C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation (5 page)

Jake did his best to put on a brave face.  "It's okay, Dad.  Really."

"Uh huh,” John said, skeptically.

"You know I don't believe in things like that anymore!"

"Uh huh,” John said again.  "Anyway, tough guy, it's time for bed.  It's way past your bed time."

"But Dad how am I supposed to sleep when it's still a thousand degrees in here?"   Jake asked, wiping his sweaty brow with the front of his black pajama shirt.

"Well hopefully we'll get some rain in the next few days,” John walked him to his room and tucked him under the sheets.  "Now go to sleep."

"Okay, Dad.  Goodnight." Jake said yawning. John started to pull the door closed. "Hey, Dad?" Jake asked.

John let out an exasperated sigh.  "Yes, Jake?"

"Are there really such things as monsters?  I mean, I know there's not.  Right?"

John hesitated for a few seconds before smiling a tiny half smile and saying, “Monsters?” Of course not, son.  It's just a silly, really bad TV show."

“
It’s not that bad!” Jake said, and then let out a deep exaggerated yawn.

"I love you, kid," John said, flipping off the light and shutting the door.

"Love you too, Dad!"  Jake yelled after him. He waited until he heard his dad's footsteps descend down the hall and the TV in the living room turn back on, before jumping out of bed and opening his closet door. Pulling the cord for the light, he dug through his toys and clothes as quietly as he could until finding what he was looking for.

“
Ah, there you are!” He picked up his aluminum little league bat. Holding it tight in both hands, he looked up at it as if he were King Arthur looking over Excalibur. Then as if the devil himself was on his trail, he ran back to bed and leapt under the covers, clutching the bat tightly to his chest.

Though he was exhausted, he tossed and turned for almost an hour. It was just too hot to sleep, but he didn’t dare kick the covers off for fear that some alien might grab him up by his feet and haul him off to some alien world where they’d hunt him for sport. The unmoving ceiling fan once again taunted him. His eyes couldn't help but wander to the once again locked window.

Sacrificing safety for a few brief seconds, Jake got up the courage and opened his window.  He winced as it squeaked loudly.  If John caught him, doing this, aliens would be the least of his worries. However, his immediate concerns were of dying of a heat stroke, while not very likely, it was still a possibility. Behind alien abductions of course. Nevertheless, a closed window wouldn’t keep a technologically superior race out anyway.
That’s Unbelievable!
had made that abundantly clear.

The cool breeze that streamed through the window made the risk well worth it. He climbed back into bed and after a few minutes fell asleep.

Around two am a loud screeching sound woke him from his slumber.  He instantly grasped for the bat, only to find that it was nowhere to be found. Looking around the room, he tried to figure out where the sound had come from.  Sitting up in bed, while still clutching his covers, he glanced around the room. He didn't see anything out of place but something definitely wasn't right. He just felt it.

Nervously he laid back down forcing himself to relax. He couldn't believe he was even considering it, but maybe it was a good idea that he didn’t watch
That’s Unbelievable!
again. It was probably just his overactive imagination. Just as he was about to fall back asleep he heard something that was definitely out of place. A deep, raspy breathing.  It was not his imagination. Something was in his room.

Chapter 2

Jake

The "Griffin" Home, Midland, TX.

July 31, 1994 1:20am

Jake’s eyes frantically scanned over the room, searching for the source of the sound. It took him less than a half a heartbeat to find it. Something had managed to open the rust covered, corroded, nearly sealed shut window, all the way up. A feat he had never been able to manage.

Jake's heart pounded like a jackhammer, threatening to rip through his chest, his breathing coming in gasps so heavy he was almost panting.

A dark form with crimson, almost glowing red eyes moved in front of the closet, partially blocking out the light. Its breathing was ragged and excited, almost like a lion stalking a gazelle.

Jake opened his mouth to scream but just barely managed a whimper. With both hands, he pulled the sheets tight over his head as images of aliens abducting people from their homes filled his mind.
Where’s my bat? Where’s my bat!
He screamed inside his head, his shaking hands frantically searching under his sheets for the comforting feel of cold aluminum. Sweat poured from his brow but he felt cold for the first time that day.
Please God.  Please God!
He prayed from the bottom of his soul
. Make it go away! Just make it go away!

The monster/alien shuffled closer. Jake could hear it breathing in deeply through its nostrils as if taking in his scent. Closer and closer it came until finally Jake could feel the creature’s breath pushing against his sheets.

Squeezing his eyes shut, warm urine poured down his leg soaking the front of his pajama pants.
Wake up! Wake up!
He screamed in his mind.
It’s all just a bad dream! Just a really, really bad dream! I’ll wake up any minute now and it will all be okay!
The breathing grew deeper, more excited. He could almost feel its hand reaching for him.
Any minute now . . . why haven’t I woken up?!

Grabbing hold of his left arm with his right hand, he pinched as hard as he could but still didn’t wake up.
My God,
it’s not a dream . .
. It was then that
Jake knew the end was coming.  Soon they would have him in the mother-ship doing God only knows what. His parents would never hear from him again.
Please . . . God . . . please help me . . .

His prayers were suddenly answered as the door to his room opened a few inches flooding the room with light from the hall. His dad had decided to check on him one last time before he went to bed.

Jake pulled the sheets down from around his head just in time to see John hit the monster like a defensive lineman sacking a quarterback. The creature slammed to the ground, John on top of it, his massive fists pounding into its face like hammers striking an anvil. Leaping to his feet in one swift motion, John grabbed the creature by its ankle with both hands and jerked it into the hall. The next thing Jake not only heard but felt, was the two of them crashing down the hall with enough force to knock the pictures hanging over his bed off the wall.

