Halloween Horrors- The Eraser of God

Here's another creepy little short story I wrote a couple of years ago:

The Eraser of God

The late October breeze stirred the leaves around and around, rattling them together like old, brittle bones. There was a chill in the air— not much— just enough to be called sweater weather. Indian summer had passed, and the warm weather was passing away to the cold, dead season of winter.

The house stood there at the top of a mostly inaccessible, narrow hill, glaring at the empty dirt path leading up to its gate. It groaned now and again as the wind whistled through its broken panes of glass.

There it had stood for years undisturbed. It was long forgotten so that it had become invisible like the mailman that brings the mail unnoticed every day.

Long ago, it was said to have been haunted.

* * * * *

The two boys stood with their hands stuffed deep inside their jacket pockets, lost in thought.

"Bobby, you're nuts, man."

"Come on. You know you want to do this just as bad as I do. And besides, I didn't climb that hill for nothing."

The other boy fidgeted nervously. "I don't need it that bad."

"Don't be such a pussy, Deano. Come on!" He started over the fence. It shook with anger under his weight, sending fragments of its rusted self showering to the ground, like oxidized dandruff from a spiked-haired old man.

"Sorry pal. I'm outta here." Dean started away with a purpose.

Bobby had landed in the knee-high weeds on the other side of the fence. He wiped his orange dusted hands on his jacket. "Where are you going? You're not leaving me, are you Deano Weano?"

"Goodbye," Dean called over his shoulder.

"What if mom were to find out about your collection of Playboy's? You know— the ones with the pages glued together?" He hit the last part like a hammer.

Dean had stopped. How did he know about that stuff? "What the hell are you talking about?" He called his brother's bluff.

Bobby was busy fishing in his pockets for the penlight he had brought. "You know," he responded noncommittally. He drew his face in an imitated expression of orgasmic ecstasy, "Oh! Yeah baby, do it to it! Do it to it! Ring any bells, Deano?" He started toward the house, confident that his revelation had hooked a fish.

"You dick!" Dean yelled. "What are you, a spy or something?"

"Whatever," Bobby said unconcernedly.

"Wait up." Dean began climbing the fence. He had been hoodwinked. He didn't think he had been that loud.

He lost his footing coming down the other side of the seven-foot fence, sliding down the last four feet, ripping his jeans and skinning both of his knees in the process. He fell in a heap, clutching at his bleeding knees. The noise was loud enough to scare a large black tomcat out from under the crumbling boards of the front porch. It glared at both boys for a second before bolting behind the house.

"Be quiet, would 'ya?" Bobby was waiting for his brother at the base of the steps. "You want to wake the dead or something?"

Dean tensed at the thought as he brushed himself off.

"Relax, dicknose. You can't actually wake the dead." He paused, animating at his pun. "Get it? W-A-K-E the dead?" Bobby broke into a fit of laughter at himself.

Dean pretended that some of his brother's laughter was nervous tension, but he knew it wasn't. Bobby just plain wasn't scared.

"C'mon, sore loser." Bobby forced the handle of the screen door. It snapped off in his hand like a cracking knuckle. SNICK! The jagged edge tore a hole in his palm. "Shit!" He flung the handle away. "Mother! Would you look at that?" His palm was oozing blood.

Dean saw his opportunity. "Let's get outta here. You've got to put something on that." He turned back down the stairs.

"Naw. It's okay." He held his arms out next to him at shoulder height and hung his head down. Blood dripped sickly to the dust-stained boards of the top step. "Look Deano. My Imitation of Jesus Christ Our Lord And Savior."

Dean was horrified at his brother's blasphemy. He ducked instinctively as if the very Finger of God was going to appear to flick the booger that was his brother off into eternity's hanky. "Bobby! Knock it off, would 'ya?"

"Relax. Just a little more of my wonderful wit. Can't take it can 'ya? I mean the jealousy." He threw his head back in mock indignation.

Dean said nothing.

"Let's go in." Bobby pulled the screen door open by it's frame. As it swung to, the ancient hinges gave, snapping and releasing the door to tumble to the ground. It cracked in two, folding in half across its centerline in a cloud of dust. Paying it not a second glance, Bobby grabbed the knob of the inner door. It was cold. "Jeez!" he said, pulling back from the knob.

"What's the matter?" Dean's nerves were on edge.

"Knob's cold. Gimme your jacket."

"What's the matter with your own jacket?" Dean said, taking off his jacket and handing it to his brother.

"I'm wearin' it, dork." He grabbed the knob with his enclosed hand and turned. The door opened with no further problem, creaking with the creak of eternal torment.

Darkness flooded out.

It was as if the Author of the World had erased all of the space inside of the door, as if the very existence of the space had angered it, leaving just the doorframe as a final check on reality.

"Shit!" both boys said simultaneously. It was the most profound thought they could verbalize. The darkness had almost poured out with a physical force, causing them to lose their balance momentarily.

Bobby regained himself first. He turned on the penlight, aiming its thin beam into the darkness. The light was swallowed by the black inches into the house. Oh, Man! Look at that!"

"At what?" Dean said, peering cautiously over his brother's shoulder.

"The light. It's gone right here." Bobby reached in to where the light stopped. He waved his hand around. "Hey, check it out!"

Bobby's hand was gone at the wrist. Dean looked at his brother's extended arm. It went through the doorframe, and then stopped. He leaned over to see the end of his brother's wrist. He could see bone, and veins, and muscle, still working to animate the hand. But there was no hand. "Hey! What th— "

Bobby pulled the hand back. It made a sucking sound as it was pulled through the frame, and a wet POP! when it cleared the darkness. "Peek-a-boo," Bobby said laughing, holding his hand up.

