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Things that Go Bump in the Night

  by Tim Baer

  Things that Go Bump in the Night

  by Tim Baer

  Published by Tim Baer

  First edition, May 2014

  Copyright 2014 by Tim Baer

  Cover design by Tim Baer

  Cover photo by Been There Photography

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No animals were harmed in the making of the stories contained within—although, millions of electrons were severely inconvenienced.

  Also available by this author:

  Will Write SciFi For Food

  Will Write SciFi For Food, Too

  Toys in the Attic

  Phobos

  Sherpa Holmes

  This story is previously unpublished. So, why are you still reading the copyright information? Go read the story. It is, after all, why you downloaded it. Run along now.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Start

  About the Author

  Introduction

  I’ve known Tim Baer for the better part of two decades. Our initial association was that his wife is one of my best friends. Over time, he became a dearly loved brother in Christ, and someone I could count on to provide a snarky comment whenever I needed (or didn’t need) one. In recent years, he brought me on board as part of his editing team.

  I remember reading the draft of his first independently published collection of shorts—Will Write SciFi for Food—and thinking how awesome it was that he was finally getting to publish his stories for the entire world to read—without all the fuss and muss of the traditional publishing scene.

  And then came Sherpa Holmes, his first full-length novel. As I became absorbed in the oftentimes harrowing adventures of Shalik, Ben, and Frank, it dawned on me that Tim had left the hobby zone and was climbing his way into a writing career.

  Though the reader side of me really hoped Tim’s writing efforts had been focused on Sherpa Two, his newest project, Things that Go Bump in the Night, (or “Bump,” as we’ve begun calling it in our editor-to-writer back and forth) did not disappoint. By the second paragraph, I had moved on from merely reading a story to living vicariously through the characters.

  Though Bump clocks in at a word count just a hair shy of a novelette Tim didn’t press to add words so it could officially be a novelette. He cares about what’s important: sucking you into the worlds and characters he creates, so that you, the beloved reader, can simply read and enjoy, without having to skip over boring bits some self-absorbed author or editor just felt they had to add!

  Hope you enjoy Things That Go Bump in the Night as much as I have,

  Tammy Souch

  Owner and Editor at Grammatic Effects

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my Lord and Savior, Yeshua.

  Thanks to my family for once more putting up with me as I sat slack-jawed and glassy-eyed on the sofa, lost in thought—or something like that.

  Thanks to my Alpha Readers: C.B.; Katherine Kirk; Tim Suda; Stanley Myers II; Morgan Souch; and Jeanne Brown.

  Thanks to my editors, Tammy of Grammatic Effects, and Marjorie Koenig.

  Finally, thank you again to Lindsey Stirling whose albums provided the soundtrack as I wrote, rewrote, edited, re-rewrote, formatted, and did the whole writer thing. She is a very talented musician, and if you have not listened to her music, you are sorely missing out.

  Things that Go Bump in the Night

  From ghoulies and ghosties

  And long-leggedy beasties

  And things that go bump in the night,

  Good Lord, deliver us!

  I be here for the tellin' to be ensurin' that the tellin' be true. The truth mus' be told an' I be here to attest that the tale be true, an' pure as the night.

  Yon 'fore the now, the then was a'here. The beasties, an' ghoulies, an' ghosties ran freer. Amok an' away, we hid from the day. Runnin' at night, we doled out our fright. 'Twas not of our own strife; we were spoken to life. I be one o' the beasties what goes bump in the night!

  ***

  "Maeve, 'tis time for bed, young'un," said her da.

  Planting her fists on her hips, she glared up at him with her big brown eyes. "Shan't," she said. Her lower jaw jutted out in defiance.

  "Ye'll be wantin' to get into yer bed before the ghosties and ghoulies come a-lookin' for ye," he said, one eyebrow arched.

  "I ain't afraid o' them—them, or yon beasties, or things that go bump in the night! Ye an' Ma been tellin' me they be comin' for me far too long!" She shook her dark blonde tresses, her bangs falling down over her eyes. "Ne'er seen any o' them. Ne'er will, I'll fancy to claim!" She tossed her chin in the air.

