The Night Thing Comes

I can feel the dark emptiness spreading in every direction... Like an overturned inkwell... a dark and hungry blot consuming my dreams.

The feeling is all too familiar but I am powerless... unable to escape my slumber. My eyes are useless in the void. But I know its close. I can feel its presence inches from my body... It robs me of warmth...

I stand there in the darkness waiting for the night thing to make its move. My heart pounds in my skull.. faster and faster. My breath quickens..  I know its there.. deadly cold and lifeless. I try to stay calm... But I am overcome with fear. If I can control my shivering... if I can just be still... Maybe it will move on.

Can I see it? Are my eyes closed? Are they open? My teeth are chattering.  It knows I'm here. The night thing moves. I panic. A deafening boom. Metal on metal... It reverberates in my chest.

Grinding, roaring, clanking, it thunders... Its immense... terrifying and so close I could touch it with the slightest movement... Louder and faster... Its so loud I'm afraid the sound alone will tear me apart...

I pray for it to end. I know it will but how long will it last..? how long have I been here? I'm going mad. I can't take it anymore. My scream is lost in the night things metallic roar.

And I am awake. I scream for a moment before the realization that I'm free sets in. My clothes are soaking wet... my heart is still racing and I struggle to catch my breath. But I'm okay... I'm awake. Tonight I will sleep no more. The night thing is on the hunt.

The Heat of The Moment

I can't recall hearing much about domestic violence in the 80's. I mean I was all too familiar with violence in my home and in the homes of some of my friends but I'm not sure it was looked upon the same way it is today...

Mid-summer in Elkhart was hot and humid. It didn't matter to much to me. I was just a kid and those were just words on the weather report. Temperature... like the length of summer was irrelevant. It just was. I've grown older and more heat intolerant so I understand that back then... during that especially hot year... the rising thermometer may have crept into the psyche of the vulnerable.

I liked to eat ice... I'd run up the stairs to our apartment.. which was even hotter.. and fill a glass with ice. Then I'd go back downstairs to the porch and crunch it while I cooled off. My clothes were usually soaked in the sweat of hard play so any air stirring would cool me. The street was only a few feet from the stoop where I sat so I would enjoy the breeze of a passing car while I finished my ice. Sometimes I'd run back up and get another.

My Step-father was at home and hold up in his room. I suppose in retrospect the thundering of my footsteps could have been an irritant... but on my return trip he came out of his room just as I entered the kitchen.

Of course today I can look back at him through the minds eye of a man seasoned by time and experience and see him for what he was... but back then he was imposing. He was tall... arrogant... lanky and pale. He was angry most of the time and he drank. I can't really remember seeing him drink. I just remember seeing him drunk. And that day he was drunk. He barked at me and told me to get out of the freezer. I told him I was just getting ice but the words had no sooner left my lips when the freezer door slammed into my face. Tears immediately flooded my vision. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I remember a little of the drive to the hospital. And I remember seeing our downstairs neighbor when we got there. He worked at Elkhart General. He smiled at me when I came in. It was an... I feel sorry for you smile... but he had kind eyes. I don't know if I smiled back.

The doctor came in... my nose was broken. He asked what happened and my Step-father spoke up quickly and related that it was an accident. The doctor asked to speak to me alone and I confirmed it was an accident. I don't know why I lied... I just felt as though I had to.

The next couple of weeks were tense... I wont lie... I played the injury for all the sympathy I could muster from my Mother and all the while I was feeling less and less afraid of my Step-father. I guess I felt like I had something on him. I'd manage a glare here and there... and a little back talking. The cruel little games he'd play... like the one in which he would ask which arm I wanted to be able to use today... had stopped. The beatings with a belt had stopped... all these things bolstered my position. I didn't push very far... but I was enjoying the reprieve. 

Like I said... I didn't see him drink... he was just drunk. But one day a short time after the trip to the hospital I saw him sitting in the parking lot... passed out in his old Ford Fairlane. I eased up to the car and spoke to him...nothing. I nudged his shoulder and he slid over in the seat... an empty whiskey bottle between his thighs. I'd like to say that what happened next was an accident and that I didn't know. But I knew enough to realize that you couldn't even leave a dog cooped up in a car in the blistering heat. Honestly I can't even remember rolling the window up... but I must have. With the door closed he wasn't visible to anyone... including me and I went back to playing... out of sight... out of mind I suppose.

