The Darkness Within (8 page)

Buried

I knew it was going to be a nightmare as soon as my dream began. Somehow I always knew. My nightmares began slowly, like my mind was hesitant to throw me into the bad dream. Normally they started with me doing some normal activity and then something horrific happened to change the whole course of the dream. This one was different though. It started off slowly, like I was in a daze, but I wasn’t doing anything normal.

Instead, I was standing at the front of an alter, staring down the aisle in anticipation. My hands were at my sides, tightened into fists, clutching the sheer material of my dress in two balls. I gnawed on my bottom lip, my teeth digging into the skin so deeply that the taste of blood filled my mouth. Sweat dotted my brow and my heartbeat was erratic, beating almost in tune with the song that began to fill the church. As the wedding march began, everyone in the rows of pews stood to their feet, turning to face the back of the church just moments before the doors opened. At the end of the aisle, dressed in a beautiful, lace gown was my mother. Her veil was short and was tucked into her red hair, which was twisted into a stylish up do. She looked like an angel as she floated down the aisle towards the altar. All eyes were on her.

Despite how happy she looked, I felt queasy like I was going to hurl. A salty taste filled my mouth, and there was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times I swallowed. My palms were moist and rubbing my hands on my dress did nothing to fix that. The closer my mom got, the worse I felt. Finally, when she reached the altar, coming to a stop below the two steps where the priest was standing at the top, I noticed him. David was dressed in an immaculate black tux with a sinister grin curving his lips upward. My mom was smiling at him, but he was smiling at me.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” the priest spoke, looking between David and my mom.

I clenched my fists tighter, my nails digging into the flesh of my palms as I watched the scene unravel before me. My mom surreptitiously swiping tears from her cheeks and smiling like this was the happiest day of her life. David taking her hand in his, but keeping his eyes trained on me. It was like my own personal hell. When it came time for them to read their vows, David went first.

He held my mom’s hands in his, pressing their intertwined hands to his heart as he spoke. “Jasmine, when I first met you I knew you were the one. Everything about you was perfect. You were a single mother, you were attracted to me, and you had a daughter who was the perfect age. I couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor.”

As he mentioned me, Mom glanced over her shoulder and winked at me before looking back to David. She didn’t even understand the true meaning behind his words. My blood boiled.
How could I let things get this far? Why didn’t I tell her about him?

David continued spewing bullshit about his and my mother’s relationship, but I couldn’t listen any longer. I’d had enough. I needed to come clean.

“Stop!” I screamed, throwing my hands into the air in frustration. “You can’t marry him!”

“Claire,” Mom spoke, an expression of disapproval lining her features. Her cheeks began to flush in embarrassment at my outburst, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t let this happen.

I pointed a finger at David, scowling as I yelled, “He’s The Collector. You can’t marry him because he’s a deranged serial killer who preys on innocent, young girls. He kidnaps them, brands them with a number, and then slaughters them like animals!” My chest heaved as I screamed the truth, revealing David for who he really was. When I was finished, I stood there, trying to control my heavy breathing.

My mom looked from me to David with an eyebrow raised, then she did something I didn’t expect. She burst into a fit of
laughter
. David actually laughed too, clutching his sides as he bent over at the waist. When my mom finished she said, “Oh, Claire, honey, please stop being such a drama queen.” She waved me off before turning her attention to the priest. “Please continue,” she told him.

I was horrified. “Don’t continue! This isn’t a joke, Mom. This is the truth!”

Mom turned around and fixed me with a glare. It was obvious she didn’t believe me. She probably thought I was trying to ruin her special day.

“Tell her!” I demanded, screaming at David.

Now it was David’s turn to look annoyed. He raised an eyebrow and gave me a skeptical look. “I already did, Claire. You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

There was snickering behind me and I spun around with the intention of telling off whoever it was, but what I saw made my breathing catch in my throat. Sitting in the first row—all dressed in morbid, black dresses—were Hadley, Rachel, Dakota, Tracy, Gwendolyn, and last, but not least, Holly. They were all staring at me, their lips twisted into smirks and their foreheads dripping blood down their faces. Holly was the one snickering. She raised a thin hand, covering her mouth to hide her laughter. Next to her, Gwendolyn leaned into her ear, whispering. I could hear her words loud and clear. It was almost as if she had whispered them into my ear.

