Them by Lorenzo Moscato
The moving part was easy for Jack, even if he did just move into his grandmother’s old house. Her death had come as a surprise to his family; she was a health nut and dying from a heart attack just seemed odd. The other thing that came as a surprise, his grandmother had left him everything. The house, all her belongings, everything. They had never really been that close, but Jack accepted it despite the other members of his family being upset that he had inherited what little money she had, all the jewelry, and the house she had purchased a year prior. It was brand new, and he loved it.
The house itself was a gorgeous little cottage in a new development at the edge of his hometown. It was almost in the boonies, but it would do. He loved the idea that his closest neighbors were miles away, which was another reason he had not argued with his aunts and parents over who would get the house. Jack understood why everyone wanted it; it was a gorgeous dwelling, all wood and glass, and the location was even better. He would gladly take it. He was a writer by trade, and loved the solitude.
The moving in was finally done. Everything was pretty easy since he had basically just kept everything the way his grandmother had left it. He didn’t need to really buy any furniture; she had left him hers. The only things he really had to move in were his laptop, his flatscreen, his clothing, and his entertainment center. All of that the movers had put in the empty extra bedroom that Jack had transformed into his office. He cracked open a beer that he had gotten from the fridge, and finally sat down at his old oak desk to go over the paperwork the lawyers had given him; his grandmother’s will and some other things that she had left him. His eyes scanned over the will, pretty standard stuff. He set it aside and opened a plain white envelope that had his name on it. Inside was a small piece of paper that had something that perplexed the young man. It said “Don’t let Them in.” He didn’t know who the ‘Them’ his grandmother was referring to…but it didn’t seem important.
Knock
Knock
Knock
“What the heck?” Jack said aloud as he jumped nearly out of his skin when he heard the knocking coming from his front door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and it was nearly sundown. Jack walked up to his front door and looked through the peephole. Right there on the porch was a child, couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old. He unlocked the door and opened it. “Uh…can I help you?” he asked, bewildered that a child could be out in the middle of nowhere by himself.
“Can Bobby come out and play?” the boy asked.
“There’s no one here named Bobby. I think you got the wrong house.” Jack said, studying the boy. He looked pretty average for a kid. Dark hair, dark eyes, dressed in plain black slacks and a plain black t-shirt.
“Sorry,” the boy replied and walked away from the house.
“Huh…that was weird…” Jack said to himself, closing the door and locking it. ‘Guess I should get to writing…maybe some dinner.’ Jack thought, and headed into the kitchen to make a sandwich or something and get ready for a night of writing his manuscript. Still, something unnerved him about that kid. The closest house was at least a mile away, and he was all alone. And there had been no one living in this house named Bobby…not ever. Something in the boy’s eyes had also made Jack nervous, like some primal part of his brain was sending up warning signals. He looked at the piece of paper his grandmother had left him about not letting ‘Them’ in. He shook it off, just nerves and being tired from all the moving around today.
Knock
Knock
Knock
Jack put his sandwich down that he was about to bite into and headed back to the front door. He looked through the peephole and saw not one, but two children now. The same boy as before and now a little girl who looked to be a little bit older. They were holding hands. She looked very much like him, same dark hair and eyes, same plain clothing, except she had longer hair that was tied into braids. Jack sighed and opened his front door. “Look kids, I already said…” but he was talking to an empty space. No one was there. The writer blinked and rubbed his eyes. He was sure that he had seen them standing there prior to opening the door. He stepped onto the porch and looked around, but didn’t see anyone. Not in his driveway, not on the road, not on the side of the house. They had simply vanished. ‘Ok then…you’re definitely in need of some sleep…’ he thought, and went back into the house, locking the door.
Knock
Knock
Knock
“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” Jack said as he unlocked and whipped the door open. But there was no one there. He stepped out and shouted, “This is getting ridiculous! There’s no one here named Bobby so stop messing with me you stupid little brats!” He slammed his door, locking it shut and returned to his work and his small dinner.
Jack rubbed his eyes and checked his phone. He had been typing away at his laptop for the better part of the evening and lost track of time. It was past midnight, he needed to sleep before the conference call with the office in the morning. His publisher wanted an update on his new book. Jack smiled and saved his file, shutting down the computer and headed to bed. He felt accomplished, he was ahead in his work and felt that this would be the best story he had written in a long time. The clock on his night stand read 3:14 AM and then…
Knock…knock…knock…
‘There’s no fucking way…’ Jack thought, running down the stairs to his front door and swinging it open. There in front of him stood the two children he had seen before. “What the fuck do you brats want!?” he shouted. He didn’t hold back anymore. This game was becoming ridiculous.
“Can Bobby come out and play?” they answered in unison. Something about the tone, the way they said it, sent shivers up Jack’s spine.
“Look here kids, there’s no Bobby here alright? No one with that name lives here. You have the wrong house. Plus, it’s the middle of the goddamn night, what the hell are you doing out here?!” Jack had had it with this stupid game. These kids had been pestering him all damn day and he wasn’t going to take it anymore.
“Can we come in and call our parents? We’re lost.” The girl looked up at Jack with her dark eyes, and he could see just a hint of sadness in them. ‘Oh, what the fuck…’ Jack thought and sighed. He supposed that while they were bratty and bugging him all damn day, he couldn’t just send them out into the darkness. They must’ve been playing in the woods or something. But still, the whole ‘Bobby’ thing sent up those red flags in his head that had been there since he first saw these kids. The note his grandmother left him slowly began to creep back into his consciousness, but he was far too tired and too annoyed to focus on the words she left him. What were they anyway? He couldn’t remember.
Beaten and tired, he opened the door wider, “Fine, let’s call your parents to come get you and then you promise to leave me alone?” The kids nodded and entered the home. Jack closed the door behind them and locked it, then lead the way into the living room where he’d left his phone and…when he turned around to ask for their phone number, they had disappeared. ‘These fucking brats…’ Jack thought. They had definitely just weaseled their way in and ran off somewhere in his house. They were fucking with him. “Ok, no more games!” Jack shouted, “Come out now and get the hell out of my house!”
A whisper from right behind him…
“Can Bobby come out and play?”
Jack spun around, but no one was there. “There’s no Bobby here! I already told you! Now come out and get out of here!”
“Can Bobby come out and play?”
Knock
Knock
Knock
“What the fuck is going on?!” Jack shouted and walked to the door but something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked and saw the boy standing in the kitchen. His hands were behind his back and the boy had his eyes closed. “Hey, kid, what’re you doing there?” Jack approached slowly, but kept his distance. The boy opened his eyes, which had now gone solid black. He looked up at Jack and had the wickedest grin the writer had ever seen before. The boy moved his hands from behind his back…and they were empty. He just held them at his side and smiled at Jack with that evil grin.
“Will you play with us…?”
That whisper…coming from behind Jack. He turned to see the little girl, her eyes as black as her brothers were. She brandished a large kitchen knife and smiled at him as she approached Jack…
The next morning, the police were at the cottage at the end of the cul-de-sac. The detective frowned as he looked at the body of the young man laying on the ground. His face was contorted into one of fear. Cause of death was pronounced as a heart attack, just like his grandmother, the previous occupant of the home. In his twisted hands was a single crumpled piece of paper. The detective pried it out of the man’s hands and read the note…
Don’t Let Them In
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