The Sack Man (Part 1)

This is a few pages from my new novel which I'm currently editing. The book will be available on Halloween. The Sack Man is the second part in my series of horror novels about demons, demonic possession, witches, ritual sacrifice, love, hate, and friendship.

Sunday, June 17th, 1990 23:42 pm

The glow from Ben’s Bart Simpson night light flickered, pulsed, then vanished. Darkness consumed the bedroom, turning it into an abyss. A strip of light resonated under the door from the hall light. Ben stirred, opened his eyes, and pulled the bed covers up tight to his face allowing a sliver for his eyes. His pale blue eyes gazed into the twilight struggling to catch a glimpse of what he believed he’d seen the night before. Something scratched along the closet door. He focused on it. A low growl sent a cold shiver down the length of his spine.

His parents reassured him nightly everything was ok; there’s no such thing as monsters. The only ones that exist are the ones we create in our minds. Ben was sure he’d seen what lurked in the shadows. A tall, dark figure with skeletal fingers, but it was the odour that arrived before it did that turned his stomach more than his thoughts of what ghastly features adorned its face.

Ben closed his eyes tight, but the images played out in his mind. The way it loomed over his bed, breathing down his neck with its icy breath, pimpling his skin. He pretended to sleep during most of the visits whereas other times he was too paralysed with fear to move, too terrified to close his eyes, and stripped of breath and voice he couldn’t call to his brother, Mark, or to his parents.

Many days and nights Mark mocked Ben’s ideas that there was a monster in the room, one that came from the closet, from the dark corner of the bedroom, from the foot of the bed and even under it.

The hall light vanished. Floorboards creaked along the hall past his door. A foul odour assailed his nostrils; he pinched his nose while the stench stung his eyes. Mark stirred in the bed on the other side of the room. Light from a passing car beamed in through the curtains breathing life into the bedroom revealing the figure for a moment then once more darkness fell.

Cracks and low groans pierced his ears. Shuffling. Ben pulled the covers over his head and trembled. Like the sound of brittle twigs snapping on a winters day, the sound grew nearer with every shuffle. It groaned above him; its breathing came slow and shallow as a man struggling to breathe. Ben didn’t move didn’t dare find out what the thing looked like up close, what he’d seen so far was enough to induce nightmares. Nightmares which fell on an almost daily basis.

The breathing fell silent only to be replaced by the snapping and cracking as it shuffled its way across the room. Ben pulled his covers down a little and glanced at the nightstand; his Bart Simpson night light wasn’t working yet again. It flickered on and off emitting a dim glow for a second then vanished. He lifted his head; it was leaning over Mark’s bed. The creature turned back to Ben. Ben threw himself back and pulled the covers back up, his breathing quickened, his eyes darted over the back of his duvet then closed as the familiar sounds drew closer. He held onto the covers as tight as he could muster.

Light filled the room for a second and poured in through the side of his duvet. An ear-piercing shriek made his ears ring, thumps, cracks, and more nerve-shredding screams came.

“What the hell! Ben, was that you?” Mark blasted.

The bedroom door swung open, “Who’s screaming?” their father, Nathan bellowed switching the light on. “Ben, Mark, who was it? Own up; you almost gave your mother and me a heart attack.”

Ben lowered the covers. His night light was on. Their father narrowed his eyes at them both. Mark shook his head.

“Wasn’t me, Dad.”

Nathan sniffed the air and scrunched his face. “What’s that smell?”

“Not me,” Mark replied. Nathan looked at Ben.

“Nor me.”

“Well one of you has shit their pants, and it wasn’t me, though I nearly did when I heard that noise.” Nathan leaned against the door frame. “Get back to sleep; I’m not mad at whoever it was. You can tell me anything. You know that don’t you boys?”

Mark nodded. Ben lowered his head.

“Ben, it’s ok,” Mark started, “I used to have nightmares too.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare!” Ben snapped.

“Then why did you scream son?”

“I didn’t; it wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?” Nathan asked with a yawn.

“That man.”

Nathan rolled his eyes, “Not this again. I told you there’s no one in the wardrobe. It’s your eyes playing tricks on you, or you’ve seen one too many cartoons.”

“But he is real; he was here.”

“Enough!” Nathan bellowed, Ben’s chin quivered, “Get to sleep, you’re still going to school in the morning. I’ve had enough of hearing about this man, monster, whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it again. Understand?” Ben nodded. Nathan turned off the light and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Jesus, Ben, you really did it this time,” Mark said.

“It wasn’t me, honest it wasn’t.”

