For the past six years, Ian has been our world.

My wife’s pregnancy with him wasn’t easy.  There were a number of scares and close calls due to health issues she’s suffered from most of her life.  Every doctor she had been to had told her that she would never be able to get pregnant, let alone carry a baby to term.  She put on a brave face and joked that she would just get an entire litter of puppies instead, but on quiet nights when she didn’t know that I was watching her, she let her real feelings show on her face.

She loved children, and the thought of not being able to have one herself was heartbreaking for her.  It would have been one thing if we discussed the possibility and came to the conclusion ourselves that having a child wasn’t something that we wanted.  Having the choice taken completely out of your hands, though… That’s different.  Maybe it shouldn’t feel that way, but it does.

We discussed other options, of course.  Adoption, fostering, you name it and we looked into it.  We even had a meeting scheduled with an adoption agency when what can only be described as a miracle happened.

That miracle was Ian.  Against all the odds that had been stacked high against us, Ellen became pregnant.  Her doctors were at a complete loss.  It should have been impossible, but suddenly there we were, talking about converting our second bedroom into a nursery and planning out how to shuffle around our work schedules.

The complications began about four months into the pregnancy.  It seemed like every few weeks we were at the hospital while the staff poked and prodded her as they ran their tests.  Ellen was incredible during all of it.  I was acting like a complete lunatic, worried out of my damn mind about every little thing, but she would just lay there in the uncomfortable hospital bed stroking her increasingly large belly and smiling to herself.  She would tell me that she just knew that everything would work out in the end.  All the things that were happening were just bumps in the road.

She went into labor early, just a few days after the thirty-one week mark.  She waddled into the kitchen and told me in a very calm and very matter-of-fact tone that her water had broken.  I had been getting ready for bed, so in that same collected manner she retrieved both the bag we had packed weeks earlier and the car keys as I frantically got dressed and grabbed a few necessary items that hadn’t been put in the bag yet.

Six hours later, Ian was born.  He was so small, and I could feel my heart sink as he emerged.  The doctor immediately took him over to a radiant warming table where he and a nurse began working with him.  A second nurse kept me from getting too close to ensure that I didn’t get into the way.  The activity suddenly stopped, and the most wonderful sound filled the room: our son was crying.

The doctor informed me that, due to Ian’s size, he would need to spend a few weeks in the newborn intensive care unit.  From what he could see, however, the baby would be fine.  I remember feeling so relieved that I had to put a hand on the bed’s footboard to stead myself.

My fingers had just touched the plastic when the alarm on Ellen’s monitor went off.

The stress of the labor and birth had been too much for her body, and she had suffered massive hemorrhaging.  There was a flurry of activity as a group of medical staff rushed over to work on her while, at the same, Ian was taken out of the room.  In that exact moment, I was at a complete loss as to what to do.  Was I supposed to stay with Ellen while she fought for her life, or go with our newborn child to make sure that he wasn’t alone?

A nurse, an older woman with kind eyes peering out over her mask, made the decision for me.  She took me by the arm and led me out of the room, speaking quiet and gentle words that I wasn’t capable of processing at the time.  She walked with me all the way to the NICU and sat me down in a chair next to the incubator that Ian had been placed in.  Before she left, she promised to let me know the moment there was any word on Ellen.

I sat there for hours, staring at the tiny little person that we had brought into this world.  He slept for the majority of that time, his chest rising and falling as his mouth opened and closed.  A tube had been placed in his nose to help with his breathing, but he didn’t seem to notice it.  I wondered what babies dreamed of, or even if they dreamed at all.

When the nurse finally returned, he had removed her mask and had a serious expression on her face.  I immediately jumped to the worst case scenario, but she quickly assured me that Ellen had pulled through and that she was currently recovering.  The damage had been severe, however, and to save her life the doctors had needed to perform an emergency hysterectomy.  Whatever miracle had happened to bring Ian into our lives would not be able to happen again.

I didn’t care.  All that mattered was that the two people I cared about the most in the world were going to be alright.  The stress and fear all came collapsing in on me, and I sat back in my chair and wept.  I had been so close to losing everything.

A few weeks later, we were able to take Ian home.  It felt like our little family was finally complete.  At least it did to me.  Ellen was convinced that there was still one thing missing.  She wanted a dog.

I didn’t come around to the idea overnight.  I felt like having a new child in the house was stressful enough without adding a puppy into the mix.  She kept pressing me, though, telling me how wonderful it would be to have the baby and dog grow up together.  They would be best friends from the very beginning, she assured me, and besides, it would make her feel safer when she was home alone with Ian.

I eventually relented.  I always had a hard time saying no to her in the first place, and she was so fixated on getting a dog that I knew that I’d never win.  Eventually, I told her that if it really meant that much to her I was okay with it, but to lease just not get a large dog.

She technically listened to me, as she didn’t get a large dog.  She got the largest dog she could find.  A month after we brought Ian home, we had a Great Dane puppy named Mavis running around the house, sniffing and licking everything.  Just as Ellen had predicted, Mavis and Ian immediately loved each other.

It won’t be news to any parent that raising a small child is difficult.  Simply finding the time to do everything that needs to be done is extremely hard, if not impossible.  I worked long hours in the next city over, and Ellen ran an online business that ran the risk of falling apart if she didn’t devote enough time to it each day.

When Ellen’s mother Violet offered to assist with the baby while we worked, we immediately jumped at the idea.  She moved in with us not long after we got Mavis.  A few years prior her husband had passed away from throat cancer, and the house they had shared was too big for a single person.  Besides, she reminded us often, it gave her an excuse to be around the new baby all the time.

There was something else that factored into the decision as well.  Shortly after Ian’s birth, Ellen had fallen into postpartum depression.  While she had gotten over that within a couple of weeks, she still suffered from bouts of severe depression every so often.  She tried to explain it to me once.  It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy.  It was more of a general feeling of malaise and exhaustion.  I’ll admit that I didn’t understand it completely, but that didn’t stop me from worrying.

She went to a number of doctors, and she was eventually given a prescription that at least helped take the edge off.  She really hated taking it, however.  She said that they made her groggy and that she had a hard time focusing on anything when she was using it.  Because of this, she only took it when it was absolutely necessary.

For nearly six years, our little family was a happy one.  Ian grew like a weed, and it seemed like every time I turned around he had put on a few more inches.  We fell into a routine where Violet would watch him during the day while Ellen and I worked, and our evenings were spent together as a family.  It was an overall simple life, but also a very enjoyable one.

Four months ago, we lost Violet.  It was very sudden, as she hadn’t had any health conditions that we were aware of.  One night she went up to bed, and the next day she simply didn’t wake up.

It was a tough loss for all of us, but Ian took it especially hard.  He had been incredibly close to his grandmother, and no longer having her there was both confusing and heartbreaking.  At first he didn’t understand what was happening.  Ellen and I explained it as best as we could to him, but he would still ask us multiple times a day when Granny was going to come home.  When he eventually worked out that she wasn’t coming back, it devastated him.  He would collapse into tears at seemingly random times, and we would find him quietly crying in odd places around the house, Mavis’ head in his lap.  He also developed a difficulty sleeping through the night, something that had never been a problem with him before.

Violet being gone meant that we needed to come up with a new plan for taking care of Ian.  After a long conversation with the owner of the company that I worked for, I left the position that I had been employed in for over a decade to take a different job.  It paid less, but it allowed me to work from home.  As Ellen already worked from her home office, we were able to work together to make sure that our son was cared for.

It took a while, but we managed to settle into this new routine.  Although I certainly didn’t like the circumstances that had brought us to this point, I found myself enjoying the extra time I got to spend with Ian.  My old job had required working long hours, while my current one had me completely finished before dinner.  We’d all eat together before spending an hour running around outside if the weather was nice or playing inside if it wasn’t.  After that, I’d give him his bath, and then it was time before him to lay down to go to sleep.  In theory the routine was supposed to end around eight o’clock each night, but if you have kids, you know that no routine is foolproof.

Ian responded about as well as could be expected to the changes.  He continued to have difficulty processing Violet’s death, and he was quieter and more moody than he had been before, but as fall turned to winter he seemed to at least start to climb out of his sadness.  The closer Christmas got, the more he smiled and got into the holiday spirit.

Two weeks before Christmas, I made an egregious mistake.  It was one of those decisions that I knew was bad at the time that I was making it, and part of me was screaming at me that I was being an idiot, but I still went ahead with it anyway.  I don’t make those kinds of mistakes often.  When I do, though, they come back to bite me every single time.

A friend of mine came to me with a request.  He was the manager of the only local mall within thirty miles that was still operating.  While there weren’t many stories that remained open there, the one time that things got busy was around Christmas.  There’s something about the holiday season that makes people want to walk into a big open building so that they can rummage around in small claustrophobic stores, I guess.  It’s the only time of year that the various retailers that leased store space managed to make more than a miniscule profit.

Starting in the middle of November, the mall was decorated with all the usual holiday cheer.  I have fond memories as a kid walking under giant wreaths and ornaments hanging from the ceiling, and when Ellen and I took Ian there I could see the same look in his eyes that I must have had at his age.  He listened to the Christmas music playing throughout the building and stared with a big smile on his face at the lights of every color that adorned the walls.