  Her da took three steps towards her before she broke and bolted for the ladder up to her bed in the loft. His shoulders bounced as he chortled silently at the girl's retreat for a moment as she scrambled up the ladder, before glancing over to her ma. "She ha' yer defiant ways," he chuckled. His wife made no reply, having covered her mouth with a kitchen towel to hide her voiceless laughter at her daughter's antics. "Ye could o' helped, y' know."

  "Aye. Could ha'. Di'n't though." She stuck her tongue out at her husband, smiling.

  "Brat," he quipped, smiling back at his wife.

  In her bed up in the loft, Maeve wriggled beneath the covers. Contrary to her bluster, she was scared of the things of the night and had no intention of allowing them to get to her.

  She listened to her ma and da as they bustled about downstairs before they extinguished the candles causing her room to become dark. They went into their room, and shut the door for the night. The moon outside her tiny window was not large enough to lighten her surroundings, only putting a light spot on the wall opposite it. She burrowed deeper under her blankets, pulling them up to just beneath her nose.

  What was that? Had she heard something? Or had she dreamed it? There! Again! Something made a scraping noise under her bed. Maeve pulled her blankets tighter around her tiny body, beginning to shiver in fright. What could it be? Could it really be one of the ghoulies? Or a beastie? Mayhaps a ghostie? What? What could it be?

  *BUMP*

  She barked a tiny Oh! of fright. Something had hit her bed. From beneath! What? She began to quake in earnest, her teeth chattering together in terror, her eyes scrunched closed.

  Something touched her cheek. Her eyes snapped open. It was pitch black in the house now, no light at all coming in through her window. She turned her head to the side and found herself peering into two glowing red eyes. Screaming in terror, she fainted.

  ***

  Something was patting her face. She gave a frightened yelp as she tried to scramble away, flailing at whatever it was that was hitting her.

  "Maeve!" said her ma, scooping the terrified girl up in her arms. "'Tis me, child. What ails ye?"

  "Somethin' touched me face, an' when I turned to look—it had red glowin' eyes!" She buried her face in her ma's neck and began to bawl. "'Tis a beastie come to eat me, I knows it!" she sobbed.

  Her ma and da shared a look. "Maeve," said her da. "Look, bairn—those things? The beasties, an' ghosties, an' all that? They just be stories adults make up to scare younglin's into goin' to their beds wi' out a fuss. They dinna truly
exist."

  "But Da!" she cried, pulling away from her ma. "Ye be wrong! I saw it! It touched me. I know 'tis real."

  Her ma pulled her to her chest, hugging her hard. "There, there, li'l one," she murmured into her daughter's hair. "'Twas but a dream then. It felt real, but 'twas just a dream. Yer da went all through the house, in an' out before we went to bed, an' there ain't a thing out o' place. Nothin' got in that ain't s'posed to be in, an' nothin' got out what's not s'posed to be out."

  Maeve sniffled and wiped her nose on the back of one hand. "Ye be true?" she asked.

  Her ma nodded. "I be true!" she said, making a cross on her heart.

  "C'n I sleep in ye an' da's room tonight?" Maeve asked.

  "Of course, mi iarda," said her ma, using the Old Tongue word for my pulse.

  Maeve threw her arms around her ma, hugging her tight, then held out her arms to do the same to her da. "I'll fetch me blankets down to yer room, an' be back to sleep, then," she said, clambering down off her ma onto her bed, and grabbing her covers.

  Down in her parents' room, she made a small nest with her blankets on the foot of their bed. She burrowed under her covers. "I love ye!" she said to her parents as they got under their own blanket and blew out the candle.

  "Love ye, too," they both called to her softly.

  Sighing, she pulled the blankets up over her head. "I dinna care what they claim," she breathed. "I know what I saw. I know what I felt. 'Twas real." She fell asleep with that thought foremost in her mind.