“Oh yeah, then who was it, the Bogeyman?” Mark chuckled.

Ben didn’t answer. For the past two weeks, the same figure had visited with its stench. Each time it loomed over their beds, sniffing, observing them both. Mark had taunted him with tales of the Bogeyman even before it all started, but now he was here, in their room. Ben was sure it wasn’t his imagination or the light playing tricks with the shadows. Something or someone was in the house.

Ben stared at the ceiling. He remembered the first time he saw the man. It was a night just like any other, the night light was on and Mark was snoring. The nightlight flickered for a few seconds then pulsed high and low and then shut off. He pulled the covers over his head having been woken by the bright light next to his face. He pulled the covers down, his nose assailed by some stench, he scrunched his nose. A sharp snap drew his attention towards the wardrobe.

It was a man. He was taller than his father, his face was gaunt, wrinkled, his eyes were set in deep dark pits. What clothing he wore was tattered and torn. As he leaned in closer Ben pulled the covers up over his head and shut his eyes. The man sniffed his covers and prodded the covers and Ben’s leg with bony fingers. Ben held the covers tighter pushing them as hard as he could into the pillow.

He trembled and closed his eyes. Still, the man sniffed, but now he was sniffing the pillow. Click. It was the hall light. The sound stopped. The probing fingers too were gone. Ben waited a few seconds before he lowered the covers. The man was gone, a faint cloud of smoke fell to the ground, only noticeable because of the dim light slicing under the door. Moments later the nightlight flicked back on and the smell that had assaulted his nostrils was gone.

A year has passed since that first night and the frequency of the visits has increased as has the daringness of the entity. Lingering longer and longer. Watching. Always watching. Always waiting.

Thursday, June 21st, 1990 22:57 pm

The past three nights had been pleasant with no sign of the visitor. Ben played with his toy cars and with Mark, he watched cartoons, read books, and enjoyed a day at the park. On the third day, he started to believe what his parents said, it was all his imagination. He got to thinking about the shadows at night and those the evening brought when the lights were on. A hand could become a rabbit, a dog, so maybe this figure was a shadow after all.

He’d been asleep for an hour when the first sign came. Light blasted his eyelids. He stirred then opened his eyes on to the darkening room as the light faded. He sat up. The odour invaded his nose a moment later. He pulled the covers up to his mouth stifling the smell, but it was already in his nose and his mouth.

The smell was of sour milk mixed with rotten egg and dirt. He forced his eyes to focus in the darkness, towards the closet, the place where most of the shadows originated from. Nothing. He looked towards his chest of drawers and toy boxes, still nothing. A dreary groan came. He reached back and clutched his Gizmo teddy.

A thick cloud blacker than the darkness within the room drew nearer. Its cloud-like mass forming shoulders, arms, and a head as it closed in and stopped at the foot of his bed. Ben gasped and threw himself back pulling the cover over his head. Cracks, snaps, and low moans came from beside his head.

The familiar breathing was now coming from above his head along with the poking and now some grabbing. Ben froze. The breathing became raspy. Slender fingers reached deep like talons and pinched, grabbed, Ben hold his breath forcing any whimpers inside. Tears ran down his cheeks.

The duvet shot off his body. Ben kept his eyes shut tight. He didn’t dare move. This was no shadow. No trick of the mind’s imagination. This was all too real. Shards of ice touched his stomach then grabbed his thigh.

He held his breath. Light shone brighter than the blast of his night light. It was green and as bright as the midday sun. Ben closed his eyes tighter.

“No. I’m not kissing Jenny again,” Mark said. “I’ve done my dare.”

The light faded in an instant and with it, the breathing and trademark noises of its movement faded with shuffles across the room.

Ben kept a firm grip on the duvet and moved his head to the edge of the bed and created a peephole with the corner of the duvet. The hall light flicked on bringing with it a strip of light. The shadow man remained beside Adam’s bed. It pulled the cover away and examined him with probing fingers. It lifted his arm and squeezed it and did the same to his leg. Footsteps clomped along the hall. The bedroom door edged open.

The figure exploded into a cloud of smoke and sunk into the carpet. More light filled the room. Ben peeked at the door. It was his father. He scrunched his face and sniffed the air and walked in then opened the wardrobe. Ben continued to follow his father on his journey around the room.

“Where on earth is that smell coming from?” he mumbled to himself as he left the room and pulled the door shut.

Ben continued to stare into the darkness. Still, the smell remained in the room, longer than usual this time. His eyes couldn’t hold out any longer. The shadows and shapes merged into one. His eyes closed.

End of Part 1