The big centerpiece to every mall at Christmas time was, of course, Santa Claus.  There was a spot in the center of the building that was decorated to look like a workshop in a winter wonderland, and in the middle of everything sat Santa on his big red chair.  Ian was both mesmerized and intimidated by him.  There was the big guy himself, ready to take a picture with him and ask what he wanted for Christmas.  That was a lot of pressure for a kid his age.

It wasn’t really Santa, obviously.  It was some guy that had been hired to play the part.  I think all children know that, or at least suspect it deep down inside.  It weirdly doesn’t matter, though, does it?  It’s still an important moment.

While we were waiting in line, my friend, both the mall manager and an acquaintance of mine since grade school, came up to me and asked if he could speak with me.  I had seen him a few days prior at a gas station, and we had caught up for a few minutes before going our separate ways.  Curious, I told Ellen and Ian that I would be right back and followed him to a nearby quiet spot.

He explained that the man currently sitting in the Santa chair had been told earlier that day that there was a family emergency on the other side of the country, and that he needed to catch a flight later that night.  My friend hadn’t been able to find a replacement, and he was hoping that, since I had told him at the gas station that I was on vacation for the holidays, I would be able to help him out.

I heard him out, but I also politely turned him down.  Putting aside the fact that the pay he was offering was terrible, it just wasn’t something that I was interested in doing.  I worked hard throughout the year, and all that I wanted to do on my vacation was to relax and enjoy the time with my family.

When I returned to the line, I explained to Ellen what had happened.  She was completely onboard with my position.  I happened to mention that the job came with a significant discount at the stores in the mall, however, and she suddenly changed her position.  Ian was growing so quickly that much of his clothing no longer fit properly, and there was also furniture that needed replaced now that Mavis was completely out of her chewing everything phase.  With the discount and additional pay we’d be able to get those things ahead of schedule.

That was how my much-anticipated and much-needed vacation turned into an endless stream of small children and stressed parents.

If I’m being honest, it wasn’t as bad as I had thought it would be.  It was a real delight to bring happiness to those kids, and there were only a few times that the line had more than a few people in it.  Ellen and Ian visited during all of my shifts, and after I had explained to him that I was just being Santa’s helper so it was okay for me to dress up like that, he had a lot of fun running around and playing inside the small house that was part of the set.

On Christmas Eve, there were a few hours early in the day that the line seemed like it would never end, but as the final hour of my final shift as Santa began, the majority of the mall was empty.  The few last minute shoppers that were present were all older and weren’t interested in speaking with a man dressed in a fake beard and red suit.  The heavy snow that had been falling since noon wasn’t helping with the foot traffic, either.  

Ellen and I were standing at the entrance to the Santa’s Village display, drinking hot chocolate while Ian sat on the throne-like chair with my Santa coat draped over him like a blanket.  There was a small play area for children on the other side of the mall, and he had exhausted himself running around inside of it like a maniac.

Just as I took a sip from my drink, Ian cried out in surprise from behind us.  We both immediately turned towards him and hurried over to the chair.  He was thrashing around inside the coat, and it took a few seconds for us to untangle him while we tried to figure out what was wrong.

My first instinct was that he had fallen asleep and had a bad dream.  As we got the coat away from his face, though, I saw that there were three long scratches on the side of his face.  They weren’t deep, but they penetrated just far enough for small beads of blood to well up along them.  Ellen examined them as closely as she could through his tears before smiling at him and declaring that the scratches weren’t bad at all.  They just needed to be cleaned up a little.

Quickly flipping the small sign at the front of Santa’s Village to ‘Closed’, I led the way to the hallways containing the staff offices.  At the end of the corridor was a private bathroom, and I ducked inside to retrieve the small first aid kit that I had seen inside about a week prior. Ellen handed Ian over to me so that she could search the kit for what she needed.  I sat down on a bench with him and rocked him slowly.

It took about fifteen minutes, but Ellen managed to clean the scratches and apply antiseptic to them.  As he got over the initial shock, Ian calmed down and put on a brave face while she worked.  He winced a bit as the antiseptic was put on, but otherwise he got through the process without incident.

Once she was finished, we walked slowly back towards Santa’s Village, trying to figure out what exactly had happened.  At first we thought that he had scratched himself in his sleep, but he quickly shook his head and rejected the idea.  Instead, he looked me directly in the eyes and said, “Daddy, Nighty Night hurt me.”

We both looked at him in confusion.  I don’t know what I had expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Nighty night?” Ellen asked softly.  “Like what Daddy and I tell you before you go to sleep at night?”

“Nighty Night,” Ian repeated, more forcefully this time.  “He scratched me.  Like the bad cat did.”

Just after his third birthday, he had been scratched by a neighbor’s kitten while trying to play with it.  The claws hadn’t even punctured his skin, but the shock of the pain had stuck with him.

“I’m sorry, big guy, we don’t understand,” I told him.  “Are you saying that Nighty Night is a cat?”

“No cat.  Nighty Night is a monster.”

I looked back down at the scratches, and then at Ellen.  Something had obviously happened, but just as obviously it hadn’t been a monster.

I never thought for a second that Ian was lying to us.  He was prone to the occasional fib just like any young child was, but he never lied to us about important things.  He was also too scared to be making up a story.

We arrived back at Santa’s Village.  Giving Ian back to Ellen, I walked down the small path leading to the chair.  It was possible that the Santa coat buttons had caused the scratches, or maybe there was something sharp inside of the lining that I hadn’t noticed.  It was draped over the seat of the chair.

I paused.  I would have sworn that it had been thrown on the ground after we took it off of Ian.  

Reaching out, I picked up the coat.  To my surprise, there was something underneath it.  It was a small black hardcover book.  The cover was made of leather, and stamped into it was an intricate design of entwined vines and leaves.  A folded piece of paper was sitting on top of it.  After a brief hesitation, I took it and unfolded it.

A holiday gift, the note said in exquisite calligraphy.

I felt a chill go through me.  I turned the paper over, but there wasn’t anything else written anywhere.  My eyes went down to the book still sitting on the chair.  With the note no longer on top of it, I could see the title written in gold lettering on the black leather.

Nighty Night.

I glanced back over at Ellen and Ian.  She was kneeling down in front of him with her back turned towards me, saying something that I couldn’t hear.  He was looking over her shoulder directly at me, and our eyes locked.  There was a look of worry on his face.

Not sure what else to do, I reached towards the book.  My fingers stopped less than an inch from it.  I didn’t want to touch it.  Something in the back of my head was screaming at me to just walk away.  I glanced towards Ian again and saw the fresh scratches on his face.  Setting my jaw, I picked up the book and opened it.

It was designed like a children’s book, with short phrases and pictures on each page.  The pictures were dark and disturbing, however, and the words looked like they had been scratched onto the parchment-like paper.  I began to read, slowly taking in each page before moving onto the next.

In the place between waking and sleep

It’s in that moment that I creep

As the child grows still for winter’s rest

I enter your world an uninvited guest

Sadness and despair are what I seek

The feelings that turn the strong into the weak

There’s no finer wine to consume

Than a child’s despair and gloom

But if happiness comes and I cannot be fed

I feast on the pain and terror instead

When the child’s life no longer burns bright

Then you will be free of Nighty Night

Almost before I was finished reading the last word, the book broke apart.  As I stared at it in complete incomprehension, the leather and paper crumbled into pieces before falling to the ground.  As the pieces made contact with the hard flooring, they turned to dust.  A terrible smell, the smell of decay and rot, filled the air.

I stood over the dust with my hands still outstretched until Ellen’s voice shook me from my stupor.  She was calling for me and asking if everything was okay.  I turned towards her slowly and had absolutely no idea how to answer that question.

I tried to explain to her what had just happened.  Whispering so that Ian couldn’t hear, I told her about the book I had found, its contents, and how it had disintegrated after I had finished reading it.  I also showed her the pile of dust that was still on the floor.

I don’t think that she really believed me.  Hell, I wasn’t sure if I believed me.  It was all so farfetched and crazy and that it was easy to believe that my imagination had played tricks on me or that stress and exhaustion had caught up with me.  Ellen didn’t think that I was lying.  She knew that I wouldn’t do that, especially about something like this.  It was more that she thought I was so tired that I had momentarily dozed off on my feet.

There was still fifteen minutes on my final shift as Santa, but I made the executive decision to close up shop early.  Between what had happened to Ian and whatever had actually taken place when I returned to the chair, I felt that it was warranted.  Besides, the mall was completely empty at this point.  The stores had all closed and I could just make out the lone security guard locking doors at the far side of the building.

We all bundled up and went out into the parking lot.  The snow was coming down so hard that it was difficult to see our car before we were right on top of it.  While Ellen got Ian bundled into his seat and started the car, I went through the long and difficult task of scraping snow and ice off of the windows.  The accumulated snow was very heavy, and by the time I was halfway finished with the task I was feeling tired and winded.

I stopped scraping as I heard a noise from my left.  It sounded like a foot crunching down into the slush covering the parking lot.  I turned towards it.  The visibility was low, and I couldn’t see more than a few yards, but there didn’t seem to be anyone there.  Still, I had the strange feeling that there was something there, unseen but watching.  I shook my head to clear it and continued the scraping, chiding myself for jumping at shadows.  I did move faster than I had been before, however.