I was coming back from the park when I heard the sirens. I'd heard the sound of police cars coming to our house but never an ambulance. He lived of course... He wasn't happy when he got home but he never said a word... in fact he never said an unkind word to me again. He kept his distance for the remainder of his stay with us. I never told anyone until now.

The Spy I Never Knew *FICTION ONLY*

Mother met Scarecrow in the early 80's I'm not sure what year but it was at the now famous Mr. Lucky's Lounge in Gary Indiana. Mother was young.. beautiful.. a fiery... fearless red head with skin as white as snow. She looked as though she'd come straight out of the hills of Ireland. She was self educated and very bright. She had an aptitude for almost everything. I remember getting in trouble at school so Mother came to talk to my teacher. After listening to him go over the highlights of the incident Mother chimed in and gave him a thorough and artfully articulate tongue lashing. She shared with him some of her insight into the mind of a child as seen through the eyes of seasoned educator. She chastised him. She wasn't rude or even condescending but she communicated that she was a far better teacher than he would ever be. She answered his questions about her background without pause and batted him back with another round of observations. Of course Mother had never been a teacher of any kind... she didn't graduate from high school but you would never have known it. But that was Mother... she could walk into a new environment and within minutes she could hit the ground running.


I suppose that's why he was interested in her. They shared a glance.. a smile and then a drink. After hours of conversation he told her who and what he was... She didn't believe him at first but the sobered look on his face and the CIA identification he flipped open from his pocket confirmed his story. She told her sister she was leaving with the tall handsome man by the door. Mother and the tall handsome spy left the bar together. She never told me why he was at the bar that night... only that he was traveling across the toll road. I don't know if he was there for her or if for some other purpose and their meeting was some chance encounter. For what ever reason.. they met.


Scarecrow took her back to his hotel. He asked her once more if she was sure...there was no going back. But she wanted it.. She needed the escape.. she needed to climb through that window into a hidden world. A small incision.. a tiny chip... an injection... a tape player on the desk playing an almost familiar sound. The noise became ordered.. The order became information. Time became irrelevant as the serum spread through her veins.


A couple of snaps from his finger woke her. He asked her if she was alright... and she wasn't sure but she answered yes just the same. He asked her who she was and without hesitation she answered.. Snow White.. Snow White the Russian version. He told her he would be calling soon and she got out of the black sedan. She couldn't remember being driven home and she could remember very little of what happened after leaving Mr. Lucky's but she knew she was sleepy. And she slept... off and on for days.


Weeks later she got a call. She didn't speak..she listened for a moment then hung up the phone. She told us not to use the phone and not to leave the house. She was gone for three days and when she got back she slept for nearly a week. I didn't like the calls. It always meant she had to go. Sometimes it meant we had to move out of our home on a moments notice... throwing our belongings on a sheet and wrapping them all up.. out the door and into the car. We bounced back and for the from state to state. Location to location whenever Scarecrow said we had to. It was a hard life but we adapted.


My brother and I never met Scarecrow... the years passed. Mother grew older and grew tired. She suffered a physical and mental collapse and was put in the hospital for several weeks.. when she was released the calls ceased. Eventually we grew up and started families of our own and Scarecrow became a distant memory.


Mother relished having grandchildren. She was tireless when it came to them... always there to lend a hand... pick up the slack or give a break. One afternoon she came over to sit with the children while I ran errands. She sat on the sofa and made herself comfortable. The television was on but I had pushed the mute button earlier to take a phone call. My son had come into the living room and stretched out on the carpet... perfectly content to stare at the silent screen. I was talking to mother when I noticed a change in her face. She lost all emotion... her expression went flat... then she smiled. I asked her if she was alright but she didn't respond. She just kept smiling and staring. For a few moments she sighed and the words “Hello Scarecrow... “ crossed her lips in a whisper. I reached for the remote and turned up the volume. The sound of his voice broadened her smile. The television show was one in which one faction was pitted against another opposing faction in a simulated engagement... experts were called in for technical information and other insight. In this particular episode the CIA faced the KGB. A former cold war CIA operative... the tall handsome man... had been called in for technical analysis. Mother looked on for several minutes.. she chuckled once or twice in response to some anecdote. Eventually she took a long deep breath... let it out slowly... turned to me and smiled with the lids of her eyes moistened with yet to fall tears. She didn't say another word about Scarecrow... she just told me to take my time that she and the kids would be just fine.

