There is really no other way of describing the events that took place in 307 Elsinore Lane during the early morning of November 6 other than simply relating the facts. The writer wanted this job, but I dissuaded him. The following account doesn’t require the embellishments the writer would have insisted on.
Sometime around 2:15 Robby had a nightmare from which he awoke.
At 2:25 Robby heard “the sounds” of something in the house.
Robby assumed it was me until he heard the scratching at his door, and then he assumed it was Victor. (Later Robby would admit he had “hoped” it was Victor because he somehow knew “it wasn’t.”)
Robby decided to move through the bathroom into his sister’s room (according to his account, she was seemingly involved in her own nightmare) where he opened Sarah’s door and looked out into the hallway so he could see what was causing the scratching noises and leaving the deep grooves in the lower right-hand corner of his door. (At one point, Robby said, he feared he was dreaming all this.)
Robby didn’t see anything when he peered from his sister’s door and down the hallway.
(Note: The sconces in the hallway were flickering, and according to Robby this was something he had noticed before, as I had, though neither Jayne nor Sarah—nor Rosa nor Marta, for that matter—had seen it.)
Robby did, however, hear something as he stepped from his sister’s room and into the flickering hallway. There was a “rustling” sound farther down the corridor.
At this point, Robby realized something was coming up the stairs.
“It” was “breathing raggedly” and, according to Robby, “it” was also “mewling”—a word I had never heard before. (Dictionary definition: “to cry, as a baby, young child, or the like; whimper.”)
The “thing” noticed Robby’s presence and, because of this, suddenly stopped advancing up the staircase.
Robby turned away—panicking—and walked quietly in the opposite direction, toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
What happened when he opened the door and stepped into the room?
The room was dark. I was lying on my back in bed. I believed I was dreaming. I had passed out after drinking half the bottle of vodka that had appeared on my desk while I was talking to whom I thought was Clayton, the boy who wanted to be Patrick Bateman. When I slowly became aware that I was no longer sleeping, my eyes remained closed and I felt a pressure on my chest. I was still swirling up from a dream in which crows were turning into seagulls.
“Dad?” This was an echo.
I couldn’t open my eyes. (If I had, I would have seen Robby silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the flickering hallway behind him.) “What is it?” my voice rasped out.
“Dad, I think there’s someone in the house.”
Robby was trying not to whine, but even drunk I could detect the fear in his voice.
I cleared my throat, my eyes still closed. “What do you mean?”
“There’s I think there’s something coming up the stairs,” he said. “There was something scratching at my door.”
According to Robby, I actually said the following: “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just go back to sleep.”
Robby countered with “I can’t, Dad. I’m scared.”
My first reaction: Well, so am I. Welcome to the club. Get used to it. It never leaves.
I could hear Robby moving closer, stepping through the darkness of the master bedroom. I could hear him nearing me as he made his way toward my black and shapeless form.
The weight shifted on my chest again.
Robby was speaking into the darkness: “Dad, I think there’s somebody in the house.”
Robby was reaching for the bedside lamp.
Robby turned on the lamp.
Behind my closed eyelids an orange light burned.
Robby was silenced by something.
He was contemplating what he was looking at.
The image he was contemplating momentarily knocked the fear away and was replaced by an awful curiosity.
His silence was rousing me from my inebriation.
The weight shifted on my chest again.
“Dad,” Robby said quietly.
“Robby,” I sighed.
“Dad, there’s something on you.”
I opened my eyes but couldn’t focus.
What I saw next happened very quickly.
The Terby was on my chest, looming above me, its face seizing, its open mouth a rictus that now took up half the doll’s head, and the fangs I had only noticed earlier that day were stained brown
(of course they were because it “mutilated” a horse in a field off the interstate near Pearce).
Its talons were locked into the robe I’d passed out in and its wings were fanning themselves and it wasn’t the length of the wingspan that shocked me at that moment (it had grown—I accepted that within a second) but it was the wings webbed with black veins bulging tightly beneath the doll’s skin (the doll’s skin, yes, tell this to a sane person and see their reaction) and pulsing with blood that amazed me.
According to Robby, when he turned on the lamp the thing was motionless. And then it quickly rotated its head toward him—the wings were already outstretched, the mouth was already opening itself—and, when he spoke, the doll returned its focus on me.
I shouted out and knocked the thing off my chest as I bolted up.
The Terby fell to the floor and quickly clawed itself under the bed.
I stood up, panting, frantically brushing something nonexistent from my torn robe.
Except for the sounds I was making it was silent in the house.
But then I heard it too. The mewling.
“Dad?” Robby asked.
My nonanswer was interrupted when we heard something rushing up the stairs.
From where Robby and I stood looking out from the doorway of the master bedroom a shadow—maybe three feet high—was coming toward us in the dim, flickering light; it was shambling sideways along the wall and as it got closer to us the mewling turned into hissing.
