One December Night
By: Nelson Vessey
Tags: Suspense, Fear, Christmas, Horror, Suicide

Photo by Matthias Kinsella on Unsplash

Johnny Goodman sat up in his bed and stared at the darkness seeping through the crack formed by his bedroom door and the frame casing. In its blackness, he imagined a murky abyss full of fearsome and deadly things. He had been pulled from his dream by an unusual sound, and he was struggling to remember it clearly. He could hear shuffling on the other side of his door, noises incongruent with those normally present at this hour of the morning. Without taking his eyes from the door, he reached for the pistol on the nightstand.

“Go away!”

A whispered voice slithered though the crack into his ears. “Johnnyeee… Let me in. You do not have to be afraid, there is no one out here but me. It’s Nanna Jean. I came over here to talk to your mother, and I thought maybe I would see if you were still awake. Can I come in?”

“How do I know you’re Nanna Jean?”

“My oh my, aren’t you being the careful little dickens! Let’s see, do you remember last year when we had so much fun?”

Johnny thought of the cold October night a year ago when he had first heard that voice. A year later, the memory still made him shiver, causing him to drop his Roy Rogers cap gun into the folds of his bedspread. He felt around for his little gun, grabbed it, and pulled the covers over his head.

“You’re not real. Not now, not then. Go away. You can’t come in.”

Johnny closed his eyes. He listened, afraid to breathe. He heard a faint sound, like something was rubbing against the walls as it proceeded down the hallway. Then, there was total silence. He listened for several moments, relaxed, and slowly poked his head above the covers. He got up and crept to the front of his bedroom, listened for a moment, opened the door, and looked down the hallway. Nothing was there. The only sound he could hear was the tick-tock of the Starburst wall clock his mother had found at Uptown Hardware, and insisted his father buy. He dragged his small study desk over and pushed it against the door. He tried to go back to sleep, but he kept thinking about what had happened last year, the night his mom attempted suicide.

It had been a cold night that December in 1955 when, after several days of autumnal temperatures, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. A sudden storm had covered the Goodman’s front lawn in a soft blanket of snow. As the snowy blanket was covering the neighborhood and instituting a curfew of silence, Johnny’s mother had locked herself in the bathroom. His father had come back into the house to beg his wife to forgive him. He had found Johnny standing at the bathroom door.

Johnny remembered how helpless he had felt because his mother would not answer his worried questions; and she continued her silence, oblivious to the world around her, only her soft and sorrowful cries seeping out from behind the bathroom door providing evidence of her struggle to die. He had pounded his small fists on the heavy wooden door until they became bloody. He could hear her crying, and then she stopped.

“Mom, please open the door. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Please,” Johnny begged.

His Dad’s big hand encircled Johnny’s arm, “Let me see, Johnny.” He jiggled the doorknob.

“Betty?”

Bernard banged on the door, but there was no response. “Honey, I’m sorry. Are you ok? Betty?”

The impact of Bernard’s repeated blows upon the bathroom door reverberated into the house, causing Johnny to stumbled back. He sidled up to the hallway wall furthest from the door and stood there, trembling. He had wet himself, and a small, warm puddle had formed at his feet.

Then, Bernard busted down the door and rushed into the bathroom. Johnny leaned forward and scooted sideways to see if his mom was ok. He could see glimpses of his mother’s legs and arms sticking out from behind his father’s broad back. His father was mumbling something.

Bernard covered her with a towel, scooped her up into his arms, and ran through the broken door. He stumbled and fell. “Oh God, Betty,” he cried. He rose to his feet, raced through the house and onto the front lawn where he fell again.

Johnny could hear him start the big Buick and back out of the driveway. He was still standing in the hallway with blood spots on his pajamas. The uneasy quiet that filled the house froze him in place. Johnny stared at the shattered door and the empty bloodstained tub in numbed horror. There were scarlet streaks on the tub enamel.

Johnny could hear his father gun the engine and race away to the hospital. He stood in the hall, alone, still shaken. He did not know what to do. He stood in the darkness, his little hands shaking, his fingers tapping on his legs.

He kept seeing his mom’s limp body in his father’s arms. Was mom alive? Was she dead? She looked so pale and lifeless. He looked at the blood on the tub and on the floor. He could see the trail of dripping blood that flowed from his mother’s wrists when his dad carried her out of the house. He could still smell it. It was a mean smell, something metallic, an unpleasant order like that of dirty wet pennies. He gagged and threw up.

After he recovered, he scooted back against the wall. He brought his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs. He was afraid, and he had no idea when his father would return. He heard a soft zipping noise by the bathroom and turned. Nothing. He could hear the faucet dripping in the bathroom. He shivered and felt a cold wave run down his back.

“Hey, Johnny Boy.”

Johnny jumped at the sound of the whispered voice.

“Kind of sad, huh? Your mom didn’t look so good.”

