of sand and made her way downstairs.

The living room was empty which gave her time to put a Saturday morning smile on her face. She passed the bathroom on her right and came into the small dining room. The sun shone brightly through the sliding glass door, seeming to highlight her father’s seat at the head of the table. The table itself took up most of the space in the room, the glass-doored dining set cabinet filling up part of the back wall and a dry sink (Cassidy never understood why they called a wooden storage cabinet a ‘dry sink’) behind her mother’s place at the other head of the table. The bright blue of the dining room walls made her happy that she wasn’t a deviant teenager suffering a hangover after a night of partying with her friends.

“Hey Cass-Cass!” her mother exclaimed. “How are you feelin’, babe?”

Like shit, she wanted to say, but that would only add to the terrible start of what should be her happy day. “I’m okay, mom,” she answered instead. “My nose hurts a little still.” She feigned pain as she reached up to the bruise that ran across her nose. It didn’t really hurt, there was only a dull numbness.

Kathy Beaumont was a pretty woman. She had the same shoulder-length curls as her daughter, but she dyed her hair a mahogany hue. It clashed with her bright blue eyes, but Kathy thought that somewhat rebellious in these times of chic fashion. Cassidy thought her mother a tad weird for it, but she kept quiet. Her mother never said a thing about her attempts at fashion rebellion, though she was only eleven. Kathy’s nose was a bit of a button, which also clashed a bit with her mild double chin. Sure, she also had a few extra pounds, but she carried it well. She had a tenderness about her at all times and an effervescent personality. It could sometimes get to be too much, but both Cassidy and her father would just leave politely to do “something else” when Kathy’s personality reached that level of irritation.

“Well, wash your hands for breakfast, sweetie. We got pancakes, eggs, and sausage to eat!”

Cass turned around happily to go to the powder room she had just passed. She could already tell that her fuse would be short for Mom’s bubbly attitude. As she opened the door to walk in, Cass shot a glance to the front door. It stood open with the storm door closed. She could swear that she had seen somebody standing there through her peripherals, the same that she saw in her mirror upstairs. Leave me alone!

When she returned to the dining room, her father, Quentin, was there placing the dishes of food on the table. Dad stood about five feet, nine inches. He wasn’t a slight man, but he wasn’t bulky either. A quintessential dad bod if there ever was one. Quentin Beaumont had deep-set brown eyes under naturally perfect eyebrows and a generous forehead. Neck length, nut brown hair swept naturally to the back with a center part. He also sported a neatly trimmed, short-haired beard with streaks of gray running from the ends of his mouth to his jaw. Most of the time, Quentin was a happy jokester, but he was also thoughtful and, at the appropriate times, intimidating. Cassidy loved her father dearly.

“There’s my sweet pea!” Dad’s smile was as genuine as ever, and it melted Cass’s heart. “You ready to eat?”

While her irritation fuse was short with her mother, the fuse was nonexistent when it came to her father. She was a daddy’s girl, and though she could see, at times, that it affected her mother, Kathy let her have her way. No doubt, her mother was waiting in the wings for puberty and the girly-girl that would grow out of it.

Just the sound of his voice settled Cass in mind, body, and soul. She actually smiled.

“Give me the eats, Daddy-O!” she said with a laugh. For the first time since she woke up, Cass felt normal. “I’m starving!”

The family sat down and began piling their plates high with breakfast. Then the conversation began.

“Are we the only ones going to see Grandma today?” Cassidy asked.

As it was Kathy’s mother they were going to see, she was the one that answered. “Nope, Your Uncle Donald is gonna be there, as will your Aunt Violet. You’ll have plenty of cousins there to play away the morning.”

“Just make sure that you give Grandma some of your time, too. You know how she misses you,” said Dad. He raised his eyebrows as he spoke to provide the necessary emphasis.

Cassidy and her cousins were notorious for disappearing on their visits to their grandmother. She lived out by Pipersville, and a stone’s throw from her house was a beautiful covered bridge. It was surrounded by private property, but the kids, mostly girls, liked to see what mischief they could find. The property owners never complained about the kids, but Quentin wasn’t about to allow something untoward to happen and make a bad name for the family. Besides, Betsy Groff wasn’t getting any younger and her health had always been on the teetering edge.

“I know, dad,” Cass answered with only mild disdain. “I promise I’ll spend time with Grandma. I need to ask her a few questions anyway.”

Kathy’s eyes widened at the reply. “Questions? What sort of questions?”

“The grandma kind, mom.” And Cassidy gave her a mischievous smile.

Kathy squinted her eyes for a moment. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

Then came a moment when a television show would dub over the dunh-dunh-dunnnnn.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened last night?” Her mother intoned a mild disinterest in the question, but Cassidy knew better.

Not only that, but it was last night that she wanted to speak to her grandmother about. She didn’t know why it had to be her grandmother, but she felt it in her heart. She answered her mother in what she hoped was the same feigned nonchalance with which the question was asked.

With a shrug of her shoulders she said, “I didn’t wake up in time and slipped on my sock, mom. It’s all good.”

“Cassidy Nicole…” her mother retorted. Whenever the middle name came out, Cassidy knew that Mom wasn’t happy. “You were white as a sheet, like you’d seen a ghost. Were you afraid of something?”

Now, Mom’s unhappy, authoritative tone was never something that frightened Cass. It wasn’t like her father’s tone. And with her short mom fuse already installed for the day, she wanted to spend as little time arguing as possible. Then she heard the low growl from the backyard, exactly as she had heard it from the Boogeyman the night before. Cassidy, came the voice, and she couldn’t tell whether it was from the backyard or her father. Was there a faint apparition in the glass?

“Cassidy,” said Quentin, his authoritative tone in full swing.

It brought her out of her trance. She shivered and looked at her father.

“Cass, answer your mother.”

The fuse had been lit and the sass was about to make a showing. Cassidy rolled her eyes and said, “Maybe I was dreaming… I don’t know. What time is Francesca coming over today?”

The abrupt change in the subject matter told her parents that the discussion would proceed no further. They gave each other knowing looks and curt smiles.

Continue to Part 2: Into the Unknown