“Victor?” I asked, disbelieving. “It’s Victor, Robby. It’s only Victor.”
“It’s not Victor, Dad.”
According to Robby, I said, “Then what the hell is it?”
The thing paused as if it was contemplating something.
It was 2:30 when the electricity went out.
The entire house was plunged into blackness.
I uselessly reached for a light switch. I was weaving on my feet.
“Mom keeps a flashlight in her drawer,” Robby said quickly.
“Just stand still. Just stay where you are.” I attempted a normal voice.
I jumped onto the bed and reached for Jayne’s nightstand drawer. I opened it. My hand found the flashlight. I grabbed it. I immediately turned it on, aiming the beam at the floor, scanning for the Terby.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
Robby followed behind me as I aimed the flashlight at whatever was in the hallway. (But I had done this inadvertently—because in those brief moments spent looking for the flashlight in the blackened room I had forgotten that something was waiting for us there.)
This is when we briefly glimpsed it.
Robby was never sure what he actually saw in the glare of the flashlight. He was “hiding” behind me, his eyes squeezed shut, and the thing moved away from the beam of light as if offended by it—as if darkness was all it knew and what it thrived on.
The vodka was straining my senses. “Victor?” I whispered again, trying to convince myself. Robby was shivering against me. “Robby, it’s okay. It’s just the dog.”
But when I said this we both heard Victor barking from outside.
According to Robby this was when he began crying—when he realized that the thing in the hallway was not his dog.
I persisted. “Victor, come here. Come on, Vic.” This was the alcohol making concessions.
According to Robby this was when he heard me mutter: “N
o fucking way.”
It was three feet high and covered in hair streaked black and blond, and it moved on feet that weren’t visible. When the beam of light caught it, there was another hissing sound. It shambled quickly to the other side of the hallway. But with each movement it was advancing toward us.
The thing stiffened when the beam from the flashlight caught it again. I couldn’t tell where the hissing came from. Once it stopped hissing its entire body began to shudder.
According to Robby I was saying, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
It turned toward me, this time defiantly. It was waist high and shapeless—a mound. It was covered with hair entangled with twigs and dead leaves and feathers. It had no features. A cloud of gnats were buzzing above the thing, following it to where it had pushed itself up against the wall. The beam was locked on it.
Within the hair, a bright red hole ringed with teeth appeared.
The mouth opening, the baring of its teeth, I realized—with a sickening clarity that immediately sobered me up—was a warning.
And then it rushed toward us, blindly.
I was frozen in place. Robby was holding on to me, his arms wrapped around my lower chest. He was shaking.
I kept the flashlight trained on the thing and as it approached us I smelled dampness, rot, the dead.
Its mouth was locked open as it shambled forward.
I slammed Robby and myself against the wall in order to avoid it.
It rushed past us.
(Because it was sightless and depended on scent—I already knew this.)
I whirled around. Robby was holding on, gripping me fiercely. I started backing away in the opposite direction of where the thing now stood.
It was shuddering again.
The worst thing I noticed was a large eye, haphazardly placed on top and rolling around in its flat, disc-shaped socket involuntarily.
Robby: “Dad what is it what is it what is it?”
The thing stopped in the doorway of the master bedroom—we had traded places—and it began making its mewling sounds again.
I tried hard to stop panicking but I was hyperventilating and my hand holding the flashlight was shaking so badly that I had to use the other hand to steady it and locate the thing in the beam of light.
I steadied my hand and found it.
It was standing still. But something inside it was causing the thing to pulsate. It opened its mouth, which was now coated with froth, and rushed toward us again.
When I turned around I dropped the flashlight, causing Robby to shout out in dismay.
I picked up the flashlight and trained the beam on the thing, which had stopped moving—seemingly confused.
Outside, Victor’s barking became hysterical.
The thing resumed rushing us.
And that’s when I dropped the flashlight again. The bulb cracked, drowning us in darkness as the thing continued rushing toward us.
I grabbed Robby’s sweaty hand and ran to his room and opened the door.
I tripped as I fell into the room, hitting my face against the floor. I felt wetness on my lip.
Robby slammed the door shut and I heard the lock click.
I stood up, wavering in the darkness, and wiped the blood from my mouth. I shouted out when Robby steadied me with a frightened hug.
I listened closely. It was so dark in the room that we were forced to concentrate on the scratching sounds.
Suddenly the scratching subsided.
Robby’s grip on me loosened. I exhaled.
But the relief couldn’t be sustained because there was a cracking noise. It was pushing itself against the door.
I moved to the door. Robby was still holding on to me.
“Robby,” I whispered. “Do you have a flashlight in here? Anything?”
I felt Robby immediately let go of me and heard him move in the direction of his closet.
In the darkness of the room a green light saber appeared. It floated toward me and I took the toy from him. The glow was faint. I aimed the light saber at the door, illuminating it.
“Dad,” Robby whispered, his voice shaky. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” (But even as I said this, I knew what it was.)