“She’s worried about her Mom when she should be worrying about herself.”

Holly cupped her hands around her mouth as she whispered back, “She doesn’t realize she’s next.”

All of the girls erupted into fits of giggles as I watched, my mouth agape. My breathing grew heavier as I watched them. Then I felt a searing pain on my forehead.

“It’s happening,” Hadley spoke, raising her finger to drag it down the line of her number one. Blood gushed from the wound as she touched it.

The other girls joined in, twisting their faces in pain as they dug their fingers into their numbers, tracing them slowly.

I screamed as the pain in my forehead grew more intense, like someone was cutting into my flesh. I raised my hand, touching my forehead and pulling it away to see crimson blood smeared across the tips of my fingers. I spun around quickly, my eyes wide as I looked at my mom and David.

“It looks good on you, Claire. You look...complete,” David said with a grin on his face. His dark eyes bore into me, his expression filled with lust.

I have to get out of here
, I thought, turning quickly and running down the aisle. I slammed into the double doors at the back of the church, stumbling into the hallway as I clutched my forehead with one hand. The pain was so intense that I couldn’t think straight anymore.

I ran as fast as I could, finding a bathroom and hurrying inside. When I finally came to a stop in front of a mirror, holding myself up by the sink, a scream tore from my throat at the sight.

Carved deep into the flesh on my forehead was a crooked number seven.

I woke up screaming. Screaming so loud that I scared myself. My mom was up in a split second, grabbing my shoulders and staring into my eyes.

“Claire, baby, it’s all right. I’m here. You’re safe,” she spoke, pulling me to her chest and smoothing my hair down. I had been sleeping in her room with her for the past few nights, afraid of being alone in mine, and also afraid of being so close to David’s house. The thought of only a wall separating me from his house was almost enough to make me tremble in fear.

Mom held me close to her, rubbing my arm and kissing the top of my head. I felt so bad for waking her up, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. She just let me cry while she did her best to console me.

“Do you want to tell me what your dream was about?” she asked softly.

I shook my head no, snuggling deeper into her embrace.

Mom sighed, but didn’t push me for an answer. When it finally hit me that my dream was just dream, I pulled away from Mom and excused myself to the bathroom. The hardwood floors in the hallway were cold against my bare feet, and I welcomed the warmth from my plush, bathroom rug when I entered. I flipped the light on, breathing a sigh of relief when I looked at my reflection in the mirror and saw that my forehead was still the same; tan, and a little pimply, but free of any gruesome numbers. It was irrational of me to think there would be something there, but the dream had felt so real. I could still feel the pain searing my skull as if someone had actually taken a knife to my head.

Filling my lungs with a deep breath of air, I let it out slowly, trying to collect myself.
It was just a dream
, I found myself repeating in my mind. I needed to remind myself that to keep from getting too worked up. Turning the cold water on, I cupped my hands under the faucet, splashing the water on my face. The cold only served to wake me up more. Honestly, after that dream, I didn’t expect to get anymore sleep for the duration of the night. I was going to sit in my room and read, or watch a movie—anything but sleep. I didn’t want to bother my mom anymore than I already had so I decided to stay out of her room for the night to let her get some more sleep before she had to go to work.

A glance at my bathroom clock told me that it was a little past three in the morning. I only had three and a half hours left before I needed to get ready for school anyway. I splashed my face one more time before turning the water off. Then I stood over the sink, letting the water droplets drip from my face, down my neck and onto my pajama shirt as I stared at my reflection. There were small, dark circles beneath my eyes from my lack of sleep. My eyebrows were unruly from the water, and my wild curls were pulled back into a messy bun. Normally I thought I was pretty. Nothing over the top, but at least a simple pretty, what with my unique hair texture and my honey brown eyes, but right now I looked ghastly. My usual olive complexion was now washed out and my eyes were rimmed in red.