I eventually finished and we got on the road.  The streets were mostly empty, but with the snow I was still forced to drive slowly.  The traffic lights were difficult to see until I was right up on them, and there were more than a few moments where the tires lost their traction.  I gritted my teeth and drove as safely as possible.

The Christmas lights that had been hung up by the city and local businesses looked odd through the snow and darkness.  The various colors appeared in streaks rather than round bulb-shaped orbs.  It was like I was driving through a funhouse tunnel.  

Normally the drive from the mall to our house took less than fifteen minutes.  Because of the weather conditions, it took over an hour.  It was with more than a little relief that I pulled the car into the driveway and we hurried inside.

Mavis was there to greet us at the door, just like always.  She danced around wagging her tail while her ears flopped around, begging for love and attention.  Ellen distracted her while I helped Ian get out of his snowsuit.

As I was removing his boots, Ellen snapped her fingers to get my attention.  I looked towards her and found that Mavis had stopped acting excited and was instead staring at the front door.  Her ears were pulled back, and she was trembling.  Something was making her nervous.  After a minute or two, she calmed down and went back to her normal happy self.

The rest of the evening was relaxing and uneventful.  We had dinner, and afterward Ian convinced Ellen and I to let him stay up to watch one of his favorite Christmas specials.  He and Mavis laid down together underneath the tree, his eyes fixated on the screen and her eyes closed as she snored loudly.

When the show was over and we put him to bed, he looked like he would pass out almost immediately.  I kissed him on his forehead and left the bedroom, waiting in the hallway with Mavis while Ellen took her turn doing the same.  As my wife closed the door, we went back downstairs while the dog laid down in her usual position next to his bedroom.

After waiting a few minutes, Ellen snuck out into the garage and retrieved a stack of presents and wrapping paper.  It seemed like every year we waited until the very last minute to wrap presents for Christmas, and she was determined not to make that mistake again.  She sat down on the floor and went to work while I idly searched for something to watch.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help her with the wrapping.  It’s that she didn’t allow me to.  Every time I tried to wrap a present it would come out looking awful no matter how much effort I put into it.

I was lazily flipping through channels when I heard Mavis growling upstairs.  At first I didn’t recognize the sound, mistaking it for the buzzing that the upstairs hallway vent sometimes made.  As it continued, though, I realized that something had the dog riled.

Leaving Ellen to her wrapping, I climbed the steps leading to the upstairs hallway and was immediately struck by an unpleasant smell.  It only lingered for a moment, but it was unmistakably the same scent of rot that I had smelled back at the mall.  It was gone so fast that I couldn’t be sure that it had actually been there.

Mavis was standing up, and her teeth were bared.  The growling I had heard was coming from the back of her throat.  Every few seconds she would stop long enough to smell the air before going back to growling.

She was looking away from me, and when I put my hand on her back she visibly jumped.  Turning around, she looked up at me for a long moment before shaking her head and pushing her head into my hand in an effort to get me to scratch her behind her ears.  Whatever had freaked her out had either passed or never been there in the first place.

Feeling unsettled, I opened Ian’s bedroom door, doing so slowly to be as quiet as possible.  I peered into the dark room and gave my eyes a few seconds to adjust.  Ian was passed out and snoring, one leg hanging over the side of his bed.  I closed the door again and turned around to head back downstairs.

Mavis was now pressed against the wall opposite the bedroom door.  She was in a sitting position, but her entire body was shoved back and touching the wall.  She was visibly shaking.  Her eyes were locked on the door I had just closed.

A sudden panic overtook me.  I grabbed the doorknob and practically flung the door open again.

As the door swung, I caught sight of a figure in the room.  It was huge, so tall that it had to bend over so that its head didn’t touch the ceiling.  It was gone so quickly that I couldn’t make out any other details before it had vanished completely.  It was like the passage of the edge of the door wiped it away as it moved.

I stood in the doorway with my eyes wide open, scanning the room for any sign of the figure.  There was nothing.  I didn’t realize that I was holding my breath until my lungs started to burn.  I released the air and nearly choked as I took in more.

“Daddy?” Ian called out in a slurred voice as he stirred in his bed.

I jumped in surprise, and I heard Mavis’ collar tags clank together as she did the same.

“Yeah, it’s me, big guy,” I answered in the most reassuring voice that I could muster.  “Everything is okay.  You’re okay.”

“Can I sleep in your and Mommy’s bed?”

I frowned.  When he was younger, Ian used to climb into bed with Ellen and I on an almost nightly basis.  We were never quite sure if it was because he was afraid of being alone in his room or for some other reason.  Whatever the case, he had eventually grown out of it, and he hadn’t asked to sleep in our bed in quite some time.

Normally I would have said no.  I wouldn’t have wanted him to backslide into old habits.  On this particular night, however, the thought of leaving him alone made my blood run cold.

“I’ll tell you what,” I replied slowly.  “Why don’t  you come downstairs with us for a while?”

I jerked slightly as I felt a hand on my arm.  Turning, I found Ellen standing next to me.  She quietly reminded me that there were unwrapped presents downstairs.  After a moment’s discussion, she told Ian that he could come with her into our bedroom and lay with her for a while.  Scooping him up into her arms, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek as she headed towards our room with him.

“Ian?” I asked as she opened our bedroom door, a question coming to mind.  “What were you doing when you got scratched back at the mall?”

“I dunno,” he replied sleepily.  “I was thinking about Grandma, then I got tired, and then Nighty Night scratched me.”

Ellen shot me a disapproving look as she closed the door behind them.  I understood what thoughts were behind that look: she was trying to get him to sleep, and I was bringing up something that had scared him earlier in the day.  I wouldn’t have asked if part of me didn’t think it was important.

Sadness and despair are what I seek.

The words came into their mind as if by their own accord, and I shivered.

I went back downstairs.  As I did so, Mavis followed close behind.  It was as if, now that Ellen was with Ian, she no longer wanted to be alone in the hallway.  She stayed so close to my feet that I nearly tripped over her as I reached the bottom.

I was feeling uneasy.  Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, and had been doing so since earlier in the afternoon.  That was the most rational line of thinking.  I had been clinging to that explanation ever since I had held the dissolving book in my hands.  I couldn’t deny what was happening anymore, though.  I didn’t know what exactly was happening, but there was definitely something very wrong going on.

Maybe I should have tried to convince Ellen that both the book and the quick flash of the creature in Ian’s bedroom were real.  I didn’t know how to get her to believe me, though.  I probably wouldn’t have believed her if the roles were reversed.

Besides, even if I could convince her, it wouldn’t matter.  I went over to the front window and moved the curtain to look outside.  The snowstorm was still raging outside, and the car was completely trapped in the driveway.  The small amount of road that I could make out through the falling flakes looked impassible as well.  We lived a good ways away from any neighbors, well outside of walking distance in this kind of weather.

Say that we could make it to a neighbor’s house or maybe back into town.  Assuming the creature, this Nighty Night, was real, it had quickly followed us from the mall to our house.  What was stopping it from doing the same if we made a break for it?  Worse yet, what if it caught up to us while we were somewhere between the house and our destination, trapping us with it in the storm?

I shook my head and allowed the curtain to fall closed.  We couldn’t go anywhere, not until morning, anyway.  At least we hadn’t lost power.

My eyes fell on my laptop.  It was sitting on a small table in the corner of the living room, its screen black but the green power light still on.  If this was happening to us, it may have happened to other people as well.  I sat down at the table and pushed a button to bring the laptop out of standby mode.

Bringing up the browser, I typed in the name ‘Nighty Night’.  I knew that term was going to get countless answers, so I also added in as much detail as I could to hopefully narrow those down.  When I was finished, I hit the Enter key and hoped that something would come up.

The only thing that I got was an error message.  I frowned and leaned in towards the screen.  My laptop was telling me that I was no longer connected to the internet.  I took my cellphone out of my pocket and found that not only did it also not have connection to wifi, there wasn’t any signal at all.  A glance over at the modem and its blinking red light told me that I wasn’t going to be getting online with any device any time soon.

Mavis began to growl again.  I jumped up from the chair so quickly that it went flying into the couch.  She was standing at the far side of the room near the kitchen doorway.  Her eyes were locked on something out of sight in the other room.

I went over to stand beside her and looked into the kitchen.

I took an immediate step backward and smacked my knee painfully into the small table next to the doorway.  I barely noticed the pain as I stared at the impossibility in front of me.  The kitchen was rotated.  All of the counters and appliances and furniture were hanging down from the ceiling, while the fan light extended upward from the floor.  It was like it had been converted into a funhouse or a twisted roadside attraction.

The long curtains were gone from in front of the doors leading into the backyard.  Words had been scratched into the glass, and the glass around those words was cracked in a web-like pattern.

You will be haunted by three spirits.

Somewhere inside of my fear, I felt a spark of anger ignite.  Nighty Night was clearly screwing with me and my family.  What else could possibly be the reason for this message straight out of a Dickens novel?

I paused.  Why, though?  What was the point?