The scratching resumed.
I was asking myself: What is it scratching with?
And then I realized it wasn’t scratching. (I remembered something.)
It had never been scratching.
It was gnawing at the door. It was using its mouth. It was using its teeth.
And then the gnawing stopped.
Robby and I stared at the door, which was now bathed in green.
And we watched in horror as the doorknob began to twist back and forth.
In a sickening flash I understood that it was using its mouth to accomplish this.
I had to remind myself to breathe again when the doorknob rattled violently.
There was a snarling sound. It was the noise of frustration. It was the noise of hunger.
And then it stopped. We could hear the thing dragging itself away.
“What is it? What does it want? I don’t understand. How did it get in?” This was Robby.
“I don’t know what the hell it is,” I was saying absurdly.
“What is it, Dad?”
“I don’t know I don’t know I don’t—”
(Note: This was not technically true.)
Our moaning was cut off by the sound of Sarah screaming. “Mommy! Mommy! It’s getting me!”
I rushed through the bathroom and into Sarah’s room. In the instant before I grabbed her off the bed I waved the light saber over the scene.
Sarah was backed up against the headboard as the thing attempted to pull itself onto her bed. It had fastened its mouth over one of the bedposts and it was moving frantically and squealing.
“What’s happening?” Robby was screaming this from inside the bathroom.
I shouted out in disgust and grabbed Sarah off the bed. As I carried her toward the bathroom, the thing froze and then leapt onto the floor and I could hear it rushing toward us.
I slammed the bathroom door shut, and Robby locked it. I was still holding Sarah and the light saber. We were waiting while staring at the door.
Calmly, I asked: “Where’s your cell phone, Robby?”
“It’s in my room.” He gestured over his shoulder.
I was contemplating something. I would unlock the door that led into Robby’s room and find the phone and run back into the bathroom and call 911. This was the idea that formed inside my mind.
Victor continued his freakout in the backyard.
Then something slammed into the door to Sarah’s room with such force that it bulged inward.
Robby and Sarah screamed.
“It’s gonna be okay. Robby, unlock your door. We’re gonna get out through your room.”
“Daddy, I can’t.” He was weeping.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
The thing slammed into the door again.
The door cracked down the middle. When the thing hit it again, the door was falling off its hinges.
This moved Robby to immediately unlock his door and run out of the bathroom.
I followed, still holding Sarah and the light saber.
We ran through Robby’s room and Robby unlocked the door and without hesitating we started moving down the staircase. The moon was streaming through the window and now we could see more clearly.
Halfway down the staircase I could see the thing rushing across the landing above us.
It began to chase us down the stairs. I could hear its mouth opening and closing, making wet snapping sounds.
Sarah turned her head and shrieked when she saw it lurching toward us.
My office seemed closest. The door was open. The front door was not.
My office had the gun in the safe.
In my office we closed and locked the door. I put Sarah down on the couch. Both of the kids were crying. I uselessly told them it would be
“okay.”
Holding the light saber toward the dial, I unlocked the safe and pulled out the gun.
I scanned my desk with the saber until I located my cell phone.
I asked Robby to hold the light saber while I dialed 911.
Robby was just staring at the gun I was holding. This caused him to close his eyes tightly and cover both ears with his hands.
The thing began slamming itself into the door.
“Jesus Christ,” I shouted out.
The slamming was becoming more frequent. The door was bulging forward in its frame. I looked frantically around the room. I rushed to the window and opened it.
(Note: The paint was peeling off the house so rapidly that it looked as if snow flurries had drifted onto Elsinore Lane.)
But then the door cracked and fell to the side, hanging off the top hinge.
The thing stood in the doorway.
Even with the faint glow of the saber I was swinging at it, I could see the froth wreathing its mouth.
“Shoot it! Shoot it!” Robby was screaming.
I pointed the gun at the thing as it began shambling toward us.
I pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
The gun was not loaded.
(Note: Jayne had removed all the bullets from the gun after the night she thought I “imagined” an intruder had broken into the house.)
We could barely see the thing as it advanced toward us. It was making sucking sounds.
The electricity came on so quickly that we were blinded by the lights. The smoke alarm was beeping incessantly. Everything that had been turned off before bed was now on. Every light in the house was burning. The television was blasting. From the stereo blared a Muzak version of “The Way We Were.” My computer flashed on.
The house was sunstruck with light.
The light kept us from witnessing the thing’s disappearance.
“Daddy, you’re bleeding.” This from Sarah.
I touched my lips. My fingers came back red.
As I stood there I noticed the time on the battery-powered clock on my desk.
The electricity had come on at exactly 2:40 a.m.
25. the thing in the hall
Four minutes after a 911 call was made, the flashing blue lights of a patrol car pulled up to 307 Elsinore Lane.
I had told the 911 operator that there had been a break-in but no one had been injured and the “perpetrator” had escaped.