Harmless

Jeffrey swung across the barn, beam to beam from a rope secured to the highest support in the roof. Dust falling from the rafters filtered through the waning dusk sunlight, peeking through gaps in the deteriorating wooden siding. Over 100 years old, it should have been dead, yet the old barn had strong bones.

He swung in here on occasions, for fun. It wasn’t the smartest thing, especially alone, however, there were tons of hay in the barn stacked almost as tall as he was. From experience, or mistakes, he had learned it was a reasonably safe landing, if you didn’t mind twigs up your—shirt.

The sun was setting; he wasn’t leaving. A dare is a dare, and he was the idiot who agreed. After all, he was no coward. It was merely one night in a barn he frequented during the day. It was like camping in a large wooden tent. He never stayed overnight before.

Jeffrey slid down the rope. The horse stables felt too confining, like sleeping at the bottom of a grave; he set up camp in the middle of the floor. There was plenty of hay for a make-shift bed. With his bag of food and water nearby, he found the bed very comfortable. Bored and tired, Jeffery nodded off.

He heard a low whisper in his right ear. “I’m going to build the bones.” It was soft and child-like. He woke up.

As he thought, there was no one. His watch read midnight. Three hours of sleep and one auditory hallucination were a good night’s work; he would entertain his friends with that. That should satisfy them. Jeffrey mumbled a drowsy laugh, rolled over, and fell back to sleep.

He dreamed. Of dances by firelight, long threads, and—buttons. Buttons in the palm of his hand. Buttons on the back of his hand, buttons sewn on the back of his hand, buttons walking and skittering up his arm.

Jeffrey woke from that disturbing scene. It was three in the morning, according to the light of his watch. Ridiculous dreams always left him feeling unrested. He was still tired. Jeffrey had till dawn to get plenty of shut-eye.

He dreamed. Of death, of blood, of blood on his hands. He wiped the blood off on his shirt, yet his hands remained covered, only now his clothes were bloody. Something vicious grabbed him by the wrist, twisted him around, and pinned him to the floor face down, its hot breath on Jeffrey’s neck. It wanted something from him. He didn’t want to give it up, having tried all night to keep it without knowing what it even was.

Jeffrey woke up, finding himself pinned to the floor. While there was no blood, there was the beast.

The dark creature he could barely see over his shoulder had skin with various deep shades of red, and its teeth made little sense. It lifted Jeffrey’s arm only to smash it down on the floor, shattering the once illuminated watch into darkness. The last of any light in the room was gone.

The beast let go of him. It backed off to a dark corner in a horse stable and crouched. There was no moonlight, no light of any kind, yet somehow Jeffrey could see the beast. It was somehow darker than the surrounding darkness, like a void.

“I like that.”

The deep voice came from the opposite, far end of the barn. It wasn't the same beast. Despite the pitch-black darkness, Jeffrey could somehow see the thing, like the surrounding night defined its shape; it was negative space. It was big. It was tall, stocky, covered in long shaggy hair down to bear-like feet. Its head and face were too large for its body. The eyes were hollow, the face like a mask covered in skin. It was moving closer.

“Stop,” Jeffrey said.

“Tell me why.” The deep voice had a dangerously playful tone. After Jeffrey didn’t immediately respond, it moved closer.

“No, stop!” Jeffery yelled. When it didn’t, he realized he needed an answer. Because...I...I don’t want you near me!"

“Does this make you feel better?” It stopped walking.

It didn’t, it didn’t at all make him feel better. Its speech was slow and methodical, ensuring it was heard clearly. Jeffrey presumed it was used to speaking to frantic people, making itself heard.

“What are you?” It was a stalling question. He didn’t know what else to say.

“You said it best yourself, Jeffrey, “—it sighed heavily as if it was a burden—”darker than darkness. A void. Do you understand, Jeffrey?"

“No, of course I don’t understand!” he screamed. Jeffrey felt like he was losing a game he didn’t know he was playing.

The figure—the void—moved again, slowly stepping closer.

Jeffrey had accepted a dare. It was stupid. He was an adult, he didn’t have to, yet he just couldn’t resist. He didn’t want this.

Jeffrey ran to the massive barn doors. They wouldn’t open. He yanked, he pushed on the doors again; they rattled and refused. He’d have to tear apart his friends in the morning—if he wasn’t torn apart himself. He pulled out his phone; the screen felt cracked. It had been crushed.

If the thing in front of him could smile, it was doing so now.

He had made a mistake. A serious mistake. It occurred to him many years ago, when his grandmother was alive, she would tell him stories, old traditional tales. He found them boring. He hadn't listened.

“You’re my new toy now, Jeffery. My toy...” the child-like voice faded, the last words indistinguishable.

“Not yet,” the void said. “Have patience, treasure.”

"Humph," Treasure pouted.

In this moment, he remembered this from his grandmother’s stories: Never invite them in. Never speak to them. Never acknowledge them. Talking to them or engaging them means they can—play—with you. It was too late.

“You can’t run away from your fear...not here, Jeffrey.” Its face might have been mostly sharp, jagged teeth, he couldn’t distinguish where its features began and ended. Maybe it wanted him to think that, maybe it wasn’t true. It, the thing itself, was too dark to see, to be certain—of anything.

How could he survive this? When would his friends arrive to find him? He did not know the time, how much time he had left.

None. The void stood motionless. There was an indiscernible high-pitched noise filling the area. Jeffrey heard the voice of the void on the inside of himself. It hurt, as in dying. It whispered things he didn’t want to hear, it showed him something he could never unsee, and still, he closed his eyes in a futile attempt to shut it out. In pain, Jeffrey fell against the door and onto the ground. It told him what it wanted from him.

Jeffrey could do just that, follow its directives and hope it would be satisfied, hope it wouldn’t kill him. Maybe it didn’t want to kill him, maybe it was worse. Maybe he rather it killed him. He didn’t want any part of this.

Emboldened by the panic of self-preservation, adrenaline high, Jeffrey stood up and rushed toward it.

The void charged to meet him.

The barn doors behind Jeffrey rattled, bowed with pressure, the hinges echoed loud, bell-like. Light streamed in from between the barn slats on the east side, and the barn doors burst open. Everything fell silent. Dawn sunlight filled the vast space. There were two silhouettes at the door.

“Were you screaming?” It was his friends. One was smiling, the other looked concerned.

Had he been screaming? He hadn’t thought so. Disoriented, he paused a few moments, staring at his hands. His watch wasn’t on his wrist.

He pushed both of them out of the way. One protested, “Hey...don’t forget your camping stuff!’

“I’ll get it later,” he lied. Jeffrey placed his hands on both doors, taking one final look inside the barn.

Jeffrey swore he saw and heard something in the farthest stall dodge out of sight. He didn’t look too close. He vowed to never enter that barn again, or allow anyone anywhere near it, as he closed the barn doors for the last time.

***

“Will he be back...will he?”

“Don’t worry, treasure. There will be others. There is always more fear.”