Evangeline hears whispers in the dark...
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I hate the night, and the obsidian blackness that comes with it. Slender tendrils of icy fingers slice around my sleeping body, and from time to time when I wake up, I still feel beads of hot sweat dripping off my brow. I have to remind myself its just a dream, a nightmare that haunts my mind, and refuses to leave me alone. No, the darkness will never stop taunting me. I ran my hands up and down my bare arms, remembering back to that fateful night…

***

I woke up, drenched in sweat for the first time, and threw the covers onto the dirty floor. Only the light from the full moon peered in from between the broken Venetian blinds. Then I heard that it again, that faint whisper, that sly hiss that seemed to beckon for someone – anyone – to answer.

“Needssss yousss…”

I swallowed, a lump of hot bile in my throat, as my eyes darted around the room. Aaron and Joey were on their mattresses, sleeping. Joey’s collection of Matchbox cars was lined up neatly against the side of the mattress facing the window, acting as a barrier of protection.

My brothers and I didn’t know what it was. A ghoul? A witch? A vampire? Whatever it was, it was like something out of “Creature Double Feature,” that old horror show Daddy liked to watch. We never cared for it, but Daddy would force us to watch. Those shows would scare poor Joey to death. Aaron and I would catch him trying to hide in Momma’s old hope chest after every show; Joey convinced a monster was after him.

“Hide…Evangeline…Hidesss…”

I put one foot out of the bed, then another, keenly aware of the sweat dripping off my cheek. It knew my name!

Tiptoeing through the house, I made my way to my parent’s bedroom. Daddy never slept there anymore. After the divorce, he didn’t want to be reminded of Momma. Only thing was, I guess Momma didn’t want to be reminded of Daddy either. She never visited, she never called. Daddy told us she ran off with an older who made more money than he did.

“Your Momma’ found a sugar daddy, Vangie,” Daddy told me once. “Don’t want no part of you…”

I didn’t believe it. Momma was always sad, crying, with a new bruise on her face or arms, but I didn’t think she’d leave us. Now it was Aaron who took the brunt of Daddy’s anger. He was only thirteen, but he saw it as his duty to protect Joey and me. I loved him for it.

My trek down the hall down now complete, I stood at the door to my parent’s bedroom, shivers rippling up and down my spine. The doorknob was frigid to the touch. Just as I was about to the turn the knob, a loud rapping sound ripped through the darkness. I spun around and peered down the hall.

Daddy bolted off the couch, and I spied a big glob of sweat trailing down his neck as a stray moonbeam hit it. His lips trembled, his nostrils flared, and his beady little eyes cut to the front door.

“Go away!” he yelled.

The knocking got louder. I watched from the obsidan darkness near the bedroom as he raced to the door and flung it open.

Nothing.

“Givesss yourself up…” the voice said.

“Screw you!” My Father yelled, slamming the door. “Stupid imagination!” he railed, spinning around.

It was then I saw him wipe the thick sweat off his neck with his flabby finger. He grunted and hissed, his lips snarling. “It’s God damn June and I’m sweating like a pig,” he growled.

I was paralyzed, afraid to move, terrified if he found me, hiding in the corner, he’d whip me with his belt like he would Aaron. I watched him slither over to the wall, and saw him examine the thermostat. His Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably.

“Well, at least the damn kids didn’t touch it,” he snarled.

Then he made his way back to the kitchen, got a can of beer from the refrigerator and went to the living room, sitting down on the couch.

“Hide…” the voice commanded.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want Daddy to beat me. Instead I wrapped my arms around myself to keep the icy shivers away. Then I heard footsteps fall rhythmically down the hall. Deliberate. Decisive. A gust of wind caused a stray tendril of my long, stringy hair to tickle my cheek. It was then I felt the voice. It was a presence, bent on revenge, yet it felt protective of me.

“Who’s there?” my Father gruffly yelled.

Nothing.

I heard a door slam.

“Damn kids!” my Father barked.

I watched him race down the hall and I fell to my knees, closing my eyes, hoping the blackness of the corner would cover me completely so my father wouldn’t see me.

Then, just before he got to the door, he stopped, as if he’d rammed into a brick wall. Another blast of cold, artic air filled the hall.
“Needsss yousss…”
My father stumbled, hitting his back against the wall, his eyes growing wide.

I gasped, as another moonbeam fell upon the white, almost translucent outline of a woman. She reached out and her hands snaked their way around my father’s neck, squeezing tight.

“Bastard!” the voice hissed. “Needsss yousss…”

“Connie!” my father choked.

I couldn’t watch anymore. I ran to my room and woke up Aaron, clinging to him. When I’d calmed down he asked me what happened and I told him. He grabbed the flashlight he kept under his mattress and we hesitantly walked down the hall – only to find our father not breathing. In an odd way, he looked peaceful, calm, and almost serene.

“What did he say again?” Aaron asked.

“Connie,” I replied, holding on to him tightly.

“Momma,” said Aaron. “That was Momma’s name.”