Boogeyman at the Window (working title) (standard:horror, 3093 words)
Author: Finn McKool	Added: Mar 22 2001	Views/Reads: 4885/2799	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
time is long when you lay in the dark

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

business degree, and got a good job at an ad agency.  He recieved no 
offers in Lexington.  He was the first in his family to ever graduate.  
Out of five children, only Donnie's father had even finished high 
school.  And certainly none of them wore suits to work.  They had been 
so proud of Donnie, his family.  And beyond that, sometimes, people's 
lives just lie on different paths.  And both Tawney and Donnie knew 
that was so for them.  So they parted.  But they parted in love. 

"It wasn't all love, though, now was it Tawney?"  The voice was gentle,
maddeningly reasonable, and still ever smiling. 

"Your father didn't love it.  Or you for it.  Did he?  In fact, he
probably died hating you for it, didn't he?  Not that you would know, 
you didn't see him.  Weren't even allowed in the hospital room, were 
you?" 

As Tawney lay there in bed, a tear, angry and sad, rolled down her cheek
and left a burning hole in her satin pillow.  No, her father hadn't 
understood or accepted Donnie.  When he found out about Donnie, her 
father had cursed her, shouting about sin and darkness, like a cable 
-access preacher. 

"If you consign yourself to darkness in life, Tawney, you shall
certainly do so in death! YOU ARE DAMNED, GIRL!  FOR YE SHALL SURELY 
REAP AS YE HAVE SOWN!"  And after a while, he had stopped yelling at 
her.  He had stopped cursing and damning her.  He just quietly told her 
to leave, and cried.  The thundering giant that was her father, 
actually cried.  And he never spoke to her again. 

"Because he died.  Right Tawney?  He died, cursing you with his last
breath.  'From hell's heart he stabbethed, thee.  And with his last 
spit, he spit at thee.'  Right Tawney?" 

The tears contiued their sulphuric flow. 

"Want to apologize, Tawney?  Want to make it right with him, and
renounce the nigger? I can do that for you Tawney.  After all we're 
such old friends.  And the darkness is mine." 

Heaving sobs racked Tawney's body and soul all through the remainder of
the endless night.  All nights alone can be nights in hell.  And the 
Darkness outside the window laughed. 

Daylight.  Work.  Lunch.  Small talk.  More work.  More small talk. 
Home.  Living room.  Ramaan Noodles.  T.V. until midnight.  That was 
Tawney's day.  It was nothing. 

Tawney went to bed that night more fundamentally tired than she could
rememeber. Even finals in college, when she had been up all night 
studying and leaving the test feeling high off bad drugs hadn't been 
this bad.  She thought tonight she could sleep.  She thought tonight 
the window couldn't bother her.  Nor could the darkness behind it.  She 
laid down, and closed her eyes and almost made it.  Almost. 

"I see a red door and I want to paint it black." 

The voice was singing.  Rolling Stones, no less. 

"No colors any more I want them to turn black." 

Softly.  Smiling. 

"I see Tawney walk by, dressed in her summer clothes." 

Oh God. 

"I want to turn her head, and watch my darkness grow!" 

Please.  Leave me alone. 

"I see a line of cars and they are painted black.'  Like the one your
father rode in, huh Tawney?  And you and your mother too.  But you two 
didn't speak to each other did you?  No. Nor have you since.  Isnt' 
that right, Tawney, baby?"  The voice was in a good mood tonight. High 
spirits.  Ha Ha.  But it wasn't funny.  Tawney started to cry again. 

"Awwww, tears so soon, Tawney darlin'?  But we just started!  How can we
have any fun if you cry them all now?" 

Fuck you. 

"Ooooo, such language!  I'm gonna have to tell your father on you." 

Yeah, I know, you would but he's dead right? 

"True.  He is.  But that doesn't mean you can't speak with him Tawney. 
For death is in the Darkness, and the Darkness is mine." 

"And the Darkness will own you too, Tawney girl.  I told you about that
nigger, and now it's calling you." 

Daddy? 

"Don't you 'Daddy' me.  With yer high toned ways.  You think by living
high up here you can get close to God?  Well you best just think again, 
Tawney girl.  Because pride like yours comes before the fall, and its a 
long way up from here.  A long fall indeed for those who mock God's 
ways." 

Love's not mockery, Daddy, and I loved him. 

"SHUT YOUR BLASPHEMOUS MOUTH!  HOW DARE YOU!  HOW DARE YOU SUCH
PROFANITY!" 

But its not, Daddy, its not!  And what does it matter anyway?  Donnie's
gone and I'm still here!  What does it matter? 

