The Night Everything Changed (2 page)

As he charged into the den, the living room window exploded behind him.
Thump
after
thump
of little feet hitting the hardwood floor followed. And mixed with those sounds he could hear the faint, miniature chatters of the intruders talking amongst themselves.

It’s the damn Haunchies from the carnival! They’re coming for me! What happened to Leanne?

He saw what he’d originally come in here for standing in the corner. His gun cabinet. It was a two-door, upright locker made of wood and glass. He always kept it locked. Not wasting time searching for the key, he shattered the glass with his elbow. He could feel the burning cuts and scrapes from the shards.

Reaching inside, he snatched his .30-30 lever-action rifle, a trusty weapon since his teenage years, and the
only
one he always kept loaded. He jacked a bullet into the chamber and thumbed off the safety.

He turned toward the doorway as three of the small figures entered the room. They were dressed in carnival attire, bright and colorful. Two were even painted like clowns.

In the light of the room, he was able to distinguish their features much more clearly. The heads cresting their pebble-shaped shoulders weren’t much larger than a tomato, and the lower portions of their faces were curved like a banana. Rotting, jagged teeth gleamed from between thin lips on their distorted faces. Their arms were like twigs under their flamboyant clothing, with wicker-thin torsos separating their hollow necks from legs no more muscular than weeds.

Bushels of disheveled and crudely dyed hair jutted from the tops of their heads like the ends of paintbrushes.

He’d never seen creatures so hideous. Almost human, but not quite.

They do look like elves!
Even through their mussed hair, he thought he might have detected minute, pointy knobs jutting through the fuzzy locks.
Ears?
“What did you do with my daughter?” he demanded.

The reply came in the form of ear-piercing laughter. The one dressed in handsewn rags stepped forward.

“She’s with
us
now.” His voice was of a high octave and probably made dogs howl. “Just as you will be, soon enough.” He lunged for Vincent.

Vincent dodged the attack and thrust the stock of the rifle in an upward arc. The tiny thing’s skull caved under the wooden blow.

A red-haired clown was the next to charge. Vincent twisted to his left and fired. The high-powered slug ripped through red spandex, lifting the creature off his feet. As he spiraled through the air, the bullet exploded from his back.

The exiting bullet slammed into a green-haired clown’s throat, ripping open a gulley where his Adam’s apple had been. He dropped to his knees, grasping his throat, while blood gushed through the cracks of his fingers. Then he collapsed onto the floor, twitching a few times before becoming still.

Three down.

Vincent hurried out of the den and into the hallway. He cocked the rifle, but the hallway was deserted. He flogged his head this way and that, looking into each room on his way to the stairs. The downstairs appeared deserted. He wondered if they’d fled after hearing the gunfire.

He climbed the steps quickly. His back was arched and stiff, his neck fixed, and his eyes focused forward. The barrel of the rifle was pointed ahead of him as if leading him to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs, he didn’t bother checking the guest bedrooms and rushed straight to Leanne’s room at the end of the hall. He kept the gun clasped close to his chest.

Ignoring the knob, he used the heel of his boot to kick the door open. The frame splintered as the door shot open. He went inside, aiming the gun.

He froze only a few steps in.

Waiting for him were twenty or more Haunchies piled together, a huddle of crescent-shaped heads twisting to observe him. Standing no more than two feet tall, they were armed with a variety of weapons that looked like they had been constructed by their own hands: homemade pitchforks, machete-like knives, and hatchets made from jagged metal shards twined to wooden handles.

He scanned the room, studying the figures occupying it. Like the three downstairs, these were dressed like carnies. He saw more clowns, other carnie laborers, some even dressed in indistinguishable fluorescent attire, and the sparse numbers of what he guessed were females wore costumes like little dolls.

If Vincent didn’t know any better, he’d have believed they
were
dolls that had been crudely crafted.

Raising his gun to fire, he knew he couldn’t get them all. But he was going to make sure he got as many as possible.

“Daddy. Stop.”

Leanne’s voice?

He faced the throng gathered on the bed. They parted like weeds in the wind, unveiling his daughter, lying on her side atop the mattress. Her left leg tapered from under her denim cutoffs and crossed over the right. She was gliding a finger up her thigh. She wore a cutoff, sleeveless shirt that left her midriff bare and, with no bra underneath, he could see the curve of her breasts. He quickly looked away.

She hadn’t been dressed this way when she’d left the house. Vincent had no idea his daughter had blossomed so much. To him, she was still his little girl, not the mature woman on the bed who was dressed like a whore.

“Leanne,” he said, his voice tired and beaten. “Wha…What is this?” His grip on the rifle loosened.

“They chose
us,
Daddy. They want to stay here. With us.”

“What are you talking about?” Another group strolled in behind him from the hallway, trapping him inside. He was massively outnumbered.

“They’ve been traveling all their lives. They’ve grown tired of living on the road.”

“What does that have to do with us? What does that have to do with
you
? Why are you dressed like that?” Vincent had many questions, but only had enough breath to ask some of them.

“I’ve been with them, Daddy. All week. When you’ve been sleeping I’ve snuck out to where their camp was on Mystic Lane. Since you were kind enough to let them use our land for their carnival…”

My
land
.

“…I thought I would go out there and help them set up. Since that day I met them in town, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. They’ve touched me. They love me. They
worship
me.”

“What?
I
love you, sweetie. I do. Not them…”

“Daddy, stop. They need me to help take care of them. And I need them too…”

“Honey… What have you done?” He dared another look at her overly exposed body and curves. Dabbled on her skin, along her tawny legs and around her neck and chest, were bruises and scrapes.