From somewhere in the house came the sound of a loud clock chime.  It echoed off the walls as it counted down the time.  Mavis slowly paced back and forth with her ears flat as I tried to locate the source of the noise.  We didn’t own a chiming clock.

The chimes stopped after the eleventh rang out.  As if on cue a door opened upstairs.  I turned my head towards it, but it was too dark in the hallway to make anything out.  Mavis immediately ran up the stairs and disappeared into the shadows.

I didn’t want to follow the dog into the darkness.  Both Ian and Ellen were up there somewhere, though, so it wasn’t like I had much of a choice.  Getting as much of a grip on myself as I could, I slowly ascended the stairs.

Mavis was nowhere to be seen.  At the end of the hallway, Ian’s door stood halfway open.  I started towards it, but before I went more than a few feet I stopped myself and went into the bathroom instead.  Flipping on the light, I opened the cabinet doors under the sink and extracted a small toolbox that we kept there for plumbing emergencies.  The house was older, and those types of issues were fairly common.  It was easier to keep a separate set of tools here than to go out to the garage every time something went wrong.

I removed the top tray from inside the toolbox and extracted a heavy wrench from below it.  I hefted it a few times before nodding to myself.  It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.  I replaced the toolbox under the sink before returning to the hallway.

Moving the last few yards to the bedroom door, I opened it the rest of the way and stepped inside.  Ian was sitting on the side of his bed, looking up at a figure standing over him.  It wasn’t Nighty Night like I had expected.  Instead, it was an older woman wearing a modest dress and glowing a faint blue.  I blinked my eyes in shock.  It was Violet, Ellen’s mother and Ian’s grandmother.

Neither she nor Ian seemed to take any notice of my presence.  Instead, Violent knelt down next to the boy and took his hands in hers.  She regarded him with a serious expression on her face.

“I need you to listen closely, Ian,” she said, her voice both familiar and alien.  “Can you do that for me?”

The boy nodded.

“Good.  You know that I went away.  You know that Grandma died, don’t you?”

He sniffed loudly.  “Yes Grandma.”

“What you don’t know, Ian, is that you are the reason that Grandma had to go away forever.”

I felt myself gasp as the air seemed to be sucked out of the room.  Ian stared up at the spectral image of his grandmother in complete shock.  I had never heard anything so cruel come out of her mouth.

“Now now, there’s no point in crying,” she told him as tears began to stream down from his eyes.  “Big boys don’t pout.  Big boys take responsibility for their actions.  If you had been a better grandson, Grandma wouldn’t have had to leave.  My only choice to get away from your insufferable whining and bitching was to reach in and make my heart stop beating.”

Ian sobbed loudly, and the sound roused me from whatever stupor I was in.  I hurried forward and stepped between the two of them, wrapping my arms around Ian and picking him up.  He clung to me as his crying shook his entire body.  I turned towards the ghostly image of my dead mother-in-law and stared at her in rage.

“You’re not Violet,” I said through clenched teeth.  “You’re just some leech trying to feed off my son’s sadness.  Get the hell out of here.”

The spirit looked at me wordlessly for a long moment before disappearing.

I held Ian for what seemed like a long time, rubbing his back and assuming him over and over again that the woman hadn’t really been his grandmother.  At first it seemed like he would never calm down, but eventually his sobs began to subside and the tension started to leave his body.  I felt a knot form in my throat.  He had been through so much this evening, things that no child should ever have to go through.

The writing in the kitchen had warned me that we’d be haunted by three spirits.  It was a reference to A Christmas Carol.  Unlike the ones in that story, however, it was crystal clear that these spirits weren’t here to bring the spirit of Christmas into our hearts.  These had much more malicious intentions.

I heard a scratching noise from out in the hallway.  Shifting Ian’s weight slightly, I left the bedroom and went towards the source of the sound.  It seemed to be coming from the closet.  I hesitated for just a moment before turning the handle.  Mavis came bounding out from inside, immediately pressing herself up against my legs.

There was no way that she could have gotten inside the closet by herself, let alone closed the door behind her.  Someone or something had shoved her in there, and it had taken place in the very short amount of time between when she had run upstairs and I had followed.  That had been, what, ten, maybe fifteen seconds?  That seemed impossibly fast.  I also should have heard the closet close.

A loud click echoed through the hallway, and the door to the bedroom I shared with Ellen opened slightly.

I didn’t want to leave Ian alone, but I had to check on Ellen and taking him into a potentially dangerous situation was unacceptable.  I set him down on the carpet and told him to stay with Mavis.  I knew that the dog would protect him with her life, and her growls and barks would warn me if something threatened them.

Reassuring Ian that I would be right back, I gripped the wrench tightly and went into the bedroom.  The lights were all off, and I couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in front of me.  I fumbled along the wall with my hand until I was able to locate the lightswitch and flipped it up.

As I did so, the bedroom door slammed shut behind me.  I barely noticed.  My eyes were transfixed on what was happening on the bed.

Ellen was lying face down in a pool of her own blood.  Looming over her was an extremely heavy man dressed in a red shirt and red pants.  His body flab stuck out from under the shirt, and the skin dripped with sweat.  His entire body was covered in barbed wire that had been wrapped with Christmas lights, the red, green, and white bulbs blinking on and off in a timed pattern.

The man’s eyes and nose were stitched shut with the same barbed wire and lighting.  His mouth was open, however, and his thick tongue sloshed around inside of it as if tasting the air.  He continuously brought one thick wrapped arm down on Ellen’s back, and each time he did so the barbs cut deep into her skin before being pulled free.

Without thinking, I ran forward and swung the wrench as hard as I could at the enormous man.  The metal connected hard with the side of his head, and I was satisfied to hear the crunch of breaking bone.  He barely flinched, however, and with surprising speed he lifted me off of my feet and tossed me away.  I hit the dresser hard and slumped to the floor.  I blinked a few times before trying to shake off the sudden dizziness.

I heard Ellen moan, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.  She was still alive.  With the amount of blood on the bed I had thought the worst.  Forcing myself back to my feet, I stumbled forward.  The wrench was no longer in my hand.  I didn’t remember dropping it, but the impact with the dresser must have sent it flying.  Wherever it ended up, I didn’t see it.

Before I could reach the bed, the door flew back open and Mavis came into the room.  She looked back and forth between me and the grotesque man for a few moments before stepping towards me.  The look on her face was sad, almost sympathetic.

With the sound of flesh tearing, the top half of Mavis’ body split in half.  Instead of internal organs, however, the gaping wound revealed rows and rows of sharp pointed teeth.  Before I could process what I was seeing, the giant mouth wrapped itself around my leg and bit down, hundreds of points of pain flaring as I screamed.  I was pulled off my feet as the beast dragged me out into the hallway.  I tried to fight it off, but it ignored my struggles.  Just before I passed through the doorway, I saw the fat man begin to slam his wire-wrapped arms down on Ellen’s back once again.

The beast got the entirety of my body out into the hallway and continued towards the stairs.  Ian was sitting on the floor near his bedroom door.  The glowing spirit that had taken the face of Violet was once again talking to him, her voice too quiet for me to hear.  He was weeping openly, and he didn’t seem to notice when the spirit slowly wrapped its fingers around his neck.

I fought harder against the beast that was pulling me away from him.  I dug my fingers into the floor so hard that I felt my nails pry away from the skin.  Crying out his name over and over in a desperate attempt to get his attention, I tried to kick the creature off of me so that I could go to him, but the beast was too strong and too relentless.  As my body was dragged over the edge of the stairs, I screamed his name one final time before he disappeared from sight.  I closed my eyes in despair.

—-

I open my eyes, and I’m kneeling in the middle of the dark living room.

It’s cold.  The heater isn’t on, and the winter storm has caused the windows to frost over.  I can see my breath in the air as I pant heavily.  The steam becomes less and less pronounced as I readjust to where and when I am.

For a moment the false memories remain mixed with the real ones.  A part of me clings to the manufactured ones, grasping at them like a child trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.  No matter how hard I try to capture them, however, it isn’t long before they’re gone and all I have left is the harsh reality of truth.

I want to cry.  I’m too tired for that, though.  I’m exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally.  There’s nothing left of me to give.

No.  That’s not entirely true.  I can feel the sadness and pain and fear rise up in me as the real memories return.  The feelings aren’t as pronounced as they were when all of this began, but they’re still there.

My eyes move to the picture frame sitting on the mantle above the fireplace.  There are two images inside of the frame.  The first is of Ellen, smiling at the camera on a warm summer day while seated on a bench in the park.  The second, a smaller one in the bottom right corner, is of a sonogram.

It had seemed right to put them together in the picture frame, just as it had seemed right to bury them together after the tragic childbirth that had taken them both from me.  Sometimes they still feel very close, just a drive of less than a mile to the small hill they rest in.  Sometimes, in moments such as this one, they feel farther away from me than ever.

There’s movement behind me, and the cold air stirs.  I continue to stare at the two pictures on the mantle.  There are only two ways out of this.  The first is to let both Ellen and Ian go, to give up my pain and grief and begin to heal.  I love them too much to do that.  Love is the endless chain around my neck that the monster uses to keep me prisoner.