"IT MATTERS!  You, a white girl, using such a holy thing as love with
such filth as him. That matters!  That's profaning God's word, for 
God's word is Love!" 

Then how can you use it for hate? 

"DON'T YOU SASS ME!  DON'T YOU DARE GET SMART!  YOUR PRIDE'S DONE KILLED
ME AS IT IS!  AND STILL YOU MOCK GOD'S WAYS!  SO THE DARKNESS IS YOURS 
TAWNEY, GIRL!  AND YOU BEST OWN IT!  LOOK AT IT!" 

And for one frightening moment, with her eyes firmly shut, her body
nearly turned to the window.  She nearly gave in to her fear.  She felt 
herself pulled into the darkness and despair. But she couldn't do it.  
She couldn't face it.  And the voice laughed. 

"I wanna see it painted painted, painted black!  Black as night!  I
wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky..." 

Daytime.  Finally.  Tawney rushed to her kitchen and threw her junk
drawer to the ground, spilling its contents.  Screwdrivers, screws, 
twist-ties, coupons, a flashlight,  a hammer. None of that was what she 
needed.  Not yet.  What she needed was there, under the vaccuum bags.  
A tape measure.  She ran into her room and tore open her blinds, tears 
streaming down her face. 

"FUCK YOU!"  she cried, "FUCK YOU!  DO YOU HEAR ME!?  YOU HAVE SO MUCH
TO SAY AT NIGHT!  WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY NOW? HUH?  FUCK!  I WON'T!  I 
WON'T LIVE LIKE THIS!   I WON'T LIVE AFRAID!"  So she cried, ranted, 
and raved.  And measured her window. 

Next was the hardware store.  It was overcast and drizzling and the
radio called for thunderstorms later that night.  She didn't care.  All 
she wanted was to sleep.  Tawney brushed past several people, knocking 
into more than a couple, but didn't see their stares.  She made a bee 
line right for the lumber section.  She rummaged through pieces of 
plywood.  She found a piece the right width, but way too long.  She 
batted her eyes at the salesman, and played helpless girl so he'd cut 
it for her.  She could have done it herself.  Hell, she could've built 
a damned house.  But she didn't have the tools.  Those had always been 
her fathers.  Her father and she built a club house when she was nine.  
Johnnie Dalton down the street wouldn't let her or her friend Julie 
Mottlemeyer play in his.  They were girls.  So her father built them 
one, and she had helped.  And her father had been proud. 

"You done good work, Tawney girl.  I might make you a carpenter yet." 
And of course, at nine, that was the finest compliment one could 
recieve.  The Congressional Medal of Honor paled in comparison.  And 
she had helped him, in her teens.  Many a time building houses.  But 
the tools had always been his. 

She took the board back to her apartment.  She recieved all kinds of
strange looks, and not just because of the large piece of plywood she 
carried. Most were shocked to see such a usually vibrant girl look so 
desparate.  Her desparation seemed to come off in waves.  She burst 
through her door and ran into her room.  She threw it on the bed and 
ran into the kitchen fetching the hammer and a box of assorted nails.  
She had chosen her weapons.  And with board and nail and hammer she was 
ready to strike a blow.  She covered the window.  And then, at about 
eleven o'clock she slept.  She slept off and on all that Saturday.  She 
rose only to eat and go to the bathroom.  And she could have all 
through the night.  But... 

"Tawney!" 

The Voice.  It sounded muffled. 

"Tawney come on!  Don't be like this!" 

It sounded like a spurned lover.  Tawney just rolled tighter into a
ball, clenching her hands over her ears, and squeezing her eyelids 
airtight. 

"Oh hell, Tawney, this is just plain silly." 

"NOOOO!!!! GO AWAY!!!!!"  This was the first time the voice had gotten
her to speak to it out loud.  She thought it would be happy.  She 
thought it'd start laughing.  Instead it just sighed. 

"O.k.  Tawney.  If that's how you want it."  Then nothing.  Tawney
couldn't hear anything except the wind howling outside.  It seemed that 
storm front was going to appear after all.  But no voice.  Just howling 
wind, and then, driving rain.  All the voices of the night, but not the 
one she feared. 

"Ohhhhh Tawney!" 

"Dammit, go away!!"  she almost hoped it had. 

First there was a sound like a light tapping.  Like her mother before
coming into her room.  But then the window exploded inward, blowing the 
board across the room.  It had large, angry shards of glass protruding 
from it.  Those shards might have been embedded in her if it wasn't for 
that board, she thought.  Instead she was only covered in glass 
snowflakes.  She cried. She folded into herself.  She could feel her 
fear radiating off her like a sick heat.  She could see it swirling 
into the void out the window.  One can't see such things with their 
eyes, of course. But hers were closed, which meant the third one inside 
her head saw like keen radar.  The voices boomed like the thunder. 

"SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE NOW, TAWNEY?!  NOW YOU'VE REALLY PISSED ME OFF! 
LOOK AT WHAT YOU WENT AND MADE ME DO!"  It was The Voice.  And her 
fathers.  They blended together into one great storm. 

"TIME TO OWN THE DARKNESS NOW, BITCH!  TIME TO OWN THE BLACKNESS OF YOU
EMBRACED FOR SO LONG!  TIME TO OWN YOUR PRIDE!  TIME TO OWN YOUR SIN!  
COME AND OWN YOUR DARKNESS TAWNEY!  NO MORE COWERING OR CRYING!  IT'S 
TIME!" 

"Black..." 

"NOW!" 

"Black..." 

There was another voice.  It was underneath the other two.  But it
wasn't a part of them. It was a part of her.  It came rolling slowly 
in, from the fog of her memory.  It was Donnie's voice.  Something he 
had told her, long ago, on a night like this, and she had told him of 
her fear of the black night. 

"Black is looked upon as the color of death in the white culture.  The
Europeans saw it as the uncertain night time.  Couldn't see.  Wild 
animals around.  But that was one of their excuses for justifying 
treating us like they did.  We were black devils.  But in the African 
cultures, its white that's the symbol of death and devils.  White was 
the symbol of fear and nothingness.  Our devils were white, yours were 
black." 

"BLACK WHITE WHAT DOES IT MATTER?  IT'S TIME TO OWN THE DARKNESS BITCH! 
YOU'RE STILL MINE!" 

"That's just it, Tawney,  there is no difference.  Black.  White.  Both
are absolute absences.  Nothing.  Fear is nothing.  We are afraid of 
death and nothingness.  But nothingness is a part of the plan, see?  
Nothingness leads to chaos.  And order comes from chaos.  And then 
chaos from order, and then nothingness again.  Do you see?  Even the 
death and darkness of nothingness serve to bring order.  So it's 
nothing to be scared of." 

"I AM FEAR!  I AM THE DARKNESS!" 

"And fear and darkness are the same thing...nothing." 

Tawney uncurled. 

"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!  YOU BEST MIND YOUR DADDY, TAWNEY GIRL!" 

The tears still ran down her face.  But she was no longer afraid. 
Donnie was gone, but he was still in her.  She was no longer afraid.  
With her eyes closed, she moved to the window, glass sinking into her 
knees, unnoticed. 

"THAT'S RIGHT, TAWNEY!  THAT'S RIGHT BITCH!  COME TO THE FEAR AND
DARKNESS THAT OWNS YOU!  COME TO FEAR AND CHAOS!" 

She stood before the window.  She leaned out into the darkness, with
eyes closed.  She could feel the wind and rain.  First it would push 
her in and then try and pull her out.  Her head swam with the vertigo. 

"YES!  COME TO ME IF YOU DARE!  YOU CAN'T FACE ME TAWNEY!  YOU DON'T
HAVE THE COURAGE!  GIVE IN TO THE DARKNESS!  CONSIGN YOURSELF TO IT!" 

Tawney felt Donnie's arms around her and heard his voice in her mind. 
She had chosen the wrong weapons.  Not high rises or hammers or nails 
or boards.  He had told her he loved her a million times, and now she 
could remember every one.  Together in a bed with out a window. In that 
nice resturaunt over a bottle of red wine.  When she thought he had 
cheated on her.  After they had a picnic and made love in that field 
off the highway.  Those times and countless more came back to her in a 
flood.  Love.  It had always been love.  Love and Courage.  She opened 
her eyes and screamed. 

"I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU!  I AM NOT AFRAID!  NOT ANYMORE AND NOT EVER
AGAIN!  I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU!" 

The rain pelted her, soaking her.  The wind howled and the thunder
boomed with rage. But the voice fell silent. 

Donnie Tinile always brought his mail with him to his office.  He
thumbed through it, sipping a cup of coffee from a mug bearing the 
company logo.  He found one that particularly interested him.  The 
return address was: Tawney Roberts, Lexington, KY.  Those words 
awakened ghosts in him he thought were long dead. 

"Shit.  Tawney Roberts, I haven't spoken to her since..." 

He sat down the mug and straightened his tie, as if Tawney were on her
way up.  He opened the envelope and inside was a postcard of a Kentucky 
field, like the one they had that picnic in one fine summer day so long 
ago. 

"And made love all day afterwards,"  he thought as a smile touched his
lips.  He turned the card over.  On the back was a short message. 

"Thank you, Donnie.  I'm not afraid of the Dark anymore. 

Always Love, 

Tawney."


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