It was normal in every way, except it wasn't bleeding any more. In fact, there was no sign of the puncture wound at all. "Will you look at this, Deano?"

"What happened?"

"Shit if I know. I put my hand in, I pulled my hand out. Presto! No cut!"

They both looked at the hand. It looked indeed fine. More than fine, as a matter of fact. Healed.

"Quite an impressive Jesus imitation, eh Deano?" Bobby joked.

"Real funny, Bobby. What the hell happened to your hand?"

"I told you, I didn't do a thing. In— out— presto! Good as new! But I know how we can find out."

Dean was looking at him mistrustfully. He knew that look. "Forget it, pal. I'm not going in there."

"Who said anything about going in? All you have to do is sit right down here and dangle those scraped up knees into the darkness to see if it works for you. What have you got to lose?"

"No way! I'm not putting my legs any where near that hole."

"Oh yes you are, Mr. Choke the Chicken."

"I don't care. You can tell mom anything you want; I'm not going near that opening."

While they were speaking, a butterfly flew past them, as if on cue, blundered into the hole, and disappeared.

The distraction was enough for Bobby to have moved in behind Dean. He grabbed his arms behind his back and lifted him off the step.

"Come off it, put me down! I don't want to! Nooooo!" He flailed his feet, trying to kick his brother.

This was the response Bobby was looking for. The instant Dean's feet left the safety of the ground, he thrust them forward and into the blackness.

"Pull me out! Pull me out!"

"Take it easy, 'ya big wuss. It's no big deal. Relax." He set his brother down on his rump, feet still dangling in the darkness. “Sit tight a minute. Let's see what happens."

Dean sat, reluctantly letting his feet hang off into nothingness. "You didn't have to push me in. I would have done it on my own anyway."

"You would not've. You need to be pushed into everything you do. And then you end up having a good time at it."

Dean frowned at the thought. "Anyway, I think my legs are done now." He started to pull back, but met the resistance of his brother's legs braced against his back.

"Not yet! See what happens when you keep 'em in longer."

"I'm not fooling around, Bobby, move!" He swung his elbow around, intending to pop his brother's kneecap, but he met air as Bobby dodged deftly out of the way.

"Fine. Pull 'em out and get out of the way. I'll try it."

Dean tried to pull back, but found that without the use of his feet, he had no leverage. He rolled left, then right, and then left again. "Hey! Give me a hand, I think I'm stuck."

"You're such a putz."

"C'mon, I'm serious! Help me outta here!"

"Keep your shorts on." Bobby made a show of effort before finally putting his hands under his brother's arms. He hefted. The pair moved slowly backward. Again there was a sucking sound. Again there was a POP! as his legs cleared the darkness. And Dean began to scream.

There were his legs, from the knees up. From his knees down, there was— nothing.

Bobby bent forward and look at his brother's legs, or rather, lack of them. There was a perfect cutoff right in the middle of the knees. He could see the kneecap, flexing and bending. But no feet.

"My feet! My feet! What’d you do to my feet? My feeeeeet!"

"Me? I didn't do nothing to your feet! You stuck 'em in there, not me."

"You pushed me! You pushed me! My feeeeet!"

"Stop whining, dickhead. Keep it down."

"Don’t tell me to keep it down! I lost my feet!" He began to whip his body, trying to grab Bobby! "I’ll kill you, you asshole! My feeeeet!"

"Hey, man, get away from me, you little shit! You're the one who stuck his feet in, not me."

Dean managed to get a grip on his brother's crotch. He squeezed for all he was worth.

"Aaawwwwwgggghhhh! Let go! Aaaahhhh! Let go! AAAAAAHHHHHH!" He swung his other foot around in a perfect arc with Dean's face, kicking him hard in the nose, which exploded like a ripe tomato, breaking his grip.

Dean grabbed at his own face, moaning through his fingers. Bobby had dropped to his knees, from which vantage point he was throwing up over the side of the steps.

"I’m gonna kill you, you asshole!" Dean screamed through his clenched hands.

Bobby quickly stood to avoid his brother's latest grab effort.

Dean missed, grabbing only air, leaving him to writhe with pain from his face. It was a lame effort.

Bobby moved behind him, putting his brother between himself and the open doorway. "Bye, Deano." He put his foot on his brother's shoulder. Their eyes met for a split second's hesitation. Bobby saw the transformation from pain to anger in his brother's eyes. He pushed hard.

Dean knew he was going in, but he wasn't going in alone. His brother had hoped to catch him off guard, but his hesitation had done him in. At the last second, Dean shot out his hand and grabbed his off-balance brother's foot. The move was successful.

* * * * *

Twilight swept across the land. As false night came to the front yard of the house, the large tomcat came out again from under the porch. He was hungry, as it had been some time since his last feeding.

He stalked across the lawn to the wrought iron fence that until this day had guarded the property adequately. Arching his long neck, he tilted his head back into the breeze. He caught the scent of blood coming from the fence, coppery-smelling and fresh. Standing on his hind legs as if making ready to scratch up the back of a chair, he licked the fence clean.

The breeze picked up, bringing a stronger spore to his nostrils, this time from the steps.

Winding his way across the lawn slowly and deliberately, he licked the steps clean, the thick dust that coated the boards only serving to thicken the consistency of the blood, further heightening it's appeal. He finished the tasty meal quickly.

Pink tongue darted out and then was erased in the advancing darkness as the tom had started to clean himself, perched on the top step in front of the now open doorway.

As the evening's darkness crept up the front lawn, it was met across the empty lot by a darker thing, erasing all it's master's work as it went.

© Ray Cattie