Stepping away from the sink, I grabbed my towel from off it’s hook and dried my face before turning out the light and exiting the room. Once the lights were out, an all too familiar fear swept over me—dread about what, or who, could be hiding in the shadows. Once I made it to my room, I flipped the light on and closed my door, locking it behind me. Then I hurried toward my bed, jumping onto it and tucking myself under the covers. The book on my nightstand was an old horror novel I’ve read multiple times before, but tonight I just wasn’t in the mood. It’s different when your life is average and you can get a good scare by reading a book, but when you’re practically living in a horror novel yourself there’s no time for added fear.

I pulled out the drawer of my bedside table, rummaging through my random novels, DVDs that were missing their cases, and sheets of loose-leaf paper until I found what I was looking for. I pulled the worn paperback from my drawer and settled into bed, bending the cover back as I began to read. Though it was hard to focus on the book with my thoughts racing and eventually I found myself climbing out of bed to peek out my window. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stay away. David’s house petrified me, but I had to admit that it also intrigued me. I wanted to know what was going on in there and why David was the way he was. The thought terrified me, but I was curious.

I pulled the curtain back slowly, peering out of my window. To my surprise, one of the lights in David’s house was on. I squinted down at his little eyesore of a home, my gaze flitting all over until I saw a movement come from the backyard. I gasped at the sight that lay before me. David had a shovel in his hand and was digging. Lying next to him was a large black, trash bag. Considering the distance, and how his yard was enveloped in shadows from the night, I couldn’t quite make out what was in it, but what really registered with me was that the bag was big enough to hold a body.

I leaned to the side, trying to get a better look, but my curtain shifted and a long rectangle of light casted down below. David stopped digging instantly, snapping his head up toward my window. I jumped back, closing the curtain quickly. This was too much.

I ran to pick up the landline in my room, dialing 911 as quickly as my fingers would allow it. David wasn’t getting away with it this time.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

My hands shook as I held the phone to my ear.

“Hello, I’d like to report a murder.”

Cold and Dead

As soon as I got off of the phone, I began working in autopilot. I sprinted down the hallway, bursting into my mom’s room like I had no home training. I flipped the light on and then ran to the side of the bed she slept on and began to shake her awake, which didn’t take long considering it had only been about half an hour ago from when I had woken her up with my screams.

Mom rolled over, shielding her eyes from the light with her arm. “Claire, have you lost your mind?” she asked, sitting up slowly. She rubbed her eyes, smudging the remnants of her makeup from the day before on her upper eyelid.

“No, Mom, this is serious. David’s a murderer.”

Mom raised an eyebrow before she opened her mouth slowly. I expected her to laugh, as she had in my dream, but instead she let out a loud yawn. Then groggily repeated my words. “David’s a
murderer
?” She fixed me with one of her ‘I don’t condone lying’ stares. “Claire, you had a nightmare. That’s all. You can stay in here with me, but I really need to get some sleep. I have an important meeting in the morning.” She patted my hand, and then attempted to lie back down, but I wasn’t allowing that.

I grabbed her arm, preventing her from lying down. “Mom, I’m not kidding. This wasn’t a dream.”

Mom nodded, but her eyelids were starting to droop. “You have school in the morning. Don’t let your nightmares get you this worked up. Come on, go back to sleep.”

Shaking her until her eyes opened again, I blurted out, “I called the police!”

That got her attention. Mom’s eyes snapped open and she sat up straight as a pole. “You did
what
?” she asked, staring directly into my eyes.

“I called the police,” I answered, this time my words coming out a lot less confident considering her reaction. “They’ll be here any minute.”

Mom pushed the covers back and got out of bed. I watched her as she bristled around the room, changing out of her nightgown and into a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. As she riffled through her drawers and dug through her closet to change, she lectured me on responsible decisions and how I should have talked to her first, along with how I had some explaining to do. When she was dressed, she took my hand like I was a child and stared into my eyes, waiting for me to explain.

“I saw David burying a body.”

Mom froze, her light brown eyes wide. “You,
what
?” Now she was listening.

“He was burying a body in his backyard. I saw him. I’m not making this up,” I urged.

Her gaze swept over my face before she enveloped me in a tight hug.

