Ferrel D. Moore

“It’s them,” said Kevin.
“You’re just hearing things because we’re alone,” Brian told his younger brother. “I’m going to graduate high school this year and you’re only in fifth grade. I know more than you.”
“I heard something out back, I know I did. I’m scared.”
“Noises in the woods are just noises in your head, Kevin.”
“I heard it.”
“Look,” said Brian, running his left hand through fine blond hair that needed trimming, “what I’m trying to tell you is that you might have heard a noise, but it could have been anything. Why does it have to be something bad? We live on the edge of town. Don’t you think vampires and werewolves and blood sucking aliens would be hanging out downtown where there’s a lot more people to eat?”
Kevin put his empty pop can on the counter near the sink, and craned his head toward the kitchen window as though another mysterious noise would come at any moment and validate his fears.
“Maybe it’s time for you to head to bed, little guy.”
“Shhhh,” hissed his brother.
“You say that real good; maybe if you keep practicing, I could get you a job in the library.”
“Be quiet,” said Kevin. “Mom said that on nights like this they make noises, but it’s a trick. It’s a red-moon night.”
As if that explained anything.
Brian opened the refrigerator door and scanned the contents. He and Kevin had eaten two large bags of potato chips, drained the contents of six cans of pop, and devoured two grilled cheese apiece. Seeing nothing that wasn’t healthy, he closed the refrigerator door and glanced at his little brother, whose body still bent toward the kitchen window, staring out at what little of the darkness that he could see past the staunch white glow from the back porch light that guarded them from the woods.
“You know, bonehead,” he said, walking over to the counter to stand next to Kevin, “Mom has been gone a while now. I mean, she’s watching over us and that, but I don’t think that she meant for you to take everything she said like it was, I mean, I don’t think that she wanted you to take it so seriously.”
“Listen,” hissed Kevin.
“Will you give at a rest?” asked Brian.
Then he heard the noise.
“What was that?” he asked.
“It’s them,” whispered Kevin.
“Them who? There are no monsters. There aren’t any werewolves, or vampires, or ghosts-.” He stopped mid-sentence when Kevin turned and stared at him as though he had committed blasphemy
“Mom is a ghost,” said the ten-year-old, his eyes narrowing as though calibrating.
Dark hair, dark eyes, and a disturbing ability to focus were all packed into Kevin’s seventy-five-pound body.
The seconds slipped by as Brian struggled to find the right thing to say. Finally, he dropped his eyes and said, “I meant monsters. There are no monsters. That’s what I meant.”
Dad was away on business. He had called earlier that night from a hotel in Georgia to check on them. Brian wished that the old man wouldn’t travel so much, but with the bills from mom’s hospital and funeral arrangements, he knew that they wouldn’t be out of debt for a long time. Dad would have to keep traveling, and Brian would just have to learn to cope with Kevin alone.
“There are monsters,” said Kevin
“You’re right, Kev, there are monsters. They’re called people. They’re called terrorists, dope dealers, and gangbangers. People that hurt people are monsters. You want more than that and you’ve got to watch a movie.”
“Listen,” said the younger boy, and he motioned his brother over to the counter near the windowsill. As the older boy approached, Kevin stretched and slid the window up as high as it could go.
“Hey,” protested Brian, “what’s that about?”
“I want you to hear.”
Brian shook his head as he propped himself up with the palm of his hand. He worried about Kevin, he really did. With mom dead and dad gone most of the time, Brian felt responsible for his brother.
A wailing screech clawed through the night air behind the house, from somewhere in the dark army of trees that hunkered down beyond the sphere of the porch light.
“Owl,” said Brian quickly. “It was an owl. I’ve heard that before.”
“No. It’s one of them, just like Mom said.”
A cool breeze shimmied through the window over the sink, and the blue and white-checkered curtains that their mother made and hung by herself floated uncertainly above the sink.
“Look, bad people are the only monsters. That’s it,” said Brian.
“Then where do they come from?” asked Kevin.
“Bad people don’t come from anywhere. They just are. Sometimes they seem okay when they’re kids but they’re not. Nobody knows why. Nobody knows what makes them go crazy. They don’t really come from anywhere; they just are or they just mutate or I don’t know what. That’s it, I guess.”
Kevin shook his head, his eyes locked onto those of his older brother. Brian thought that Kevin looked serious enough to grow up to be the next Pope.
“Mom said they happen on certain nights.”
“Yeah. Sure. Noises in the woods have got you spooked. I’m telling you, it was just an owl. Maybe it was a woodchuck that got caught in a trap. I don’t know, but there’s nothing back there to be afraid of.” He pointed his finger over his brother’s head and toward the woods. “Do you want me to take a walk back there and check it out?”
Small but surprisingly strong little fingers locked onto his wrist. “No, don’t go out past the porch light. It’s a Red Moon night.”
“Look, the moon color is caused by dust particles in the air or something. That’s all.”
“Mom knew where the bad people came from; Mom knew about the red-moon nights; Mom knew about-.”
“Mom’s dead Kev.”