The second way is to end this completely, to follow Ellen and Ian into whatever’s waiting.  I’m too much of a coward to do that.

There’s a sharp pain as one of the creature’s claws digs into my left temple.  It won’t be long before there’s new memories of a new horrible event.  I’ll be convinced that I can save my family once again, only for that hope to be pulled away from me in a never-ending cycle.  The monster leans in so close that I can feel its hot rotting breath on my neck.

“Nighty night,” it says.

I’m not surprised that you’re asking for clarification on my job duties.  I usually have to do some explaining when I tell someone that my full official title is Head of On-Site Security.

Most people assume that the title means that I’m in charge of all aspects of security at the amusement park I’m employed at.  That isn’t actually the case.  The security department is divided into two divisions.  The division that I’m in charge of, On-Site Security, is the one that goes out into the park itself and handles issues that come up.  The majority of the time that means dealing with park guests.  We take care of things like personal belongings being stolen, breaking up arguments and fights, and removing drunk people from the park.  Those sorts of things.

The other division, Operations Security, handles more of the backend issues, the ones that are more business-related.  Verification of park passes, loss prevention in the stores and restaurants, monitoring employee activities, and so on.  You’d be surprised at how little overlap there is between the two sides of the Security department.

The big exception to this is during the annual Halloween events that are held in the park, specifically those that take place after sundown.  This is by far the most difficult time of the year for my department.  It requires both divisions to be temporarily combined into one to make sure that there’s enough coverage and manpower for the issues that always seem to crop up.  There’s a tricky balance that has to be maintained between allowing guests to have a good time during the more adult-oriented event and making sure that both they and the park are safe while they do so.

Before I go any further, I should probably mention that I’m bound by a large number of non-disclosure agreements.  Breaking those would inevitably lead to a number of lawsuits and probably some kind of criminal prosecution.  I’m giving this interview because what I have to say needs to be heard, but I also have a family that I need to think about.  Because of this, I can’t give the name of the amusement park that I work for or use any real names.

With that said, there should be enough here to connect the dots.  I can’t be held responsible if you figure things out on your own, right?

What I can say is that, while it’s a smaller park than, say, the various Disney and Universal parks, it’s large enough that it attracts a high number of visitors every year.  It’s very much a seasonal park, though, which means that the number of guests goes down sharply once school starts in the fall.  Due to this decline the park shifts to only being open Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays until it eventually shuts down completely the first week of November.

Starting in September, the park is given a Halloween-themed makeover.  That makeover is kept family-friendly during the daylight operating hours.  The mascot characters that wander the park wear costumes and decorations cover pretty much everything.  Tents are set up that children can trick-or-treat at.  By this point the water rides are closed for the season, but the water inside of them is dyed orange and green to fit with the theme.  There’s even a big maze made of hay bales set up near the front entrance.  The kids love it, and the parents are happy to have somewhere to take them that fits with their age group.

Just before sundown, the park is closed for an hour.  Crews use this time to remove or modify many of the decorations to make the park look and feel a lot more sinister.  A small army of actors arrive dressed in some pretty macabre costumes.  New haunted house attractions are prepped for visitors, and menus at the various restaurants and food stops are changed to include less food and more alcohol.

This is the park’s annual Nights of Fear promotion.  A number of different places use that name, so I’m hoping that I’m still on the right side of my NDAs.  It’s open to anyone eighteen and older, and it’s a huge moneymaker.  It’s also a huge pain in the ass for security, but that part comes later.

The atmosphere is designed to be creepy as well as very adult-oriented.  The actors that are brought in for the season roam the park in designated areas called scare zones, where they jump out at unsuspecting guests and try to look threatening.  Other works inside of attractions that are basically flashier versions of those haunted houses or haunted walks that pop up all over the place around Halloween.

Here’s how this all breaks down to what’s going on in the park now.  You have a security team that has been greatly reduced in size because the park is only open three days a week, not to mention one that isn’t used to working together as it’s been cobbled together from two different divisions.  The event takes place at night, which is far more difficult to monitor than the activities that take place during the day.  There’s an influx of temporary employees in the form of the scare actors.  The park itself has been decorated, often with large and complex displays that block cameras and create blind spots.

Finally, there’s the alcohol.  Lots and lots of alcohol.

It’s a difficult situation for everyone behind the scenes.  The security staff is stretched thin.  Too thin.  There’s not nearly enough people to handle all the incidents that occur every single night.  Half the time we don’t find out that something happened until the next day.  Saying it’s an all-hands-on-deck situation is putting it mildly.

What I’m saying is that it’s rough even under normal conditions.  What’s going on there now…  Well, it’s very much not normal.

As far as I can tell, it started nine days ago.  We had just passed the eleven o’clock mark.  Normally I patrol the park with the majority of the other security guards during event nights.  There’s a lot of ground to cover and not many people to do it with.  With regards to my position, that means coordinating security while also being a body out in the field.  You know, it’s strange, but that’s one of the few things that I enjoy about Nights of Fear.  I get to be outside in the fresh air instead of stuck behind my desk.

I had just returned to the security office to swap out a dead walkie-talkie.  We typically use cellphones to communicate, but some of the haunted house attractions don’t play well with digital signals so we carry the walkies as well.  I belted on the new unit and turned to go back out the door, but before I could do so one of the two guards watching the security camera feeds called me over.

He quickly rewound a clip and played it back for me.  It was in black and white, which was typical when the cameras were switched over to night vision mode.  A small group of people walked by a store that I recognized as one of the gift shops in the back half of the park.  There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, and I opened my mouth to say so.  I closed it again and frowned as a figure walked into view.

It was a person dressed in a costume.  It was hard to tell from the position of the camera, but he seemed to be wearing a pumpkin-like mask and was dressed in a formal suit and tie.  Again, it was difficult to know for sure, but he looked fairly short.

I picked up a clipboard that was hanging from a nearby hook and quickly scanned through the contents.  On the paper was a complete listing of all the actors in the park and the costumes they had been assigned.  Every costume was themed to the particular area of the park the actor would be in.  Zombie costumes outside of the Rave from the Grave haunted house, werewolf costumes for the Pack Hunt scare zone.  You get what I’m saying.  There was nothing on the list that fit the description of the person I was seeing on the video.

With an annoyed sigh I went back out into the park.  If it wasn’t one of the actors, it was a guest wearing a costume.  There were strict rules against that to make sure that everyone knew who was part of the event and who wasn’t.  During the day hours the children were allowed to dress up, but no adults were permitted to wear costumes at any time.

Most of the other guards in the park were busy, and the office wasn’t far from the place where the camera was located.  I decided that I’d take care of it myself.  It likely wouldn’t take long, and from that general area of the park I could easily make my way over to the heavier traffic areas when I was finished.

I radioed for the control room to send a copy of the video over to my phone.  If the guest was no longer wearing the mask, I might still be able to track him down based on the suit he was wearing.

As I walked past the entrance to one of the roller coasters, an actor dressed as a deranged clown stepped out of the shrubs.  I nodded at him and pointed at the green glow-in-the-dark lanyard around my neck.  He returned the nod and went back into the bushes.

All of the park staff wear the same lanyard during Nights of Fear.  They’re a variation on the lanyards that guests can purchase if they don’t want to be jump scared in the various scare zones throughout the park.  Those guests are issued orange ones, however, while staff wear green.

I followed the path as it warped around the roller coaster, passing by groups of guests as I went.  I looked closely at each person as they drew closer, but I didn’t see anyone that matched what I had seen on the camera feed.

Roughly ten minutes after leaving the office, I arrived at my destination.  The store wasn’t one of the ones open for the event.  The windows were dark, and a large ‘Closed’ sign hung on the door.

I hadn’t really expected the costumed guest to still be there, so I wasn’t surprised when he wasn’t.  Still, it was the best place to start.

My cellphone vibrated as it received the camera feed video.  I stepped off the path and into the store doorway so that I was out of the way of the crowd.  Digging my phone out of my pocked, I watched the video again.

I noticed something that I hadn’t the first time.  Right before the figure walked out of the frame, he turned slightly and headed off at an angle that would take him away from the main path.  I looked in the direction he had gone in.  There was a gate in the fence that separated the public from a maintenance area.  The gate was closed, but the padlock was lying on the concrete in front of it.

I retrieved the lock and examined it closely.  It hadn’t been unlocked.  It had been broken.

This was no longer a simple matter of a guest wearing a costume.  I pulled the walkie-talkie off my belt and radioed the control room to request backup.  One of the most important rules of Nights of Fear security was to never go into a potentially dangerous situation alone.

It took a while for anyone to answer, much longer than it should have.  When someone finally got back to me, I was informed that a brawl had broken out between two groups of college-age kids at the other side of the park.  Everyone was either committed to breaking that up or was dealing with one of a number of other smaller issues that had sprung up.

That meant that I had a choice to make.  Either I continued my search alone, going against both my own policy and common sense, or I gave up on pursuing the trespasser for the moment and risked losing him completely.  Under normal circumstances I would have gladly opted for the latter instead of the former.

The issue was that this wasn’t normal circumstances.  The maintenance area that had been broken into went directly under the largest roller coaster in the park.  If you’re familiar with it, that area is safe enough.  If you’re not, though, there are multiple places where the coaster track comes down to ground level at the bottom of hills.  At the speed they travel at, the cars can easily injure or kill a person in their path.  There’s a very good reason why even the staff only uses those maintenance areas when the ride is shut down.