“You believe me right?” I asked as I hugged her back tightly. I was on the verge of tears. My emotions were swirling around inside of me, and for some reason hugging my mom made them even more intense. Mom hugs did that to you.

“I believe you, sweetheart,” she answered in my ear. When she pulled away she said, “Come on, let’s go downstairs and wait for the police to arrive and you can explain to me exactly what you saw.”

I nodded, and proceeded to follow her out into the hallway and down into the living room. I was just happy that she believed me. I don’t know why I ever doubted she would. She was my mom after all.

Together we took a seat on the couch and I proceeded to explain to her how I had been reading before I looked out the window. Then I told her exactly what I’d seen; not excluding or overlooking any small details. My story was short, and by the time I finished, the red and blue lights of a police car were clear through the thin curtains that shielded our living room windows.

Mom stood and went to look outside. “I’m going to stand on the porch, you stay in here,” she instructed as she headed toward the front door, slipping on a pair of shoes from our shoe rack before exiting the house.

As soon as she was gone, I ran to the side window, looking out as two police officers stealthily crept around the side of David’s house. They unlatched the fence, walking slowly and looking at everything as they entered the backyard. I watched them until they were out of sight, and then I ran to the back of the house, going to the kitchen window to get a better view. One officer shone a flashlight on the ground, most likely searching for the burial site, while the other continued around the perimeter of the house. I watched their every movement, wondering what they were going to find. I felt giddy as excitement bubbled up inside of me. This was it. They were going to catch David, lock him in prison, and throw away the key after they found the body. The body would link him to the other disappearances and murders thanks to his signature ‘branding’ and maybe he would be tried right here in Pennsylvania, getting sentenced with the death penalty. Then maybe all of the girls he harmed would finally get justice.

The officer who was searching the ground finished going over the backyard and I wondered why he hadn’t stopped to examine anything. Instead, he exited the backyard, heading back toward the front. I took off running, headed back to the living room window. There I could see that the officers were knocking on David’s door. After a few minutes, the porch light flickered on, and David opened the door. I didn’t know what was being said, but after a moment the officers entered David’s house and I had to actively resist the urge to jump up and down in excitement. They were going to search his house and find out exactly who he really was.

I sat on the arm of the couch, pressing my forehead against the window as I watched the house. I couldn’t see anything, yet I couldn’t peel my eyes away. It seemed like time was dragging on for forever as I stared out the window, wondering what the heck was going on inside of that little house. I pictured the police coming across the pictures of the girls and then tackling David to the ground. In my mind, one of the officers read David his rights while the other pinned him down and cuffed him.

Finally, the house door opened again and the police exited, waving to David. My heart dropped into the pit of stomach as the officers got into their car, turned off the lights, and pulled out. When I realized they were heading to my house, my eyes grew so wide they nearly fell out of their sockets.

It wasn’t long until my mom entered the house, followed by the two policemen. “Claire, these nice officers would like to have a word with you about what you saw.”

Mom walked into the living room, taking a seat next to me and gesturing for the officers to sit as well. One of them, obviously the younger of the two with a headful of shiny, black hair and a clean-shaven face, took a seat, while the older, gray haired officer, remained standing.

“Claire, I’m Officer Archer, and this is my partner, Officer Dixon,” the older officer spoke, introducing himself and his partner.

I nodded, not knowing what to say.
Am I in some sort of trouble?
I thought, biting my lip and staring at the pair with wide eyes.
Did David tell them that I broke into his house?

Officer Dixon clasped his hands together and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Calling 911 is a big deal, Claire. We take every call very seriously. When we come for a false alarm that means that we aren’t out helping someone who may actually need us. Do you understand?”

I frowned, looking between both officers. Then I shook my head. “Honestly, I don’t understand. This wasn’t a false alarm,” I replied, my words coming out slowly. Officer Archer shifted his weight from one leg to the other and my eyes zeroed in on the gun in his holster. I gulped, before averting my gaze to the ground.

“In your call you stated that you saw your neighbor, Mr. Greer, ‘burying a dead body in his backyard’, is that correct?” Officer Dixon asked, looking down at a sheet of paper he was holding.

I nodded my head in response.