  ***

  It was three nights before she finally went back up to her own bed in the loft. "I'll leave a candle burnin' down below," her da told her as he tucked her in. "It won't stay lit all night, but mayhaps long enough." He kissed her forehead and climbed down the ladder.

  It got quiet in the house as her parents closed their door. Maeve listened to the wind shriek in the trees outside. Off in the distance, a wolf howled, followed shortly by the replies from the rest of the pack.

  Slowly the light from the candle dimmed as it burned short. Maeve's eyes got heavier and began to droop despite her best efforts to keep them open.

  Something tugged on her blanket. "No!" she squealed, tugging back. In a flash it was snatched off her body. She clamped her eyes shut as tightly as she could.

  "Leave me be!" she cried.

  Something touched her ankle. She tried to pull it up away from the something, but it grabbed hold tighter.

  "Da!" she screamed. Her ankle was released. She snapped her eyes open as she heard her parents' door slam open, and the sounds of her da fumbling with the lighting of a candle.

  "What, Maeve? What is it, li'l one?" called her ma from below as her da raced up the ladder, candle held aloft.

  "There was a noise—and somethin' snatched me blanket off—then—it grabbed me ankle!" She began to sob, great heaving wails of terror.

  Her da put the candlestick on the floor, picking her up in his arms. "There, there me bairn. 'Tis nothin' up here now c'n harm ye," he whispered into Maeve's hair as his wife crested the ladder behind them.

  Maeve cried silently into her da's shoulder for a while before pulling back and sniffling. "What was it? A ghoulie, ghostie, or a-a-a beastie?" she asked around a sob.

  Her ma held up Maeve's blanket so her da could see. His eyes flew wide in astonishment. There were great rents in the end where some claw had torn at it. "Devlin?" she said in a tremulous voice.

  "Here," he said holding Maeve out to her. "I'll check 'round the house, Adara."

  Her ma dropped the ripped blanket, taking her daughter from her husband's arms. He climbed back down the ladder, picked up his large iron axe from the corner of the hearth, unlatched the door, and went outside.

  "Ma, what was it?"

  "Hush, mi iarda," said her ma. "'Twas naught. An' if 'twas, yer da will see to it." She looked down at the torn blanket, then stooped to peer beneath the bed. There were scuff marks in the dust. She held Maeve tighter to her chest, her hand clutching the back of her daughter's head. She heard Devlin coming back in. She looked down from the loft at him. He shook his head.

  "Nothin'. No sign of anythin' comin' in, or goin' out."

  She motioned with her head for him to come up to the loft. She pointed to the scuffs in the dust under Maeve's bed with the toes of her right foot. "Summat was here," she whispered to him.

  Devlin's jaw muscles clenched. "Maeve, ye be sleepin' with us the rest o' the night."

  She nodded and snuggled up to her ma's neck.

  ***

  "How did ye sleep, li'l one?" her ma asked the next morning.

  "Fine," said Maeve, her nose buried in her bowl of porridge.

  Her da glanced over at her ma. "When a female says fine, I ha' found it always means 'tis not."

  "Oh, hush Devlin," said her ma. "Leave the girl be."

  Maeve pushed her now empty bowl to the center of the rough wood table. "May I go play now?" she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Her parents shared a long look before her ma nodded at her da.

  "Yes, yes," sighed her da. "Be careful. Stay away from the stream, dinna stray too far, and dinna forget that ye need to be back in time for yer chores."

  She bobbed her head in assent to his request and dashed from the hut. Outside she placed her eyes on a distant heather covered moor, and ran. Pell-mell she ran, until a stitch gave her pains in the side. She had to get far away from the horrors that came to her in her own bed during the night. On she ran. She ran until her breath was ragged. She ran more until she tasted the hot, coppery taint of blood with each and every breath. She ran on even then until she felt as if she were about to throw up. In the middle of the heather, she threw herself down. Rolling over and over, her world became a blur of purple flowers, blue sky, and green stems. She came to a stop on her back gazing up at the puffy white clouds in a piercing blue sky through the purple flowers of the heather bushes.

