When the Black-Eyed Children Knock & Other Stories

Chapter 7 - The Day After I Disappeared

Was that a knock?

I open my eyes to the sound of someone at the door. I glance at the digital clock on the nightstand next to the Gideon Bible. Noon.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were still in here," the worker says after opening the door. "There's an issue with the plumbing on the floor above you, and I wanted to check for leaks down here."

I yawn and stretch from the bed, mumbling a response about the room being fine.

"And are you OK, sir?" the worker says before leaving.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror next to the bed. Now I understand the question. Blood from my hand dried into a wide crust over the sheets.

"Best to mind your own business," I say and roll over. The worker takes my advice.

I stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, pretending to watch for drips, before scrubbing myself clean in the shower. Somewhere between rinse and repeat, I'm struck by an unexpected thought.

What the hell am I doing in a hotel room? How did I get here?

Stepping out of the shower, I dry off and mentally retrace my last steps. The last thing I remember before waking up here is a face at the front door at home. No memories of driving to the hotel in...

Which hotel is this?

I check a sign about fire evacuation posted to the door. I'm in a hotel two towns over from where I live.

Did I drive here?

My keys rest on a chest of drawers. Other than that, it looks like I packed light. No suitcase. No toothbrush. No food or drinks. Nothing but the clothes on my back, or on the floor in this case.

I tug my clothes back on, feeling the dampness of sweat chill my skin. There's a weight in the pockets. Slipping a hand inside, I pull out my cell phone and wallet.

No missed calls. Credit cards and cash aren't missing, either.

Holding the cell phone in my hand triggers a memory. Something about kids, scissors, glowing lights and the pervasive feeling that...

I'm going to die tonight.

Everything comes rushing back. The knocking. The pounding on the windows. The lug wrench. And worst of all, the black-eyed children.

Nicole doesn't pick up after I dial her number. I don't even bother checking out of the hotel. I rush straight to my car and gun it home.

I'm expecting police tape when I pull into the driveway, but I see none. The only thing out of place is a spider web of cracked glass on the bedroom window and a lug wrench in the lawn.

I enter through the back door and into the kitchen. Nicole looks up at me from the couch in the living room, her face swollen from crying. I'm overjoyed at the sight of her, but I don't hear any signs of the baby. Panic bites down on my chest.

"Is Jack OK?" I say, thinking back to the black-eyed girl holding the scissors over the bassinet. It's been a while since I've called him by his actual name instead of "the baby."

"He's napping," Nicole says as I take a seat next to her.

"What about you?" I say and slip an arm around her shoulder.

Nicole looks at me with wet eyes. "What happened last night?"

I'm at a loss for an explanation myself. "I don't know. Do you remember those kids? What happened after that girl came in the bedroom?"

"You left us. I can't believe you left us," Nicole says.

"No, I didn't leave. I stayed, I really did," I say.

"I don't understand."

"I don't either," I say. I pull her close. "But I'm never going to leave you two. Ever."

With my mind made up, things at home improve. We spend every chance we can together, and Jack seems to be all the better for it. Healthy. Happy. All of us. Nicole and I make it official at the courthouse a few months later.

We don't talk about what happened the night I disappeared, and I'm still at a loss as to what happened. I tried to file a police report, but they told me to stop wasting their time with made up stories about black-eyed children. In the years to come, the incident becomes a relic of someone else's life, not the one we're living.

But late at night, when I can't sleep, I get up to drown my insomnia in peanut butter and stare at the glass oval in the front door. I swear sometimes I can see a face looking back at me. I dismiss it as my imagination, but I can't help but wonder when the streetlights flicker.

And on other nights, when things between Nicole and I aren't going so well or Jack is testing my patience, I stare at the ceiling and feel the electricity of anticipation running up and down my spine. It's like I'm waiting on someone to pay a visit. Maybe I know whom.

Knock knock.

The End

Were the black-eyed children real or was it all in Liam's head? Leave a comment below and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading! 

~Ben