Tears shined in the corner of Kevin’s eyes as he continued, “…and Mom knew that some nights you just don’t go out past the porch light.”
“You’re not going to be able to sleep at all, are you? You’re too scared, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll go out and check out the back yard, and prove it’s just an owl making that sound so you aren’t so scared.”
“Mom would know what to do.”
“And I don’t? Okay, that does it; I’m going to check things out.”
“No.”
“I’ll just be gone a second. Mom would want me to protect you.”
“You won’t go past the edge of the porch light, will you?”
“I won’t,” promised Kevin.
“Don’t go.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Before Kevin could say another word, Brian was out on the porch. The door cracked shut behind him. The wooden stairs squeaked and protested as he took each in turn. When he was standing on the gravel at the bottom of the stairs, he said over his shoulder, “It was just the steps making noises, Kevin. Don’t get all worked up.”
Before taking another step, he turned and looked back for a second at the porch light, which now seemed bright as a street lamp. Savior of the porch, guardian of scared boys, and beacon for lost lightning bugs, thought Brian. You’re just a light. That’s all.
In the center of the yard was the maple tree, whose strong, friendly branches had supported the first tree house he and dad built. It stood at the edge of the porch light’s circle end and the beginning of the darkness that grew deeper the further you went past it toward the woods. It was an old friend patiently standing guard against the terrors of the night.
I wonder what the other side of the tree looks like, Brian wondered suddenly, the side where the porch light doesn’t shine. I wonder what that looks like at night. Like the dark side of the moon, I bet.
He hesitated before finally walking forward and then stepped toward the tree, stopping just a few feet away from it. Kevin’s question bothered him. Where did all of the evil people come from anyway? He thought about it. What kind of a question was that for a ten-year-old to ask? He turned to face the house, and saw his brother’s face framed in the kitchen window, a small sentry watching to see if something wicked did indeed this way come.
Brian’s back was to the woods, and the night air felt suddenly moist and hot, as though something were breathing down his neck. He spun quickly, but saw only the tree and the darkness beyond the soft circle cast by the porch light. Overhead, the moon was red-black like a dying Valentine’s rose partially obscured by the tree. Brian had the sudden sensation that the tree was trying to protect him from its pale red light. His back and shoulders shuddered, but he shook off the fear like a dog shaking his back to throw off dirty water.
I never want Kevin to feel like this, he thought. Mom would want me to protect him. I don’t know where bad things come from, but I’m going to keep them away from him.
“Wherever they come from,” he said out loud.
“From beyond the porch light,” he heard his mother whisper.
It sounded so real that he almost turned and ran back to the porch.
She’s dead, he thought. There’s no such thing as ghosts. It’s all in my mind.
“Everything’s great out here, Kev,” he said loud enough for his voice to carry back to the kitchen window where his brother observed his every move. “Not even an evil mosquito anywhere.”
He looked back. The face at the window did not move. His brother was too intense to be only ten years old.
He stepped even with the tree and kept going toward the edge of the light, which faded away at the back edge of their yard. Their yard was not fenced; there was no need with them living on the edge of town.
Don’t go past the edge of the porch light, he thought. But then how am I supposed to protect my brother from monsters if I’m too chicken to go where it’s dark?
He walked faster, moving deliberately toward the edge of the light. He could see little beyond it; the red-moon did little to reveal the nightscape. This was his own yard, though, and the woods beyond were where he had played when he was Kevin’s age. He knew where the broken beer bottles lay in shiny dark fragments and slivers, knew which trails through the woods were bordered with the big picker plants like trees lined on walks, and remembered where the biggest banana spider he had ever seen had spread its web to catch bugs along its sticky filaments.
There’s nothing beyond the edge of the porch light that I haven’t seen during the day.
Brian took a deep breath and stepped past the edge of the light and into the darkness. Another step into the darkness and then another. He stopped and listened, but heard nothing.
Noises in the woods are noises in your head, he thought.
The darkness was warm and wet, and when he looked up at the red-moon overhead, it made him think of a bloody hole. There’s nothing, he thought, to be afraid of past the porch light. He tilted his head, straining for mysterious sounds, but heard nothing. Nothing in the dark that he couldn’t handle.
Immersed in the darkness of the Red Moon night, he turned to face the house and saw Kevin’s face still framed in the window.
Stupid kid really was afraid of the dark.
I ought to slap him just to straighten him out, thought Brian.
The kid lived in the past. He needed a good punch to the head to bring him back to reality. Maybe a kick in the stomach. He could twist his little baby fingers until they snapped. Maybe he should just choke the little shit instead, until his eyeballs popped out and his throat collapsed.
The night air felt good against his skin, and Brian realized that he didn’t want to leave the darkness. But he knew that he had things to do. He needed to find some matches. The house was made of wood and Brian felt the urge to burn something. He rubbed his hands together as he looked at his brother’s silhouette framed by the kitchen window.
Where did all of the bad people come from?
What a stupid question.
A better question was how many sharp knives he could find in the kitchen.
He began to walk back toward the house, keeping his eyes fixed on the silhouette of his brother in the kitchen window just to the right of the porch light.