“Shut up,” said Johnny, his voice a whisper,

“She is dying.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Are you going to miss her?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“What?”

“Who I am.”

“No.”

“Come on, Johnny. You’re hurting my feelings.”

“Go away.”

“Why are you not afraid, little boy?”

“You’re not real.”

“Reeeaally?”

Johnny put his head on his knees and started crying.

“Oh, c’mon now, it’s not as bad as all that.”

Johnny sobbed even more.

“What if I told you I could make her recover?”

Johnny stopped crying and looked up. “What?”

“I could save her.”

“You’re not real.”

“Real as rain, buddy.”

“Go away!”

“If I could save her, would you want me to?”

“I guess.”

“You have to do better than that Johnny boy.”

“If I save her will you do something for me?”

“No. I dunno. You’re not real.”

Johnny waited for a response but there was nothing. He knew he was imagining the voice. He was glad it was gone. He closed his eyes and cried.

What if dad doesn’t come back? He wouldn’t do that! What if mom dies? Oh, God. I am so scared. Please God; I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be alone. Not now.

Johnny heard a low, soft hum and raised his head. He thought he heard someone close the front door.

“Dad?”

“Johnny, honey. My sweet little boy. Can you hear me baby?”

Johnny could hear the soft southern drawl in his grandma’s voice. Big Nanna Jean was always his favorite. He looked up and could see a large dark form in the hallway.

“Nanna Jean?”

“It’s me, honey. I want you to know that everything is going to be alright.”

“I’m scared. Someone else was here.”

“Now, don’t you worry about that, none. Nanna Jean is going to stay right here with you until your daddy gets back.”

“He took my mother to the hospital. He left me here alone, I’m afraid, and I don’t feel well.”

“It’s ok, honey. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The dark form in the hallway moved closer, but Johnny still could not make out its features.

“What about my mother? Do you think she will be ok? I saw some blood.”

“That’s alright, honey. I can fix her. I can make her better if you help me.”

“Help you?”

“I need to be sure you are serious. I will need your help and prayers to help her.”

“Ok.”

“I need your support, to make me strong. All you have to do is give me permission to use your life force or psyche.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh, dear boy. Let me see. All you have to do is to let me inside. So, I can go save your Momma with some real-live gramma magic! One little piece of your tiny soul to help ol’ Nanna Jean is all I need. Then, I can become Big Nanna Jean the super hero and go save Betty. I mean your mom.”

“Can’t you take what you need and go? Maybe even take me with you?

“Well, sure. We will go in there together, you and me. Alright, Johnny? Can you say, ‘I give you my soul to keep’. You know like in the prayer. Come on, now, be a good boy.”

Johnny thought of his mom. He was afraid she was dying. He thought of all that blood in the bathroom.

“Ok. Can we leave?”

“Certainly. Say that thing I told you and we can go.”

“Why?”

“To make me strong, honey. Strong enough to save your mother.”

“How would that make you stronger?”

“It’s like magic, baby. You know all that spirit magic stuff. It’s just a little over your head, hon.”

Johnny thought for a moment and shrugged. “No! Only God gets my soul. Mom told me. You go away! You’re scaring me.”

A high-pitched, short, buzzing sound filtered in from the hallway.

“Nanna Jean?”

Johnny scooted up the wall and stood up. He looked down the hall, but no one was there. No one at all. He could smell something foul, an odor hovering in the air. It made him think of the dead fish that had washed up the beach when he and his dad had gone razor clam digging on Kalaloch Beach. Johnny curled into a ball of wrinkled night clothes and tousled hair. He began to hum he had heard on , hoping that somehow, he could be brave like Davy. He was humming this jaunty melody as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

Nanna Jean sat motionless in her favorite chair watching the television. The harsh light shining into the dark room was accentuating the cracks and furrows in her face, making her look much older. She wore a sad-clown face, and was sitting perfectly still. Her fat cat stood up, stared for a moment, sniffed the air, then turned and walked out through the pet door. Chester the cat would never come back.

His father was gone for a very long time; and, the truth is, he never came back home. What returned that night was not the Bernard Goodman that was once his father. He returned much later that evening. Johnny had collapsed where he stood in the hallway and had fallen asleep. He had drawn his Lone Ranger robe about him for warmth, and he had pulled his hands back up into his sleeves.

Johnny awoke when his father picked him up to carry him into his room. Johnny could not remember where he was but felt comforted by his father’s warm chest. and he grabbed the inside of his coat to hold on.

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” said Bernard. “I’m so sorry.” Johnny nestled against his big chest.

“I should have taken you with me,” he said. “I was so concerned for your mother.”

“It’s alright, dad,” said Johnny sleepily. “Is mom here now?”

“No, son,” said Bernard as he put Johnny into his bed. “She will have to stay in the hospital for a while.”

“I want to see her!” Johnny exclaimed.