Even if the trespasser was able to avoid being struck by the ride, what if he damaged the ride or obstructed the track?  He could be putting riders in danger.

I considered things for a moment before swearing in frustration and radioing the office to have the roller coast temporarily stopped.  I needed to go in, sweep the area to make sure that no one was still there, and lock it back down.  There was a time limit as well.  A lot of inebriated people would be waiting in line for the ride, and for the sake of the park employees operating it, it was best to make sure those people weren’t waiting too long.

After a few minutes I received confirmation from the office that the ride was stopped and that all the cars were off the track.  At the same time, I watched as the green lights above the roller coaster’s station turned red.  Nodding to myself, I took out my flashlight and proceeded into the maintenance area.

It was oddly quiet.  Out in the main areas of the park, the guests and rides kept up a constant high level of noise.  Even when you got used to it, it was like a constant buzz that you were still vaguely aware of.  The maintenance area was fenced off, and it muted much of the cacophony of sound.  It was almost a shock when I realized that I could hear my own footsteps.

I had only been looking around for a minute or two when I noticed another noise.  It was the sound of metal scraping on concrete.  Because of the way it echoed, it was difficult to pin down the direction it was coming from.  I stopped and listened while I got my bearings.  Most of the area under the roller coaster was hard compacted dirt rather than concrete.  The only places where the sound could possibly be coming from were around the ride support struts, which didn’t seem likely, or the large poured pad that the maintenance sheds were secured to.

There weren’t a lot of lights, and the ones that were spaced through the maintenance area didn’t do much.  I’m used to walking through the park at night long after the last guest has departed.  A lot of park employees find that unnerving or, I don’t know, creepy, I guess, but I’ve always found it to be relaxing.

This was different.  I grew more and more nervous with each step, and I started to get jumpy around every shadow.  I stopped walking and mentally scolded myself for acting like a child before continuing on.

The noise stopped as I came to the sheds.  It was replaced by a new sound, a low and almost inaudible whimpering.  I hurried forward.  Someone was clearly hurt.

I came to a six-foot wide gap between two of the sheds and abruptly halted.  I couldn’t tell what I was looking at.  The space was dark, but I could just make out a short figure, maybe five feet tall at the absolute tallest, standing at the far end with his back turned towards me.  Remembering the flashlight that I was holding, I shined the beam forward just in time to see the person raise his arm up over his head.

The light reflected off something metal in the person’s hand as the arm swung downward.  It was a thick piece of rebar.  The pole struck something on the ground with a wet thunk.  The whimpering I had been hearing abruptly ceased.

I pulled my taser free from its holster.  While security at the park doesn’t typically carry weapons of any kind, an exception is made during the Nights of Fear event.  This is because the crimes that happen during these events are often more violent and are sometimes threatening to the security guards themselves.

I verbally identified myself and ordered the figure to turn around and face me.  There was a long pause where nothing happened.  I was just about to give the order again when the man slowly looked over his shoulder towards me.

He was wearing a large mask.  At least I think it was a mask.  Whatever it was, it was shaped like a large rotting pumpkin.  There were flecks of light orange in some places, but the majority of it was a sickly gray color.  The front was carved to show a hideous jagged grin and two misshapen eye holes.

Beyond those holes…  Jesus, I’ve never seen eyes like that.  They were open so wide that I thought they might pop out of the sockets.  Veins stretched out across the white areas, and the pupil was completely black.  They stared at me so intensely that they seemed to vibrate in their sockets.

He turned all the way around.  He was wearing a black suit with an orange tie, and it was covered in blood splatter.  My eyes moved down to the piece of rebar he was holding, and more of the ichor was dripping from it.  There were also bits of hair and flesh stuck to the metal.

Just beyond him, lying in a heap on the ground, was something that was once human.  Now it was just a ruined pile of remains, twisted and contorted in ways that I never would have thought possible.  To my amazement it stirred every so slightly.  The man standing over it quickly turned back towards it and brought the rebar down hard to silence it before returning his attention to me.

We both stood there staring at each other for a long moment before the short man started towards me, his carved pumpkin head tilted slightly to one side.  With every step he took forward, I took two back.  I still had the taser pointed at him, but there was this nagging voice in the back of my head telling me it wouldn’t do any good.  I didn’t have any logical reason for thinking this.  He was quite a bit smaller than me, and I doubted that his clothing would offer much protection.  Still, I just had this feeling, you know?

I had to try, though, and it needed to be before he got too close.  I pointed the taser at his center of mass and fired.  The probes sank deep into his bloodstained shirt next to his tie, and the electricity began to flow.  The man stopped moving and looked down at the wires.  He brushed at them with his hand like they were flies, and they easily popped out of him before clattering to the ground.  With that done, he started to come towards me once again, the rebar still clutched in his hand.

I hurriedly backed out of the way as he approached, ready to run at any moment.  My foot caught on the edge of the concrete pad, and I fell hard onto the dirt ground beyond it.  I started to try to scramble back to my feet, but the pumpkinheaded man was suddenly looming over me.

I thought that I was dead.  I knew with absolute certainty that he was going to cave my skull in with the piece of rebar, probably after he had his fun destroying my body piece by piece like the lump of flesh behind him.

Instead, though, he simply reached into his suit coat pocket and produced a small candy bar.  He handed it down to me, and I took it from him in complete confusion.  Before I could even begin to process what had just happened, he continued on his way and disappeared around the side of the sheds.

I’m not sure how long I stared after him.  It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours.  Whatever the case, I eventually snapped out of my stupor and got back up before hurrying over to the body on the ground.  I almost couldn’t stand to look at it.  The bludgeoning had been so thorough that it wasn’t even possible to determine things such as gender and age.  There was barely anything left to identify it as having once been human.

I reached for my radio, but I found that I had broken it when I had fallen over.  I placed it back on my belt and stared at the small piece of candy that the pumpkinheaded man had given me.

I thought back to his eyes, those wild intense eyes, and I shuddered.

The remains of the person died a few minutes later.  There wasn’t anything that I could do for them except to make sure that they didn’t die alone.

Once they were gone, I left the space between the sheds to try to find any indication of where the killer might have gone.  I didn’t find anything, not even a footprint.  With my radio broken and cell phone reception spotty I didn’t have much of a choice about how to proceed.  I half-walked, half-ran back to the security office and called the local police.

Over the next few hours, my staff and I looked through the security camera footage as closely as possible.  There was no sign of the man, and we couldn’t find any video of him leaving the maintenance area.  The police eventually arrived and searched that section of the park for the rest of the night and into the morning.  They came up empty-handed as well.  Everyone was at a loss as to how he had disappeared.

Because of what had happened, the local police began to patrol with the security staff every night the park was open.  Like I said way back in the beginning, that was nine days ago.

A week after the first killing, we caught sight of the man, still adorned with the rotting pumpkin, on the security cameras again.  It was in a different part of the park, this time just outside one of the haunted house attractions.  I rushed over to the attraction, two of my men and one of the police officers with me, but he was gone again by the time we got there.  Behind the house, pushed up against a dumpster and hidden from view of the guests, was another dead body.

The next day there was a meeting held at the park’s main office.  It was just myself, the chairman of the board that owns the park, the city’s chief of police, and the mayor.  Despite my best efforts and strong objections, the other people present voted to keep the park open.  I found out later that same day that I would no longer be attending any further meetings about the matter.

Two nights ago was the third killing.  The staff watching the cameras didn’t seen the man initially, but a mutilated corpse was found at the top of a waterfall in one of the water attractions  We reviewed the tapes, and we discovered a clip of less than a second where you could see the pumpkinheaded man walk behind one of the fake rocks built into the attraction.

Last night, a member of my staff and one of the police officers managed to catch the man in the act.  He had dragged a woman in her early twenties behind a carousel by her hair.  They got there just as he was about to stab her with a broken bottle.

The officer immediately opened fire with his sidearm.  Two of the shots connected, and the man staggered before falling to one knee.  The officer put his empty gun back into its holster and took out a pair of handcuffs to proceed with the arrest.  The security guard radioed into the office for backup and to have the ride stopped.

The man suddenly hopped up to his feet and grabbed the approaching officer by the jacket.  Before anyone could react, he gave the officer a hard shove towards the still-spinning carousel and released his grip on the jacket.  One of the horses came racing by as the officer’s head went over the edge of the ride.  It slammed into the side of his head and crushed it inward as the impact lifted the body off the ground and flung it off to one side.

I could hear the riders screaming all the way from the park entrance.

None of this was caught by the cameras.  The story was relayed to me by the security guard that witnessed the whole thing.  That psychotic little man left him alive for reasons that I simply don’t understand.  He did, however, pause long enough to jam the remains of the broken bottle into the woman’s chest before tossing a lollipop at the guard’s feet and once again disappearing into the night.

Today is Sunday.  The park will be closed for the next four days.  When Friday comes around again, though, I’m sure that there will be more killings.  I’m sure of it.