North Side

Being a poor kid in the South was somehow different than being a poor in the North. I grew up poor in a small town in Southeast Kentucky. Sure there were plenty of wealthy families but I didn't really realize they were rich and or that I wasn't.


In the late 70's to early 80's we all went to the same church... And no one looked any different sitting on the pews. We all went to the same school... And you were scolded just the same no matter who your parents were. Rich or poor you still bought your groceries at Earl Andersons. Earl had a thriving business in an old block building. The same two cashiers worked the registers for as long as I could remember. The same butcher always greeted you by name and sliced your bologna. The floors creaked and groaned as you walked the isles and you couldn't help but notice the high and low places. Everyone went to Earls but you'd never know he had a dime in the bank.


My clothes came from bales of clothes my Grandma and her friends would buy.. They would cut the bands and sit around in lawn chairs on the front porch sipping sun tea and sort through the clothes... gossiping... laughing... sharing... just the way they did when they broke beans or worked corn. I went to school in second hand rags ...no one seemed to notice. No one seemed to care. I always felt just as good as anyone else.


I had been to Elkhart many times and lived in many places. But for the most part I had been around kids from families like mine... not a lot in the way of worldly possessions. But when I enrolled in North Side Junior High I realized very quickly that there were lines drawn between those who had and those that didn't. I wore fake leather shoes a size to big... I didn't know the difference until the kid next to me pointed it out. My clothes were out of style and didn't match... I didn't know until the girl in front of me turned around to tell me. My hair was fine and stringy.. not because I was nasty... like the kid in gym said... but because my father was Cherokee and both my hair and skin were naturally oily.


I shrank inside myself... I remember a teacher calling me aside and telling me that my pants had too many holes in them.


Yes I was small... poorly dressed... probably not as clean as I could have been... and I looked different and sounded different than most. In spite of that I managed to make some great friends. They were all from families of modest means... though they did a much better job of assimilating than I did. I didn't know how to assimilate... before that time I had only know the unwavering acceptance of a small town. But I was accepted just as I was... by a few and I am thankful for them... They may not know it but I think of them often.


I wish I could go back in time and talk to that little boy. I'd tell him to keep his head up... I'd tell him that one day he'd be strong and confident. And that it didn't matter how cruel the other kids were. I'd thank him for taking their slings and arrows without anger and without fighting back. I'd tell him to be grateful to them... because the lessons they gave us made us excepting and tolerant. They taught us to look beyond the exterior of others. They taught us to find value in others. I'd tell him that one day he'd me me and I am not afraid.

Snow in July

I wandered at night. Sleep didn't come easy for me and walking the streets seemed a better way of passing the time than wrestling around in the bed trying to fend off a thousand racing thoughts. Once outside I was drawn to the amber glow of Main street in particular. The length of the street was awash in a warm sepia tone. There was a unique feeling to the city of Elkhart... especially at night and especially around Main street. I don't know If I can bring it to life for you but I want to try. I stood on corner of Main and Pottawattomi Dr ... there was Red D Mart on the corner. If I closed my eyes I could hear the soothing sound of traffic flowing all around me. I could smell the river at my back. I could hear the gentle click of a car crossing the bridge. The air was warm at night... but it was the kind of warm that let you know you were experiencing a reprieve from the miserable heat of the day.


The night I would like to share was unlike any other night as I wasn't the only thing drawn to the lights. It was snowing... it looked as if the flakes were driven by fierce winds unsure of which direction they wanted to charge. They swirled in the light and accumulated on the ground... there were skiffs gathering against the walls of the store... along the sidewalks and on the edge of the street. The snow was really coming down. A single snow flake landed on the back of my hand and fluttered its tiny wings. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of tiny white moth-like insects were swarming every where I turned... I had never seen so many of one single living thing in one place before. They silently filled the air. I stood there for the longest time...motionless and experienced a snow storm in July.