“A thorough search of Mr. Greer’s property showed that the dirt in his backyard was undisturbed. After our search, we knocked on Mr. Greer’s door who assured us that he was asleep at the time of the call. Just to be sure, we asked to have a look around, to which we didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.” Officer Archer crossed his arms over his chest after he finished speaking. A frown curved his lips downward and creased his brow. “Are you sure you saw what you claim to have witnessed?”

“I know what I saw,” I answered, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t
claim
to have witnessed anything. I
did
witness something.”
They don’t believe me
, I realized.

Mom patted my thigh. “Claire woke up a little startled from a bad dream not long before she called. Maybe she didn’t realize that her dream wasn’t reality,” my mom supplied, looking from me to the officers.

My mouth dropped open at her words. She didn’t believe me either. “That’s not true,” I countered. “I
know
what I
saw
,” I repeated for their benefit. Either they weren’t hearing me or they weren’t listening.

Officer Archer’s gaze met mine. “Was Mr. Greer in your nightmare?” He raised a caterpillar-like, gray eyebrow at me in questioning. The way his voice rose in pitch when he asked his question made his skepticism even more evident, if that was even possible.

My frown deepened, and I almost shook my head no in anger to prove that they didn’t have a point, but then I nodded, and said, “Yes.”
Was it possible I had been dreaming again?
It had felt so real, but so had my dream from earlier in the night.

The two officers shared a knowing look at my response. I wanted to slap them—scream that I was right and they were wrong—but that would do more harm than good.

I stood up quickly; ignoring the accusatory way the officers and my mom were watching me as I walked into the foyer. I pretended like I was going up the stairs, but then I turned toward the door, flung it open, and ran out into the night.

I ran a fast as my legs could carry me. I heard my mom’s voice shout from behind me, but I was already nearing David’s porch. I banged on the door, happy when it opened soon after. David stood there, shirtless and only wearing a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. A glance behind me showed that the officers were running up the pathway. I shoved past David, ignoring the chill that went through me when my elbow made contact with his chest. I knew where I was headed.

The officers must not have checked the basement. I hurried to the door in the kitchen that led to the lower level, not even having time to get over my fears as I twisted the knob and yanked the door open. I was so extremely grateful that it was unlocked this time. I flicked the switch on the wall and pounded down the wooden steps. The overpowering stench of mold and mildew smacked me in the face as I descended.

When I reached the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs I called out, “Holly?” as I spun around, taking everything in. My gaze flitted from the rickety wooden shelves against the concrete walls, to the stack of rusty paint cans in the corner, and then to the water stains on the ground. The basement was gloomy and unfinished. It wasn’t what I had expected to see at all.

Officer Archer and Officer Dixon hurried down the stairs after me. Now both of them looked livid.

“Where is she?” I yelled up the stairs to David who stood at the top of the steps with my mom. Her expression rivaled the ones of the officers. “Where is your
daughter
?” I rephrased.

“She stayed at a friends house for the night,” David answered smoothly. I had to admit, he was good.

“Claire, get up here this instant,” Mom demanded, pointed her finger at the ground.

Taking one final look around, I pouted and began to ascend the stairs, followed by the two officers. They hadn’t found a dead body and didn’t see any signs of someone digging, so I had jumped to the conclusion that Holly was still alive and was being held captive in the basement. None of this made any sense.
Where the heck is she?

At the top of the steps, Mom grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door. Before we exited the house, she came to a stop. “Apologize to David for your behavior,” she demanded.

I glared up at David, who looked uncharacteristically smug.

“I’m waiting,” Mom said.

I frowned, but mumbled, “I’m sorry, David.”

He nodded. Not an ounce of emotion reached his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It can be hard accepting new people into your life. I understand.” His gaze continued to bore into mine until my mom placed her hands on my shoulders and began to steer me away.
If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his soul is cold and dead,
I found myself thinking, remembering the intensity of his stare and the emptiness in his eyes.

I hung my head in shame as the police officers and my mom escorted me out of the house. I felt the weight of David’s stare on my back as we walked down his pathway.
It was like déjà vu from the day we welcomed him to the neighborhood—the day we welcomed a killer into our lives.