Before I came to you to tell you my story, I put in a call to my immediate supervisor, the Head of Operations for both the park and its parent company.  He was the only person at that point that I hadn’t practically begged to shut down the park.  I was hoping that he of all people could be persuaded to see reason.

I was told in no uncertain terms that, despite five people being murdered, the park won’t be canceling the remainder of the Nights of Fear event.  He talked about not wanting to disappoint both the attending guests as well as the local community, and there was a mention of additional security being added.  Truth be told, I stopped listening about halfway through.  I’m not an idiot.  I know why the park isn’t closing.

It all comes down to dollars and cents, you see.  This is one of the most profitable times of the year not just for the park, but also for the surrounding town.  More tourism means more money, and we’re not talking about a small amount here.  We’re talking about millions.  Both the park higher-ups and the local government don’t want to lose the cash cow.

In fact, park attendance has gone up since the killings began.  I don’t know if people think that it’s just some sort of sick publicity stunt, or if it somehow makes it more exciting for them to think that they’re in the presence of a real serial killer.  I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t understand that, and that I think it’s more than a little disgusting.

I’m going to be ordering my staff not to engage with the short man wearing the carved pumpkin head.  So far he hasn’t attacked any of us.  I’m still trying to figure out why he didn’t kill me when I used my taser on him, but whatever the case, he hasn’t come after any of us park employees.  I’m looking to keep it that way.  We’re going to stay back and hope that the police presence will be enough to stop him.  I’m not willing to needlessly throw away the lives of my people.

Obviously I’m not enough to convince the people in power that everything needs to be shut down for the safety of everyone involved.  I’ve tried and tried and tried, and I’ve gotten nowhere.  That’s why I agreed to this interview.  I need you to find some way, any way, to make them close those gates.  It’s the only way to protect people.

Look, the bottom line is this: it has to be you, because someone, or something, is stalking the Nights of Fear, and there’s not a damn thing any of us there can do about it.

He came in the night, that bitter Christmas Eve.  I suppose ‘it’ came in the night would be more fitting, but I haven’t ruled out the possibility of it being a man; not yet anyway.  Yes, there was nothing human about him, but if I allow those thoughts to linger, I’ll never get out of this institution.  

Yes, it was a man who killed them; it had to be.  There’s no such thing as paranormal or supernatural creatures.  At the time, sure, I was convinced he was an it, or something that couldn’t be rationally explained away, but I cannot allow those thoughts to take root again.  It was only my youthful imagination that made him seem so beastly.  That’s what Doctor Ross told me.  

This year marks the tenth anniversary.  A whole decade has almost gone by since my family was slaughtered in my childhood home.  If nothing else, I wasn’t held responsible for the crime, even if I was the last man standing, so to speak.  Even with that being the case, there was no way that a small-framed, skinny eight-year-old kid could have done those things; they couldn’t deny that.  

My recollection of what I witnessed that brutal night didn’t help, mind you.  It did; however, land me in this god-forsaken facility for the remainder of my formative years.  At the time; after it happened anyway, I was hysterical.  A state that was only intensified by their disbelief in what I told them.  

I just couldn’t understand it, you know? Why wouldn’t they listen? I knew what I saw; what I felt! I did not doubt that creature took away everyone I loved…I thought that was the case anyway.  Of course, I’m fully aware that these images that still cut into the back of my eyelids were nothing more than the trauma of seeing such a thing, especially at such a young age.  

I know it didn’t happen how I remember it.  That’s what I’m supposed to believe.  

I know, these ramblings probably make it sound like I’m exactly where I belong; where I must remain until I truly understand what’s real and what isn’t.  Ross told me to write it all down, so I could see with my own eyes how preposterous it sounds.  Perhaps that will allow me to move on; deal with my loss and rejoin the world once more.  

Maybe then, I can get past this and learn to push away the scars etched upon my subconscious; to see for myself what is and what isn’t.  

Maybe then, I can see the truth of things.

Maybe then…I can go home.

Late December 2012.  That’s when it happened.  My parents weren’t exactly well off.  They would still scrimp and save every penny they could to ensure my sister and I had at least something under the tree, but that wasn’t a big deal to us.  Katie was twice my age, but she would still get excited around the holidays, even being a cynical and sarcastic teenager.  

My folks both worked pretty grueling schedules, so I was left in my sister’s care most days.  Sure, we’d bicker sometimes, as siblings often do, but I looked up to her and I loved her.  That’s how it was, right? Yes, I loved her and my parents.  They were everything to me.  

My mom worked mornings at a local diner, while my dad had a second-shift job at a nearby factory.  There were days I would only see one or the other, depending on overtime and such, but they were always attentive when they were home.  Well, that’s what parents do, isn’t it; take care of their children? 

Though we didn’t have any illusions about who set the presents under the tree, as our parents never pushed the seasonal mythology on us, we were always grateful for what they bought us.  It was more the time together I cherished; far more so than whatever I would unwrap Christmas morning.  It was the only day of the year both of my folks would outright refuse to work, even if bills were piling up.  

I remember feeling so warm when I laid down to rest that night before the big day, just knowing they would be there when I awoke.  I think…no…no, that’s not right.  My father was upset about something that night.  Yes, I struggled to sleep; tossed and turned until I finally passed out.  I was crying about something.  Is that right? What was it that had me so worked up?

No, none of that matters.  This is about the stranger who came calling.  Sure, my memories may be a bit shuffled around, given what happened, but we were a loving family; always were.  Whatever happened before that night doesn’t matter.  I was asleep when he arrived if that’s the proper word for it.  It was more like he crash-landed in our home.  

I don’t know what time it was, but it sounded like the ceiling was caving down around me.  It jarred me awake; left my mind reeling from the shock of it.  I was scared to leave my bedroom.  I just sat upright with the blanket pulled up to my chin, shivering as though the temperature in the room had plummeted.  Of course, it had done that very thing; I could see my foggy breath pushing around the fabric as I huddled for warmth.  

It was Katie’s screaming that convinced me to crawl under my bed.  I’d heard her yell over the years; shouting in anger or frustration, but nothing like this.  My bladder almost gave out, just from the sheer magnitude of it.  It was like she was trying to add words to her wailing fit, but only gargles and howls made it through.  

I heard my parents’ bedroom door open…no…no, it wasn’t my parents’ door, it was my father’s.  He and my mother had separate rooms; they hadn’t shared a bed in years.  I can’t remember why.  It was likely just the different shifts they worked.  Yes, that was probably it.  They didn’t want to disturb one another; that makes sense.  

When his door opened, he yelled out, spilling curses and cocking his shotgun.  Katie was still whimpering, but it was weaker, like she was tiring out or something.  The intruder laughed when my dad threatened him; told him he’d fill his guts full of lead if he didn’t let her go.  Something hard hit the wall, tumbling to the floor after.  

The shotgun discharged…I heard the shell fragmenting as though it hit a steel door, while the stranger let out another laugh that was so shrill; so heartless, and free of actual levity, that I pushed my hands to my ears, so hard I thought I may just squash them both.  

Over and over again, the gun went off, but the invader still just cackled like a madman.  I could hear the heavy footsteps across the floor, ending right outside my door.  My father shouted again, but it didn’t stop the man from pushing through my door, splitting and shattering the wood.

It opened out; I remember that much.  He could have easily pulled it open; it was never locked…wait.  It was locked many nights, but not this one.  He slammed against it, raining splinters across the bed I hid beneath.  

I was crying; wailing out as my sister had.  I could see everything now; everything that happened next.  While I still cowered beneath the box spring, I couldn’t not stare through the open entryway, though I begged my eyes to turn away.  They ignored my mental pleas, remaining peeled open to gaze at the gruesome sight beyond the threshold of my room.  

My dad charged at the man…no, it wasn’t a man.  Yes, it was; of course, it was.  He was wearing a costume or something.  That’s what deflected the shotgun shells.  That makes sense.  Though I could only see his legs at first; those worn leather, buckled boots, with matted white and mud-speckled fur lining at the top, my curiosity overruled my senses.  

No, they weren’t boots…they were hooves; wide, chipped, and jagged hooves.  That can’t be right.  Yes, they were boots; boots shaped like hooves at the bottom.  They were just part of the costume.  Part of the facade.  

Before I realized it, I was pulling myself forward, closer to the end of the bed, to get a better view of what was going on.  He was taller than my door frame.  I could only see up to his shoulders through the opening.

He was wearing a Santa Claus outfit; a filthy, torn, and stained one.  The sleeves were twice as long as all of the images I had seen of old St.  Nick, with thin, boney fingers hanging almost a foot past the ragged cuffs.  It had to be some sort of costume, but I could swear the fingers moved as if they were real, though I knew that was impossible.  

It had to be some sort of prosthetic or extravagant mechanical prop that made his arms double the length of any I had ever seen, but when one of them raised past the view of what I could see beyond the door, I could hear those elongated fingers crunch into something.  My father’s agonized shriek coincided with that horrendous sound before he was pulled back towards the stranger in the red and white suit.  

When my dad came into view, just beyond where my door used to be, I slapped my hand to my mouth to muffle the scream I couldn’t even hope to hold back.  Christ…the entire slender hand of the stranger was impaled through the side of my father’s chest.  He wheezed and coughed, likely from his lungs filling with the same blood that gushed from his trembling mouth.  My god, I can see it so clearly!

