YAWP: A Collection of Short Stories

Black Eyes

December 11, 2017

 Quiet static flickered from the screen of the television, the sounds of screams echoing from the image of a young woman, her face contorted in fear. Thunderous, reverberating booms suplemented the ghastly image of a formidable castle that rose above a crumbling rock face. Lightning struck overhead, a flash of pale white that illuminated distinct words upon a headstone. The screen depicted the startling pallor of a man, his face striking in the black-and-white image. He watched from the shadows, his eyes never leaving the woman who crept between each gravestone in near darkness.

"I wonder if that is who the killer is," I said in a low voice, my fingers sifting through a bowl of rapidly-depleting popcorn.

I wondered how long it would be before the movie would end the way I knew it would. She would be murdered, her throat cut and her family left behind to grieve. My fingernails scraped the bottom of the plastic bowl and I looked down to see that I had eaten the rest of the food without realizing it. My hands searched for and discovered the remote and I paused the movie before standing, my too-large sweatpants pooling at my feet as I ambled into the kitchen.

I grabbed a package from the cabinet and stared into the revolving plate for a good few seconds before I decided I didn't want to wait for the popcorn to finish turning. I was about to wander back into the living room when I heard a resounding chime reverberate throughout the house until it came back to where I was standing. I looked down to the door at the end of the hallway, my head tilting slightly to the side. I glanced at the clock first before searching the edges of the window curtain. It was getting close to seven. The outside world had darkened significantly since I had drawn the blinds and retreated into the world of a horror film.

My feet barely made a sound save for a faintly hushed whisper as I walked dubiously to the shadowed doorframe. My hand clasped the cool, bronze doorknob and I felt the tarnished metal like a firm handshake. I waited, wondering if maybe the person who had knocked at my door knew I was alone in my house. With that second's hesitation, a knock that sounded like thunder made me leap halfway out of my skin. After a moment to catch my breath, I pulled the door open, squeaking on its hinges. I looked out across the yard through the screen door that separated myself from the cold. In the dim light, my first thought was that there was no one there. And then, without warning, a slight figure moved into my line of vision and, for the second time in under a minute, I felt as if my heart would be vaulted from my chest.

That it was a young child was clear. The small body and rounded face would have given it away if not the way their stubby fingers twisted together in childlike worry. She was a little over a head shorter than me, her head bowed in a way resembling prayer.

"Hi," I said, my voice lilting in uncertainty. I looked left and right down the deserted street. There wasn't a single adult in sight. "Are you looking for someone?"

The child, who I imagined was a young girl because of the dark brown hair that lay matted against her gray sweatshirt that was much too large for her small frame, was still. She hadn't moved since she had stepped in front of me. I tried to bend down to get a look at her face, hidden beneath her hood. Her eyes were entirely shadowed, the only image of her face I could receive was the pale curve of her chin and a small nose. Eyes are a defining feature. If I could just see what her eyes looked like I could probably name her as the child of someone in my neighborhood.

I tried again, "Excuse me? Are you okay?"

Not even a muscle ticked in her cheek. Then, she was staring up at me, holes where her eyes were meant to be set into a sallow, cherubic face. It was almost as if her cheeks had been bleached of color, leaving behind a hollow replica of a girl's skin. The black, bottomless orbs that were her eyes, whites, iris, and pupil, seemed to swallow the rest of her. For a moment that felt like hours, I could do nothing but stare into those fathomless eyes, my mouth drying as it gaped open. Those kind of eyes didn't exist in a human face. If anything, those were from something I had just been watching on the screen and the sight of them chilled me deep to the bone. I was unable to form a single sound. I almost believed I was dreaming when her mouth began to form words.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice like any other kid's I'd heard before. "Can I come inside? I'm lost and I can't find my mom."

I blinked. Her hood shrouded her face again and I shook my head slowly, uncomprehending of what had just happened. The sight of those eyes remained imprinted on the backs of my eyelids, but it was as if that brief glimpse of her face had never happened. I was taken aback by her request. What kind of parent loses their child when it was almost nighttime? For a short second that couldn't have been any longer than in an instant, I wanted to open my door. I felt an insatiable tugging at my core that told me I should let this child into my home. I should show her the phone and then... I realized didn't know what I would do once she had come into my house. In the rational part of my mind, I knew I should tell her to wait on the porch while I went inside to call for help. In the other side of my brain, the side that was tied to that incessant tugging in the pit of my stomach, had a different motive. I knew which side had won.

"Give me just a second while I get the phone," I said, my hand already on the door to close it behind me when I heard her speak again.

"Please let me come in."

I paused, the innocence of every young child I had ever met and wanted to protect in her voice. My fingers slid on the door, the cold from the outside world seeping into my bones and a chill crawled up my spine.

"Are you hurt?" I asked.

She didn't respond, her small fingers now tugging at the strings of her jacket, playing with the frayed ends. I examined the limp strands of her dark hair, her threadbare jeans, her sneakers that were several sizes too large for her small feet. I studied her sallow skin and pale lips that resembled that of a corpse. She might have escaped from somewhere, a victim of kidnapping or something much worse. A distant part of my mind argued that if she were, her first thought wouldn't have been to come inside. She wouldn't have made such a request at a home that clearly was not her own. I was deliberating the time it would take to slam the door and bolt to the phone on its mantle when, in the instant it would take for a mind to process a thought, her hood was pulled back again, the hollow cavity that replaced her eyes swallowing every inch of my surroundings. I was mesmerized, the dark craters captivated every corner of my brain, filling every individual interest or desire and cementing in their place the undeniable impulse to please this sweet child.

"Please let me in."

I didn't see her lips move. They were distant blurs of color in a rapidly desaturating world. At those words, the only sensation I felt was my feet moving backwards, one after another. I could feel myself moving out of the doorway to let her into my home. Suddenly, I was away from the door, a wide open entry. Her mouth stretched into a grin like pulled taffy, her sharp, yellowed teeth cutting into her own skin. Her face was no longer round, but an elongated, bloodless stain with daggers for teeth and two burning holes were eyes normally were. She took a step. Her too-wide shoes dragged across the wood of the porch and scraped the edge of the doorframe. My fingers, slowly tightening on the door handle, clenched the lock tightly enough that a small hiss escaped my mouth. I looked at the blood drawn in a miniscule cut on my hand, my vision returning to me, my surroundings becoming less blurred. As my sight reappeared, so did my instincts. It was in that moment I realized something was very wrong. I staggered back further, screwing up my eyes at the sight of the little girl standing just inside my house. I felt the immense, sudden urge to shove this child out of my house and onto the sidewalk. As I was taking my first step forward, she gently reached for the door handle and closed it behind her.