This one is a bit difficult

This one is a bit difficult and names have been changed to protect the innocent

1983 “Just a Swangin” hit the radio waves and Susan McCoy and I would sing it to the top of our lungs as we walked the gravel road between our houses. She lived in a nice house full of nice things. Family pictures adorned the walls, knick knacks covered shelves, toys were plentiful and so were smiles and hugs. I wasn't in her house very often and she was never in mine. But we spent a lot of time walking, talking and singing.

Sometimes we'd walk back down to my house, Susan would wait at the top of the hill while I went inside. I'd wake my mother and she would write a bad check for $1.00 so I could go to the pool in Stearns. Susan never came beyond the top of the hill. I'm not sure if she was afraid or if her parents forbid it... we didn't talk about it... it was just understood.

I had a couple of older step-brothers, Wayne and Kevin. Looking back I don't think they were bad seeds its just that they grew up in a home that I had only lived in a short time. And in that short time I knew a great deal of suffering. I remember empty cabinets and a barren refrigerator... the only things hungrier were the fleas. And a step-father full of anger and contempt. I remember going to the kitchen over and over hoping something had appeared... searching again and again. I hadn't eaten days when I found a full bottle of vitamin E in the small cabinet above the stove. I ate them all greedily. I didn't offer to share them with anyone I just ate them as fast as I could. I'm not sure which sickened me more... not sharing them or the pills themselves. Live as I knew was decaying very quickly. A pinnacle moment came one evening mid summer. I remember it had been raining... it was still warm but not terribly hot. I was in my room with a radio playing close to my head. It was better that way. It sounded much louder close to my head but it didn't irritate my step-father. He drove black Chevy Chevette with a bad muffler so I heard it pull onto the carport. I didn't even know he was gone. Just in case I turned the radio down just a bit. I heard him cursing and ranting... and I heard my mother shouting too. He had come across a few dollars somewhere from someone and used it to buy beer. Mother was enraged started popping open the cans and pouring the beer down the drain... violence erupted. I saw him walk by my bedroom door... he glared as he went by.... he returned after a moment with a pistol in his hand. I heard foot steps thundering out of the house from the other bedrooms. I was frozen. I heard the storm door open.. there were several shots fired and the door opened and closed again. I jumped out of bed and ran down the hallway right into him. He grabbed me by the shirt and dragged me outside. Once on the carport he put the gun to my head and began shouting for my mother to come out of the woods or he'd shoot me. His voice echoed through the woods but the only sound that followed were drops of rain falling from the leaves. He dragged me back inside and pulled me from door to door and back again for what must have been an hour. I kept thinking he was going to shoot me by accident if not on purpose. Eventually I couldn't take anymore. I reached for the gun. He was holding it sloppily and he just let it go. He let go of my shirt and I ran to my room. I slammed the door and put my back against the door and my feet against the bed. He pushed on the door. I thought I could keep him out but he pushed his way into the room....took the gun and slapped me to the floor. He turned and staggered back down the hall. I stood up and got my bearings and ran out the front door... I ran up the hill.. around the curve.. I ran all the way to Susan's front door. Her father answered the door. I hadn't reacted until that moment. He asked me what was wrong... I said call the police... he has a gun... and then I cried so hard I couldn't breathe...

We left for Elkhart right after that. We stayed with my aunt on Taylor street. It wasn't ideal.. My older cousin was a jerk and my aunt wasn't crazy about having us there but it was safe. I have a lot of good memories of that place. There weren't a lot of kids to play with on our street but I had a Big Wheel... a street with almost no traffic. Studebaker park was close and Mary Beck elementary had a playground and nice wide sidewalks all the way around the building. It was Nirvana. The rest of the summer was one of the best I can remember. I felt lost when started...I had never been in a school like that before. My classroom had no walls and we sat on the carpet a lot of the time. I don't think my teacher was very fond of me either... I suspect it had something to do with my older cousin and maybe some thrown eggs. But it was safe.

I remember how absolutely amazing Halloween was. Back home your parents drove you around to houses scattered here and there... but in Elkhart I took a pillow case and hit the streets. I had never seen so much candy. I had a great time until a pirate snatched my pillow case. My cousin got it back for me. He didn't let me hang around him but he was close enough when it happened to chase the kid down and take me bag back... I guess he wasn't such a jerk all the time. I was safe.