Had she allowed the bastards to do this to her? Or had they taken her with force?

Vincent felt his grip on the rifle tightening. He wanted to blow holes in as many of the little bastards as he could. They’d overpower him eventually, but not without a fight. He could probably take down several with his bare hands if he needed to.

“Daddy…I know this is a lot to understand all at once. But this is how it’s gonna be, whether you like it or not.” She sighed as if she were the parent lecturing a child about rules and regulations. “Now, I’m sorry they broke some windows. They were just scared you’d retaliate…and you did, didn’t you? So they had every right to break their way in. It wasn’t like you were just going to open the door for them.”

Damn right about that.

Vincent swallowed the lump in his throat. “I just can’t stand by and let them do this to you.”

“I thought you might say that.” Leanne sat up, swinging her legs around to the front. Her bare feet slapped the wooden floor. “I’m not asking for your permission, Daddy. I’m telling you how it’s gonna be from here on.”

His legs weakened under him. His arms felt like limp and feeble noodles, and he couldn’t support the rifle any longer. The gun dropped to the floor as he sank to his knees, his head drooping low by Leanne’s bare feet.

“That’s better,” she said, standing up. “It’s so much better if you submit.” She kneeled down, snuggled a finger under his stubby chin and lifted his head. Looking him in the eye, she said, “It’ll be okay. You’ll see. It’ll all work itself out.”

“What’s happened to you?”

She smirked. “Nothing I didn’t allow.” Her tone went stern. “You’ll get to keep the house. We’ll build our own colony in the fields. The crops will continue to grow as normal, and we’ll even plant some of our own. Do you understand?”

He didn’t understand any of this, but still nodded anyhow.

“Good. Just keep this in mind: You’re only alive because you’re my daddy. They wanted to skin you alive and prepare you as our first feast on our new land. It
is
a special occasion.”

“Wha…?” He couldn’t finish. His throat tightened. He felt sick inside.

“It’s okay, Daddy. They’re not going to
eat
you or anything. Not anymore.” She lowered her hand from his chin, and shook her head as if she pitied him for his stupidity. “I didn’t expect you to understand. They’ve been around the world and have been cultured in delicacies we’ve never even dreamed of. It’s amazing. Their knowledge of the world is
amazing.
They’re savages…but are trying to adapt to
our
ways of living. To not feast upon mankind and, instead, focus their appetites on the wildlife like we do.”
 

She stood up, leaving her father gawking at her from his bruised knees. She turned to her new followers, holding her arms out wide as if she were the Almighty Christ resurrected, and, maybe to these brutes, she was. “He won’t give us any trouble. He’ll supply us with what we need to begin our colony. And we’ll do what must be done to survive. No matter what.”

“Baby…” Vincent finally said. He collapsed in a ruin of tears.

“Oh…Daddy. It’s okay. I love you.”

As he sobbed uncontrollably, she returned her attention to the Haunchies. “Bit by bit, we’ll reveal ourselves to Doverton. They’ll grow to accept us as one of their own, just like my daddy has. They might not like it, not at first, but they’ll learn to coexist.”

The crowd agreed with high-pitched howls and hollers.

Vincent could even hear their chatter coming from under the floor. It sounded as if they were everywhere, in the house and outside.

Hundreds of them…all over…

About the Author

Kristopher Rufty is the writer and director of the movies
Psycho Holocaust
,
Rags
, and
Wicked Wood
, and also the author of
Angel Board
,
PillowFace
, and
The Lurkers
.

He used to host Diabolical Radio, an internet radio show devoted to horror fiction and film for five years and developed quite an archive list and following.

He is married to his high school sweetheart and is the father of two insane children that he loves dearly, and together they reside in North Carolina with their 120 pound dog, Thor, and a horde of cats. He is currently working on his next novel, script, or movie.

Look for these titles by Kristopher Rufty

Now Available:

Angel Board

The Lurkers

They’re waiting for you in the woods.

The Lurkers

© 2012 Kristopher Rufty

They’ve lived in the woods and cornfields for as long as anyone can remember. Small, humanoid creatures with sharp teeth and grasping hands. The people in what’s left of the nearby town live in fear. They’ve learned that if they let the creatures take what they want, they won’t be attacked. An uneasy peace has reigned. But no more. The leader of the creatures has decided his kind will be dormant no longer. To survive, they must kill. They will satisfy their unholy hunger with their favorite prey—humans. But some humans—females—will be kept alive in captivity…to breed.
 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Lurkers:

Nancy glanced at the sink, gasping when she noticed the toppled over rack. The shattered remains of her favorite coffee mug littered the bottom of the sink. All that remained of the logo was a shard with the heart cracked down the middle. It teetered on the edge of the drain. She wanted to cry. The broken shards were all that remained of the mug she’d spent so many mornings at the table with, reading a paperback and guzzling countless cups of coffee. Who knew when she’d make it back to California for a replacement? Maybe Elizabeth could send her another one. That would be a temporary fix, but wouldn’t be the same. The memories of the trip had also made the cup that much more special.
 

Something thumped inside the cabinet above the stove, pulling her out of the broken cup blues. It landed with a metallic thud.
A can?
Somehow, the bastards – whatever they were – had gotten inside the cabinets.
 

Nancy moved away from the sink, glancing at the tracks in passing. Seeing them again caused her bowels to feel as if they were being pronged with an icy fork. Something about them frightened her. They weren’t right, or normal, but unusually small and out of place.
 

Looks like a damn baby.
Not just
a
baby – babies. More than one. Different shapes and widths left the kitchen peppered in the white dust. The only thing they had in common was their diminutive size.