Drerys' Guest

A t twelve-A.M. Madeline screamed.

“There’s something in my room!” Her straining voice pierced the silence of the house as her parents rush in, consciously avoiding the protruding end of their daughter’s toy chest. They’ve done this before, many times. But this time was different. It felt serious. She’d never screamed like this before. Not once.

“What’s wrong, honey. What’s wrong,” her mother begged in between gasps of labored breaths.

“It, it-it was in my room,” she cried. “It came to try to take me.”

She let go of her inhibitions and began sobbing.

“Now, now, now. Are you sure it was just a bad dream? We’ve been through this before. Remember?” Her mother tried to lull her with shushing as she rocked her back and forth.

“Remember honey?”

“N-n-n-no, it’s true. L-look at the floor, the window.” She pointed to a place on the floor of her room not two feet from where she slept.

Madeline was seven, a curious age. Full of excitement and wonder, she was all too overwhelmed by the ten acres her father had inherited from his father, who had succumbed to cancer not two months before. It was received, no doubt, in the worst possible manner. However, inheritances usually are and the therapy is the honor bestowed upon the recipient of keeping the memory alive through the role of caretaker, as well as inheritor, of their relative’s property.

It was on the cusp of Autumn when the Drery family finally settled on the farm. The days were shortening and the air was filled with the smell of aging leaves and turning fruits. The nights were growing, but in their transition, left a glow throughout their duration that cut along the horizon and defined it. The sun wasn’t quite ready to surrender. Yet. Mist, too, now began to accumulate in glowing wisps along the base of the hillside beyond the Drerys’ yard, and weaved through the apple orchard stopping just along the border of the yard’s perimeter. It was the perfect time to arrive here. Though Mr. Drery had grown up in such an environment, he had moved to the city in his teenage years and never had the opportunity for a thorough lesson in the daily tasks and upkeep of the farm his late father undertook. Now was his turn. City life had taken its toll and left him yearning for peace and quiet. He had been around rural enough that it was in his blood, and urban life just didn’t bring him that peace he felt when he was out in the country. Therefore, he returned and brought with him two more who, as he felt, would soon embrace this style of living also.

His wife, Carole, who he met during his time in the city, knew nothing of the country outside of magazines and from the tongues of strangers. She was curious, perhaps more so than her daughter. A change of scenery and pace would be nice, she thought. It was the foundation for something better, she was sure.

At six in the evening Mr. Drery brought in a days labor of firewood for the home’s cast iron fireplace to devour.

“Gonna be a cold night. Winter seems to be wanting to start early.”

He dropped the firewood into its cradle by the fireplace and brushed off the splinters of wood that clung to his sweater. It was nearing dark. The candles Mrs. Drery had lit kept the light within the farmhouse from receding beyond the horizon like it had begun to outside. As Mr. Drery stoked the fire and put another log in, it crackled and inhaled, satisfied with its meal of dried, sturdy timber. Mr. Drery closed the door, leaving but a crack for the fire to breathe. The colored glass of the door’s window projected a kaleidoscope of colors that danced on the far wall in sync with the growing, eager flames.

“Smells great. What’cha makin’?” Mr. Drery kissed his wife on her forehead.

“Fresh apple pie. Picked the apples from the orchard this morning,” she replied in a pleasant tone.

“First night on the farm, Skipper. How you like it?” He bent down to meet eye to eye with his daughter.

“I like it. It’s pretty. But not as pretty as you, Annie.” She lifted her doll up for her father to give her a kiss.

“Of course not,” he replied, and kissed his daughter’s rag doll on her black button nose.

“Go wash up now, darlin’. It’s time to eat. Dinner’s almost ready.”

With that, she scurried off to wash up.

The three sat at the table with a true country feast before them, like Mr. Drury had done many times before. This time, it was with a family he had made, and not merely been brought into. He was surely keeping his father and the farm alive. For this he was thankful. Corn, peas, potatoes, a roast, and, of course, apple pie for dessert sat before them and filled the room with scents divine. Mr. Drury was as proud of this ritual as Mrs. Drury was as proud of her cooking, as Madeline was as proud of Annie. After this one grateful moment of silence they handed out their portions.

At the end of the meal, but only the candle’s flame could move as before. The meal was so filling that the time allotted to eat it could easy be doubled, or even tripled, to digest it. Though Mr. Drery was familiar with this concept, he still had trouble escaping the clutches of the chair that tucked him in tightly against the table’s edge. However, with considerable effort on his part, he fled from its clutches and pulled Madeline out of hers to put her to bed. Mrs. Drery did her part: dutifully clearing the table and preparing the fridge room for leftovers.