His father looked down at him. Johnny could see the sadness and fear in his father’s eyes. There were small droplets of tears spilling out and rolling down his ruddy cheeks. “I will tell her you miss her, too. I will make sure she, we…,” he stammered.

“Don’t you worry Johnny,” he said. “I will make this right.”

“Now you go to sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.”

Johnny awoke the next morning to the strong smell of bleach. This was a clean smell, and he took some comfort; but soon, underneath the bleach, he caught a vague metallic smell. Immediately, Johnny found himself standing in front of the bathroom door again. He could see his mom laying naked in the tub, her head pressing on the tub rim, distorting her face. Her left arm had fallen to the floor, and dried rivulets of blood had traced irregular patterns against her alabaster skin. Then, as if she could feel his presence, she raised her head and smiled. It was a crooked smile. Johnny felt a bolt of fear shoot through his chest.

“Johnny!” said a distant voice, “What’s wrong?” Someone was shaking him hard, but he could not move.

He cried out and pulled away.

“Are you alright?” said the voice. He looked up and saw his father’s broad face above him. “Oh, Johnny. Don’t be afraid.”

“Mom smiled at me.”

“No, son, you were only dreaming. I should never have left you here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

They went into the kitchen and his dad sat him down at the table. Johnny looked at the bright yellow-checkered tablecloth beneath his hands. He could smell the dead flowers from his mom’s birthday. He was starting to get dizzy.

Bernard grabbed a box of Cheerios from the cupboard, some milk from the fridge, and Johnny’s Huckleberry Hound bowl. Bernard’s hands were shaking a little as he placed the bowl on the table and added the milk and cereal. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” said Johnny rubbing his eyes. “What happened to mom?”

Bernard slumped in the chair beside Johnny and buried his head in his hands. He took a long deep breath and said, “Johnny, your mom has been sick. She got very confused last night and accidentally hurt herself. I had to rush her to the hospital so the doctor could make her better.”

“Did she hurt herself on purpose?”

“Yes, I suppose she… no, that’s not right. It was an accident.”

Johnny jabbed his spoon into his Cheerios and stirred them around. “Why was she crying?”

His father looked away and Johnny could see him sobbing. He gathered himself and said, “We were arguing and I said something I shouldn’t have. Something I did not mean. Something I wish I could take back.”

“How can you take something you said back?”

“You can’t Johnny. Not really.”

“What I saw scared me, dad. I was alone and I didn’t know what to do. I thought you weren’t coming back and I thought mom might be dead.” Johnny began to cry. “Then, I heard a voice.”

Bernard sat up straight. “Who’s voice?”

“Nanna Jean. At first, her voice sounded funny, and I didn’t know who was speaking. Then, when I thought of her and wished she would hug me, I heard the front door open and she was there in the hallway. She said she would take me to the hospital and that she was going to make mom get better.”

“Make her better, how?”

“You know, because she has gramma magic.”

“Ok… Go on.”

“She needed me to say the right phrase so she could get strong and go save mom.”

“Did you tell her what she wanted?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t say what she wanted me too. “

“Then what happened?”

Johnny raised his arms and turned both his hands upside down. “I turned to talk to her and she was gone.”

Bernard put his hand to his mouth and rubbed his chin. He looked down at Johnny. Nanna Jean lives in Seattle. She could not have been here. I talked to her yesterday and she had no travel plans. Oh, God. What is wrong with Johnny? Maybe all this has messed him up, somehow.”

Bernard took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Well, Johnny. Let’s not talk about that now. Everything is going to fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Please don’t leave me alone again. I was so scared and it seemed like you were gone forever. If Nanna Jean had not come to help, I don’t I don’t know what…”

“Oh, son.” said his dad. He got up and took Johnny into his arms. “I will never leave you. Not in a million years.”

Bernard hugged Johnny tightly to his chest. Johnny could smell Aqua Velva aftershave intermingled with his father’s strong natural scent.

Johnny looked up and said, “Mom too?”

Bernard sat down and put Johnny in his lap. He rubbed his big, calloused hand against Johnny’s cheek. “Sometimes adults get lost. We lose our way. We get so involved with things beyond our ability to understand or control that we just start making mistakes. Then we sometimes misunderstand each other. We do or say things we shouldn’t do.”

“Mom misunderstood. And that made her cry?”

Bernard smiled crookedly and sniffed a little. He was afraid to cry. “Yes, I suppose. Your mother is not strong like most people. She tries so hard, but she sometimes gets confused. She thought I was going to leave, maybe not come back. Leave you and her alone.”

“Leave? You mean go live without us?”

“No, son, that won’t happen. Your mom just believed something that was not true. She believed something told to her.

“You’ll stay?” asked Johnny. He put his thin arms around his father. “You won’t leave me?”

His dad began to cry, first a little, barely holding it back, then in big sobs.

Johnny held him tighter. “I love you, dad. I don’t want you to ever leave.”

“I won’t,” he said, rocking back and forth in the chair. “I won’t ever. Not ever.”