  Keening and exhausted, she fell sound asleep.

  ***

  "Maeve!" came a cry from far away. She opened her eyes and sat up. It was dark. Around her she could hear the night bugs chirping, buzzing, and clicking. "Maeve!" came the sound of her da's cry yet again.

  "Oh!" she cried. "'Tis late!" She stood up and brushed herself off. "Da!" she cried. "I'm here!"

  "Maeve!" came her da's call again, this time farther away.

  "No!" she shrieked. "Da! I'm up here!" Tears streaming down her face, she ran towards his call. "Da!" she called. "Da!" She was screaming his name now. Harder she ran. Down the moor she tore, her feet pounding through the heather. Her right toe caught under a particularly stiff heather cluster, something hidden from her eyes by the darkening skies. She flew forward through the air, landing face down in the grasses. Her forehead struck a rock. Her world went black.

  It was still dark when she came to. She should have been freezing. It was the middle of the night. But she wasn't. There was something warm against her back. Something warm . . . and hairy.

  Her breath caught. She rolled over. Two bright red eyes peered back at her. As she began to scream in terror, two huge, furry arms wrapped around her tiny frame. She fainted.

  ***

  She sat bolt upright in her bed and took a deep breath in preparation to scream again—and stopped. She was in her own bed with daylight streaming in the loft window. How? Who had brought her home? She put her hand up to her forehead.

  "Ow!" she exclaimed. There was a huge egg-shaped lump where she had hit the rock. Her clothes were torn to shreds and full of grass, twigs, and purple heather flowers. Her legs and knees were all scratched up from her frantic race through the heather moor. There was long black fur all down her front.

  Screaming, she stood in her bed, frantically brushing the fur off. "Ma! Da! Ma! Da!" she cried, over and over, all the while brushing at the fur on her clothing. She heard the front door to their cottage slam inwards as her da came rushing in, her ma close behind.

  "Maeve!" the two
cried, both trying to clamber up the ladder to her loft at the same time. Her ma managed to climb over her husband and got to her daughter first. She snatched Maeve up out of the bed and crushed her to her own chest in a fierce hug.

  "Maeve! Mi iarda, where ha' ye been all night?" She held the girl out at arm's length, looking her over. "An' look what ye've done to yer clothes!" She pulled her back into another passionate hug, clucking into her daughter's hair.

  Her da peered down at the long black hairs that Maeve had brushed off herself onto the bed, then over at his daughter. He plucked more strands of the hairy fur off of her back. "Maeve; child," he said, a serious tone tainting his words. "What animal ha' ye been visitin' with?"

  Maeve's eyes opened wide as she stared at the offending strands in his fingers. "Da, I dinna know. I was out in the moors, an' I fell. I hit me head. When I woke, one o' the beasties was there wi' me. It has to be the hair o' the beastie!" She buried her face in her ma's hair and began sobbing.

  "Hush, li'l one," her ma shushed into the girl's ear, bouncing her in her arms as she did so. "Ye're safe now." She looked up at her husband. He shrugged helplessly.

  "How did ye get back here, Maeve?" he asked.

  "I dinna know. The beastie—it grabbed me, an' I fainted. When I woke up, I was in bed."

  Her ma and da shared a look. "I'll look to yon lump on her head," said her ma. "Ye look 'round up here some more." Her husband nodded as she put Maeve down, shooing her towards the ladder down from the loft.

  Adara stripped the shredded clothing off of her daughter in front of the fire, shaking out the hair and heather onto the hearthstones. She poured some hot water from the kettle by the fire onto a bowl, ripped a rag from the tattered clothing, rinsed it out in the bowl of water, and began to scrub the child's dirty face.

  "Ma, ye believe me, don' ye?" asked the girl.

  "I believe that is how ye sees it, yes," said her ma, dabbing at the girl's tear- and mud-streaked cheeks.

  Maeve sniffled a few times. "Ow!" she whined as her ma dabbed at the lump on her head.

  "That is what ye get for runnin' in the dark," said her ma.