The summer of 1985

I spent the summer of 1985 in Elkhart. In was unmercifully hot that year. My mother lived in what was once and old grocery store on Sherman street which had long since been converted into two spacious apartments.... One up and one down. Mother occupied the upper apartment. There wasn't any air conditioning and many of the windows were painted shut. I had been to Elkhart many times already in my fifteen years and each time the unique feel of the city left its mark in my mind.

Sherman street was a narrow one way street lined with old houses so close you could touch two at once, broken down cars and massive oaks which seemed to erupt from the sidewalks leaving a series of ramps along both sides of the street... a kid with bikes dream. I took full advantage of the situation until my bike was stolen off the porch. For a while after I bought it I carried it up the stairs each night... But there were a lot of stairs and I wasn't the strongest kid in the world so I bought a bike lock at G.L. Perrys and fastened it to the iron railing.... it lasted one night. I mourned the loss for a few days but the lure of kickball in the vacant lot across the street was more than enough to help me forget my troubles.

There were lots of us kids running around the neighborhood. Some of us rougher than others and we rarely got along for more than an hour at a time but it was a great time to be a kid. Our parents didn't worry about us the way I worry about mine... at least thats how it seems to me now. We ran wild all day until well after dark. Maybe it was our socioeconomic status... or maybe it was just a simpler world... It was poor and dirty and chaotic in a way but I enjoyed the feel of that place.

We were poor... very poor and food was often scarce. Some sort of needy kids program gave out free lunches at the park alongside Lincoln street. My brother and I were not supposed to leave the apartment during the day while mother was at work but we knew when she would be home and besides it was so very hot inside the apartment. We usually made outside in time to get the sack lunch at the park and then find something to do until five o'clock. I remember one day my brother was sick and didn't feel like going outside so I told him I would bring back a lunch sack for him. But when I got to the park and told the lady who was handing them out that I needed one for my brother she told me no... that kids had to be present to get a lunch... I told her he was sick but again she said no... I remember thinking how unfair it was and the thought of not being able to take a lunch to my little brother was too much. I waited until she handed mine to me and picked up another for the next kid... I snatched it out of her hand and ran as fast I could. Of course she didn't chase me but I didn't stop running until I slammed the door at the top of our stairs.

When I think about that time in my life I am flooded with images and sounds... open windows with box fans pushing hot air around... music coming from bedroom windows... distant arguments... the smell of the river... the scent of marijuana and tobacco... Someone trying to break dance in the street...

I didn't know everyone in every house but I knew most of them. No one really bothered anyone else. Occasionally a mother might get involved in some childhood drama but for the most part we all coexisted uneventfully. But there was one thing that got the whole street involved in doing the same thing at the same time... Sherman street was a one way street with very little through traffic but once in a while a car would come down the Bower street bridge and attempt to travel Sherman street... the wrong way. People would open their doors and shout.. step off the porches.. even walk into the street.. all shouting the same thing “WRONG WAY”. The unfortunate soul would usually turn around after the first onslaught of verbal assaults.. Sometimes they would run the full gauntlet but by the time they reached the other end of the street the exchanges bordered on riotous. I thought about that over the years... and now as an adult I realize how many things must have seemed beyond control to the adults living there. And that was one thing they could try to control... right then and there. And I think that they were proud of their street... and that was the rule of their street and they all followed it and they expected everyone else to do the same.

Before I ever went to Elkhart

Before I ever went to Elkhart.... Before I knew there was anything outside of McCreary County Kentucky.. I lived in small trailer situated directly behind my grandparents trailer on Slaughter House Road. I lived there with my parents, a younger brother and a younger sister. My mother was not yet twenty and my father wasn't much older. My brother was born with a rare genetic disorder affecting his large intestine and spent the first year of his life in the hospital. My mother spent most of her time at his side and my father worked nights in the coal mines so I suppose that accounts for the lack of memories of them together. I do have very few but distinct memories of this time in my life. I can remember crouching in freshly worked soil eating green onion tops. I remember low flying fighter jets rattling the windows and scaring the animals. I remember watching my father shave and trying it myself later. I remember holding my baby sister and I remember that she was gone one day and mother was never the same and I can't remember my father leaving I just remember he wasn't there.