He was attempting to swat at the stranger; swinging the shotgun he still held, but there was little force behind his strikes.  He…didn’t have any strength left.  When the intruder raised his other boney hand to my dad’s face, my old man let go of his weapon, attempting to pull away the jagged fingernails as they tore into his flesh, carving deep ditches into his cheeks, with strips of his flesh peeling away behind them.  

My father squealed from the shock and pain of his skin being shredded, but the fingers did not pull free until they reached his midsection.  I was gasping for breath, violently trembling at the sight of him dangling from the outstretched hand that was still pushed into his chest when I finally saw the face of the creature…the man in the costume, as it leaned in to look my dad in the eye; the one that had not been split in two, anyway.  

His face was thin, with sunken cheeks that were so shallow, I almost thought they were holes in his flesh at first.  The stringy beard that hung from his chin to his navel was smeared with just as much muck and gore as the rest of his suit, while the large, wide, and circular eyes seemed to flicker like headlights shining upon a cat in the darkness.  His brow protruded an inch or two from his head, with two uneven horns curling in opposing directions; the left one twice as long as the right.  

The image is as clear as day; as though I’m looking that monster in the eye right now…the man in the mask.  Jesus…it had to be a mask, right? 

When he turned to face me, I felt every drop of blood drain from my body as he winked and smiled; his dried, split, and chapped lips peeling away from the jagged and uneven teeth.  As he opened his mouth as though to laugh once more, his tongue sprang free like the tentacle of a Kraken being freed from its cavern, slapping against my father’s face.  

It wriggled into the hole he had torn into my old man’s cheek, pushing through the other side, before pulling back, splashing thick saliva and gore across the railing of the stairs.  He did not break the gaze of those haunting eyes from mine as he held up two of his long fingers as though he were making a peace sign.  

He allowed me to focus on them; the sickeningly yellow skin, wrinkled with boils and pockmarks, before he swiftly pierced them into my father’s eyes, bursting the one that had still been in one piece, before pushing through the back of his skull.  My bladder let loose, just like it feels like it wants to do right now.  I could barely fathom it…what I was watching.  

“Naughty, naughty,” he said in a disturbingly soft and almost pleasant voice as he dropped the corpse of my dad to the carpet.  

He glanced back at me before continuing his stroll down the hall, breaking through my mother’s door as he had mine.  I desperately wanted to pull myself free and run from my room, out into the street to scream out for help, but I was frozen! I couldn’t convince my body to move, I just lay there, cowering and crying, feeling hopeless; feeling useless.  

My mom’s shrieks were the most painful of all to hear.  That shrill and high-pitched sound still echoes against the inner walls of my subconscious to this day.  I could hear her battling against him in vain; her legs and arms pounding against the walls and floor as he dragged her from her bedroom.  

There was a snapping sound, followed by another squeal; something I assumed to be the first assault of the stranger; well, the first after pulling her from her bed anyway.  I would see, when he dragged her to my doorway, that the fingernails were peeled back on several of her fingers, where she had attempted to grab onto something as he pulled her from her haven.  

Once more, I would have to watch her suffer as her husband had, put on display for me, like some demented puppet show, with my doorway being the stage.  He did not cause her as much suffering as my father, but he did not show her any mercy either.  

As he held her outstretched before him, one hand gripping tightly onto her shoulder, the other dancing its fingers across her chest and stomach as though he was typing a long number into a payphone, each poke digging into her flesh, tearing away chunks of meat on their swift exits.  I tried again to shut my eyes and hide away from this awful sight, but I couldn’t! Dear God, I couldn’t even turn my head!

She howled louder with every pierce of her skin, retching across his arm in the process.  This did not break his focus, though he growled in a strange sort of rippling sound, as though he rapidly tapped his Adam’s apple while he moaned.  It was a sound that almost caused my gut to rebel as my bladder had.  

With blood now dripping to the floor, trickling from each of the numerous wounds he had jabbed into her, he just stared at her as she wept.  I could tell she was weakening as her husband had only moments before, with her arms hanging limp at her sides.  I could barely differentiate my sobs from hers as we both shed tears over this brutal invasion of our home.  

“STOP!” I yelled out, gasping for breath between my hopeless wails, finally convincing my body to do something I demanded.  

“NO MORE! LET HER GO! PLEASE!!” 

He did as I asked, dropping her to the floor at his feet.  He just stared back at me again, those unwavering and hauntingly bright eyes cutting through my own.  We shared that gaze for what felt like an eternity, and while I was certain my blood would be splashed across the walls any moment now, I would not look away; I couldn’t look away.  

“Naughty,” he said softly, as he raised his hoof…his boot, slamming it hard upon my mother’s head, crumpling it like a potato chip bag before my quivering eyes.  

I screamed.  I screamed louder and more frantically than I ever knew myself to be capable.  A primal rage unleashed within me, as I pushed myself forwards, breaking free of my loosely constructed, protective shell, charging towards the beast…the man who stood in my doorway.  I knew I couldn’t beat him.  I knew he would tear me to shreds for having the nerve to wage such a pitiful assault, but I didn’t care.  

I slammed my fists against him as soon as I was close enough, though my punches were about as effective as a soggy spitwad.  I just kept swinging and yelling, cursing and kicking until I simply did not have enough energy left to continue.  

He didn’t block my attacks, nor did he return any of his own; he just glared down at me, even after I fell to my knees, gasping for breath, my shirt soaked from the tears and my pants drenched from the fear that kept me confined for so long.  

“Nice,” he said, his lips widening into a disturbingly long smile that pushed his shallow cheeks into loose wrinkles at his ears.  

He lifted his hand, causing me to wince at the terror of my bloody end coming any second, but he just patted the top of my head.  Holding his elongated fingers across my scalp, he peeled open my shirt with his other forefinger, tearing through the fabric as though his fingernail had a razor blade tucked beneath.  When the claw dug into my chest, I knew this was it.  

I bit down, finally closing my eyes and fighting as hard as I could to resist releasing another shriek into the night as I felt my skin tearing, and my blood leaking down my stomach, but it was over before I even realized it.  I still kept my eyelids sealed as tightly as I could, readying myself for the following attack, but it never came.  

I hadn’t even realized the hand had released from my head, as I was so tensed up and shivering all over.  When I allowed my eyes to reopen, I saw no trace of the man who had invaded our home; only the bodies and trails of blood he had left behind.  

When the blue lights flickered from outside, splashing their strobing illumination across the house I still knelt frozen within, I finally caught sight of Katie’s broken body, folded backward in the center, laying next to the split drywall.  I was still mentally vacant while a blanket was draped over me, as a man lifted me from the floor, carrying me down the stairs and out of the blood-soaked house.  

It took some days for me to speak again; allowing me to tell them what I had witnessed that Christmas Eve, but they didn’t believe me; not about the creature anyway.  They told me that it was a man in a costume who had broken into our home, somehow splitting the chimney down the center as he forced his way in, but this was something I was not willing to hear at the time.  

From what I was told, I became frantic, lashing out and attempting to attack those who had only hoped to help me.  That, along with my disillusions about what I had seen that night, earned me a stay in this very facility, where I have been since the night my world was torn apart.  

We were a happy family.  My father loved me, as did…wait.  No, he didn’t, did he? He blamed me for his marriage falling apart.  So did she…all of them.  Katie yelled at me when my dad moved into the guest bedroom.  We had a guest bedroom…Wait, this isn’t right.  

No, it was his fault for mom leaving.  The guest room came later after she gave him a second chance.  Yes! He hit me.  He hit mom too.  Katie, though, no he would never hurt her.  She was his first; the only child he wanted.  Mom only wanted one too…I was some sort of fluke.  She had her tubes tied, I wasn’t supposed to happen; that’s what she told me.  

Oh God, she was the one who turned on me first; mom resented what I did to her happy home.  That’s right! I was just a kid! What the hell…how could I be responsible!? She yelled at me; said I was a curse on their happiness.  She always just stood by while he beat me, until one day, he was so drunk, he turned on her too! 

Katie and me; we were friends until she kicked him out.  She told me it was my fault; that I should’ve just taken my licks like a good boy.  I would stay in my room; just stay out of sight as much as I could, but they’d still yell at me through the door.  When dad came back, he wasted no time in reminding me how worthless I was.  

That Christmas Eve, I couldn’t take it anymore…I made a wish…I asked for this! I didn’t pray to God, or wish for Santa to make it stop hurting…I begged the other one to take them away.  It wasn’t a man.  No.  It was never a man.  

I was too small to fight back; too weak to stand up against them, so I turned to the only one I hoped could set things right.  I know what the K carved into my chest stands for now…the scar I will wear for the rest of my life as a reminder.  

I was the one who summoned Krampus to our home that Christmas ten years ago.  Oh, God.  It was me who killed my family, even if it wasn’t by my own hands.  

Is this a breakthrough, or just further proof that I’m crazy? No.  I’m never getting out of here; not with what I know now.  Even if I tell them everything, they’ll never believe me.  

I deserve this.  I wanted so much to go back home, but I didn’t understand…I am home…I am exactly where I belong after all.