Meanwhile, Mr. Drury, with candle in one hand and daughter in other, ambled up the twisted, wooden staircase that led to her, and their rooms.

“Oof, you’re getting too big for this, Skipper. When are you not gonna need me for this, huh?” She smiled and replied.

“Never, daddy, never,” she delightfully responded. He smiled and chuckled in response.

He turned the corner and entered her room. He approached the bed and flopped her down upon it. Then, he gently tucked her in with Annie by her side.

“Daddy, could you sing me that song,” she asked.

“Which one, Skipper?”

“The one about the cars and how they say hello.”

“Well, honey, I could, but there aren’t many cars out here on the farm.”

“Well, daddy, what is there a lot of here?” At her inquiry he thought for a moment.

“Well, Skipper, there are cows, and ducks, I believe.”

“Could you sing me how the cows say hello, Daddy?”

“Sure thing, skipper.” He paused for a moment and then sang the modified tune:

“Every time a cow sees me walking down the street, he says ‘moo moo.’

And every time a cow sees you on the street, he says ‘moo moo.’

And every time you think you need some cheering up, all you gotta do is think up happy thoughts, then say ‘moo moo.’”

Mr. Drery sang the last line and pressed his fingers on her belly and tickled her. She gave out a squeal and laughed hysterically.

“Okay, Skipper, time for sleep.” He kissed her on her forehead.

“Annie too, Daddy,” she requested.

“Okay.” He kissed her doll on the forehead as well, then left the candle on the dresser by her bed and closed the door all but a crack.

Not an hour into sleep did Madeline stir with the strangest of sensations upon her. Aroused by this feeling, she adjusted her sight to the room, dimly lit by waning candlelight and the light outside her window that cut along the horizon. With Annie in hand, she slid out of bed and walked to the window, out of which she felt compelled to look. Mist now enveloped the orchard that her window faced. Leaves that slowly broke away from their hosts left the trees in a state of decomposition, much like that of tissue falling off a corpse, revealing fresh, unyielding bone. The mist surrounding them glowed faintly as it collected sparse fractions of remaining light. It was in her observations of such did she see the strangest of things poke out of the mist on the far end of the orchard. It appeared to be that of a shadow, alien to its surroundings and odd in shape and size. It looked as though it might be that of a farm animal. But, there were no animals granted access to the orchard. Could it be a deer or some other kind of wild beast? After Madeline observed it for a moment, it didn’t act like one, at least not to her knowledge. It walked on all fours in unnatural, concerning motions. And then it disappeared among the trees. Madeline blinked hard and shook her head. Was she still dreaming? She didn’t think so. The window, slightly open, produced a cold sensation that she occasionally reacted to, shivering in response. She broke her stare and, as she went to turn around and return to bed, something again caught the corner of her eye. It was the same figure. But this time it appeared closer. It was halfway across the orchard now. And Madeline could see what it was in vague definition. It looked like a cat. But it was big. Huge. Much bigger than any cat she had ever seen. It was dark, too dark to know for sure, but it moved like one as it slinked along the mist, head bobbing up and down as it cut through it. As it got closer, Madeline could make out tufts of hair that protruded from what it looked like to be loose, torn skin. And as it came closer, she could now see that it was like no other cat imaginable. It was almost –

She screamed.

It stood up on its hindquarters and hissed in response. Its eyes glowed and flashed. It then receded into the thicker mist and disappeared beyond the trees. All-the-while running on its hindquarters, like a man.

Mr. And Mrs. Drury burst into her room not a second later. In the process, her toy chest caught Mr. Drury by the shin and threw him off balance. He landed on the floor with a thud, yet shook it off to attend to his traumatized daughter.

“Skipper, what’s wrong,” he strained to get out between sharp bursts of pain.

“Goddamned thing,” he cursed under his breath.

“What, what is it, honey?” Madeline’s mother held her. Her lips quivered and tears welled up at the base of her eyes. She was speechless. All she could do was point at the window. They both looked out into the night, the orchard, and the mist. Nothing. No sign of anything unusual or extraordinary.

“What, what was it?” Both parents begged for an answer. “Can’t you tell us?”

Madeline just sat on the bed for a moment, staring as intently as before. And then she spoke.

“There, there was a thing, a thing outside my window.”

“What thing,” both parents asked.

“I-It looked like a big cat. I’m not sure w-what it was. It was so dark.”

“Shhh, hush now, darling. It was probably just a bad dream,” her mother reassured.

“Can, can I sleep in you and Daddy’s bed?” She was frightened, yet hopeful.

“Sure you can. So long as it makes you feel better, Skipper,” her father replied.

She smiled at her assurance of safety and her parents led her into their room and tucked her in along with Annie.