I remember Grandpa retired from the coal mines while Grandma stayed on at the slaughter. I'd walk down there with Grandpa and we'd eat the cracklins that were cooking on the cast iron stove. With my father gone and my mother going through so much I spent a lot of time with Grandpa. Its strange how when you are young like that you think that what is will always be.

Several of my uncles had gone north in search of work and so my mother went too. I can only imagine how much she needed to change her environment. I remember walking barefoot in the dew covered grass to touch the side of a Uhaul truck hidden in the fog. It was dark when we left and I remember feeling very small as we passed all of those towns that weren’t home.

When we got to Elkhart we stayed with my aunt and uncle in a small white house at the end of Dotson street, on the corner of Bristol. I played with cars and trucks in the phone company parking lot across the street. And there was a little boy on the other side of Bristol that would play ball with me when no cars were coming. He would stand in his yard and I would stand in mine. We would wait for traffic to clear and throw the ball. We never talked, I didn't even know his name but if he saw me outside he would just hold up the ball to see if I wanted to play. I remember the sheer panic and mad scramble to find fifty cents when I heard the distant sound of an ice cream truck and running outside and trying to figure out which direction the sound was coming from. In the fall my brother and I attended Beardsley and walking to school was the greatest thing I had ever done. For the first few days I insisted I had to leave my room and check on my little brother who was of course doing just fine. It was a strange new place but we had adjusted well. The following winter was something unlike anything I had ever seen. The snow covered windows and doors. My uncle shoveled forever just to clear a path in the driveway. Mother wrapped us up in extra clothes and garbage bags to let us play outside. We dug tunnels in the snow and our uncle tossed us into it. It was the most incredible thing I had ever seen.

Summer of 1986

In the summer of 1986 I left the ample hills end endless woods of Southeastern Kentucky in an old Ford wrecker. I made most of the eight our drive in silence. My aunts brother-in-law, a gentle giant named Glenn, was giving me a ride to Elkhart. I was fourteen years old and I had been living with my Grandparents. The generation gap was prooving too difficult for all involved so I was heading back to the home of my mother.

The water pump began to fail around Stanford Kentucky and we had to turn back. Though we had gotten an early start the delay burned a lot of daylight and it was nearly dark when we arrived. Mother lived in an apartment on Pleasant Plains Ave called Williamsburg On the Lake. I wasn't used to apartment life and had a rough time adjusting. I was accustomed to working in the garden, feeding horses, staying gone all day roaming the woods. I remember a small grove of trees accross Mishawaka road I used to look at longingly. It wasn't the happiest summer of my life but It could have been worse. In the fall school started and I liked the situation even less. I opened my mouth ane people seemed to drop my IQ by 20 points. I was called hillbilly and redneck... all sorts of things. I even had a teacher who had a poster on his wall depicting a "hillbilly" struggling to answer simple questions. I still dislike that man.

Winter was fun for me. It didn't snow like that back home. I can remember nights when that heavy lake effect snow silenced the world.... The only audible sound was the snow flakes themselfs as they fell to earth. I enjoyed that very much.

Deeper into the winter.. The snow seemed to change. The winds picked up, the temperature dropped and the snow flakes hurt when they hit my face.

One night my mother dropped my brother and I off at the movies... She came in with us and purchased a ticket for herself in order to get us into the rated R movie. She left and told us she'd be back to pick us up. After the movie we stood outside in the wind and cold. The snow was blowing sideways through the lights in the mall parking lot. Mom never came. We waited... everyone had gone but she never came. A man with long hair and a neat beard wearing a suit came outside and told us to come in out of the cold and wait inside. He was the manager. He offered us a soda then disappeared somewhere inside the movie house. We waited inside for a bit then decided to make the long walk home. Mom was asleep on the couch when we got there... we had to beat on the door to wake her. She had been working extra and sIeeping less but was furious... more cold than furious but furious none the less. The next morning...on the news the man with the long hair and the suit was being arrested for killing the owner the night before. It was so strange... he had been so polite and kind the night before.