Jake lay there too afraid to move for several long minutes before finally getting the courage to step out of his room. As his feet touched the carpet, his bare foot brushed against the cool aluminum bat, lying just under his bed. Grabbing it up, he crept over and peeked around the corner to see John wrestling with a short man wearing a shredded, bloody gray sports coat. “
Mr. White
?” Jake exclaimed.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was Marty White. The same man he let into his house just hours earlier. It was Marty but at the same time, it wasn't. Thick, four-inch long talons ran from his fingers. His cowboy boots were in tatters where claws protruded from his toes. His jacket and shirt were shredded and coated in dried blood. More than half of his Hawaiian tie was gone.

Why would Mr. White break into our house?
Jake tried to rationalize what he was seeing.
He must be an alien in disguise!
To his young, frightened mind, it was the only thing that made sense. Whatever that
thing
was, it most certainly was not human.

Even though John was a foot taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier, the creature/man he was fighting was winning. John was on the defense, moving at speeds with martial arts abilities that would put Chuck Norris to the test.

Jake gripped his bat tightly in a white knuckled grip. He had no idea of what to do. Part of him thought that maybe he was still asleep. The fight carried into the kitchen. Both men crashed onto the green and brown card table they had a conversation over just hours before. It collapsed to the floor under their combined weight.  John was back on his feet in a flash hitting the creature with everything he could lay his hands on, pots, pans, a toaster, a coffee maker, none of which even slowed the beast down. It’s claws slashed at John's face and chest.

Jake watched helplessly as Marty cornered John against the counter. His jaws were filled with razor sharp teeth that snapped like a crazed beast.   John’s muscles strained as his hands pressed up against the creature's throat, trying to keep it from ripping his face off. Its claws wrapped tightly around John’s arms drawing blood. Only John's much longer reach kept them from ripping his throat out. Sweat poured down his face. Jake could see his dad didn't have much left.

“
Bishop!” the creature called out in a deep guttural voice, saliva dripping from its teeth.

Something deep down inside of Jake snapped, the fear completely disappeared. He ran into the kitchen letting loose a violent rage filled cry and slammed the bat as hard as he could into Marty White’s head. “Mr. White stop!" he cried out as he swung. "Please! Stop!" Marty didn’t even acknowledge him. Jake swung for the fences, slamming the bat again and again into his body. Without even turning, the creature grabbed the bat in its clawed grip and yanked it from Jake's hands. It squeezed tightly, leaving large finger print indentations in the aluminum, and then tossed it across the room where it crashed through the kitchen window.

Jake stared at his empty hands. Yelling out a cry of disbelief, he grabbed a giant butcher knife off the countertop and stabbed as hard as he could into the monster's back.  It was like plunging into solid rock.  The blade sunk at most two inches.

The beast turned, grabbing at the knife, its face now less than a foot from Jake. Its red eyes held a haunted look filled with fear and confusion. It was the most terrifying thing Jake had ever seen. He fell back to the yellow linoleum, his eyes locked on the creature’s twisted features. John grabbed the knife in his massive hands and plunged it to the hilt then twisted it. The beast roared out in pain and turned back to face him. John yanked the knife out and thrust it deep into the side of its chest just below the left armpit, puncturing its heart. As the beast turned back to face him, a dark blackish blood sprayed from its lips, spreading across John’s hands and chest.

The creature's crimson eyes rolled back into its head and it dropped to the floor completely motionless. Tears began streaming down Jake’s face, his moment of courage having faded after seeing the horrific look in Mr. White’s eyes. Before he could utter a single cry, John grabbed a meat cleaver off the counter and with two chops cut Marty’s head off. Jake screamed a high-pitched scream then fainted onto the floor.

When he next awoke, he was laying on his parent’s king size bed looking up at the ceiling. The sound of running water was coming from the bathroom.
Was it a dream?
He thought to himself. Then he looked down at his still urine soaked pants. "Dad!" he cried out, “Dad!” he screamed again even louder.

“
I’m here! I’m here!” John said, coming out of the bathroom in his boxers, his hair soaking wet with a towel over his shoulder.

Tears streamed down Jake’s cheeks. “Dad what’s going on? What . . . what happened? Where's . . . the monster?” he said shaking, his eyes searching around the room.

John sat down next to him and wrapped his massive arms protectively around Jake, cradling him as if he were an infant.  "Shhh. It's okay.  It's okay.  The monster can't hurt you anymore."

After several long minutes of crying, Jake looked up at him, his eyes puffy and red with tears still streaming down his face and said, "But, Dad, you said there’s no such thing as monsters.” Jake sobbed again. “Is there?”

John looked down at his son with a sad, defeated look in his eyes.  He didn't answer.  Instead, he carried Jake into his bedroom and helped him get out of his wet clothes and into a pair of blue jeans and a fresh white T-shirt. It was then that Jake noticed the deep claw marks running across his dad’s right arm. “Dad! You’re hurt!” he cried out.

“
It’s nothing son, nothing,” John said, looking down at his arm. When Jake was fully dressed, John took him into the bathroom and washed his face with a wet washcloth then carried him back into the master bedroom setting him gently on their bed.

“
We’ve got to pack up and get out of here,” John said. “There will be more of them coming.”

“
More of who? Why was Mr. White trying to hurt us? Was it . . . was it the aliens?” Jake asked, not at all sure of what was going on.

“
That wasn’t Marty.” John said, pulling a first aid kit and bottle of alcohol from under the bathroom cabinet. “And they aren’t aliens.”

“
Then what are they, Dad?” Jake stammered, his voice shaking with fear. "His eyes . . . they were so red! Those claws . . . Dad what was he?"