Howard Ripple placed the detective badge in the pocket of his jacket as he got into his car and started the drive home after an intolerable day at work. The evening news blared through his car radio, announcing that another child had gone missing in just under two weeks. Frustrated and all too aware of the circumstances, Howard turned the radio off as he navigated the rural road. The car pulled into the gravel tracks leading to his house—a red villa on the outskirts of town.
“Hey! I’m home!”
Howard’s announcement was met with silence, except for the family’s border collie, Cookie, who ran to greet him in the hallway as he closed the door.
“Hey, buddy!”
Howard bent down and ran his fingers through Cookies’ fur.
“Are you here alone? Where’s Mama?”
Howard entered the kitchen and saw Annabelle standing by the counter, preparing a dish.
“You’re awfully quiet. Something on your mind? Let me guess—you heard about the news.”
Annabelle put down her kitchen supplies and buried her head in her hands.
“I can’t deal with this anymore. Every time another child disappears, I’m reminded of Matthew. Sometimes I dream that I receive a sign, supernatural, or something like a letter, which confirms that he is okay.”
“Anna, it’s been a year now. If he was okay, he would have been found. It’s time to let go. Cherish the bright moments you had with him and mourn his death; holding on for some sign is torture.”
Howard stretched his limbs out, lying on his back in the pool of black water. The area was submerged in darkness. His eyes searched the surroundings and noticed a light source in the distance. Moving his legs and arms, he swam toward it. Straining and kicking, Howard moved closer, when suddenly something violently tugged at his legs and pulled him beneath the water’s surface. Howard sank into the pool and saw a long gray tentacle wrapped around his left leg. Panicking and choking, he sank lower and lower until he reached the bottom. Suddenly, there was no longer a need for breathing. The tentacle slipped from Howard’s leg as he stood on the sandy dunes of the ocean floor. In the distance, he noticed yet another light, which he started walking toward. On closer inspection, he saw a television with a white screen. Howard placed his hand on the screen, and it sank into it. As Howard attempted to pull his hand out, fighting for his life proved useless as he was sucked into the television.
Howard woke from the dream with a gasp. He turned over toward Annabelle and gently woke her.
“My dreams are becoming even stranger. They are incredibly intense and last for a long time.”
After rubbing her eyes and yawning, Annabelle placed her hand on Howard’s arm.
“It’s probably stress. With those hours you’re working, it’s a wonder you don’t drop dead from exhaustion.”
Shivering, Howard wrapped himself in his covers and then shot Annabelle an inquisitive look.
“About earlier at dinner, Anna . . . . Are you sure you’re okay? I know these recent disappearances bring back old memories.”
“I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.”
“Sometimes, it helps to talk. I know it’s difficult.”
Annabelle turned over in her bed.
The depths of North Woods were gold and crimson in the chilly autumn afternoon. Howard searched efficiently along the trees and then made his way further into the depths. For approximately three hours, the scattered group of police officers had looked for the missing child, Timothy Reed, 11 years old. Timothy, much like the other children, disappeared during the night. Sometimes, family members complained of a faint noise during the nights before the disappearance, akin to a whistling sound or subdued singing. Howard scurried past trees and bushes when suddenly he spotted something hanging from a nearby tree. It looked like a voodoo doll of some form, a bunch of sticks and rope stitched together. He examined the doll and placed it in his pocket before making his way out of the forest.
Caressed by the sheets of white satin, Howard woke to the sound of a woman singing. Throwing the covers to the side and still groggy, he made his way to the window, which was still ajar. Looking out, he saw the trees in the distance covered in darkness as they lay empty and deserted. Howard put on his coat and made his way downstairs, through the kitchen, and out into the desolate evening. The singing was distinctly audible at this point. It sounded like a lullaby Howard’s mother would sing to him when he was a child. Howard felt his legs move him toward the siren song. Resistance was futile, and soon Howard found himself at the edge of the forest. When the singing finally stopped, so did Howard. Though the darkness impaired his vision, he noticed a figure in the distance emerging from the abyss. It was wearing a pagan ritual mask on its face and a heavy black coat. Howard stood still, unable to mouth even a whisper. Suddenly, the figure spoke in a deep trembling baritone.
“Come closer, my child. Let me see your scars.”
Howard sensed a shiver in his body. Unable to move or speak, all he could do was watch the figure inch its way closer.
“Come with me. You will be rewarded.”
The figure, without moving its legs, floated back into the darkness. Suddenly, a loud scream rang through Howard’s ears as he woke from his sleep and into his bed.
“I saw a face in the window!”
Annabelle was sitting in their bed, her face as pale as a ghost, pointing at the window.
Annabelle had been home from work for over a year. Most days, she just hid in her bed, crying and shivering. She had been through numerous stages of grief but had never really recovered. Losing a child is the worst imaginable horror for a parent; only losing them without receiving closure is worse. Every night, she dreamed of Matthew arriving at their doorstep, ragged and weak, then folding her arms around him while he cried in her lap. The emptiness she felt upon waking and realizing that she was dreaming was overwhelming. As the seasons passed and time marched further from the day of Matthew’s disappearance, she conjured up a few tricks to preserve his memory. His room, which was on the upper floor next to hers and Howard’s, had been kept exactly the same as it was the day he disappeared—except for a note she had written and left under his pillow (since she was certain that Matthew would be found someday): “Just like the leaves wither and fall during autumn, leaving the trees cold and bare in winter, I knew you would return come spring.”
Annabelle watched the fog rolling through the neighborhood as she sat on her porch smoking a cigarette. She took deep drags and exhaled smoke into the mist. Suddenly, her hands trembled, and she dropped the cigarette on the pavement. The moments dragged on longer than they should as she felt a translucent nausea rise from her stomach. Making her way into the house, through the corridor, and into the bathroom, her mind ran faster and faster. She searched the medicine cabinet for a sedative to soften the panic attack. After unscrewing the top of the bottle of diazepam, she swallowed two tiny pills. She got into her bed and lay down. The wave of relaxation that washed over her was awesome.
It was night when she woke up, and without a light to illuminate the darkness, the house reminded her of a contemporary horror film. Making her way out into the upstairs hallway, she walked up to a painting on the wall she had never seen before. It depicted a skull with a snake crawling through an eye socket. Looking closer, she noticed a tear and started peeling it off. Incrementally, she ripped off the paint, finally revealing a mirror. In the mirror was an image of herself as a decaying corpse. She moved her hand in a jerking motion to see her reflection do the same. Suddenly, Annabelle lost control of her actions as the mirror image started directing her movements. Placing both her hands against the surface of the image, she leaned her head against the glass, as Annabelle did the same. Then, she began to smash her head against the mirror. First, a crack appeared, then another, and finally, leaning back one last time with blood rushing from her forehead, she lunged her head forward and broke the glass.
“I just wanted to come here and watch the water.”
Annabelle was standing with Howard by the shore on the outskirts of town. Howard had a few days off work and decided to accompany her.
“It’s just so relaxing.”
They watched the waves caress the beach as a distant flock of seagulls hovered above the water. A thick fog surrounded Annabelle and Howard, stretching out over the shore and impairing their vision. Howard put his arms around Annabelle and kissed her cheek.
“It’s nice that we can still do stuff like this.”
Annabelle took off her shoes and stepped into the ocean. In the distance, she saw the birds, surrounded by mist, diving into the water. Looking closer, she spotted something emerging through the fog.
“Is that a boat?”
Howard looked attentively and walked toward Annabelle.
“It’s a boat! No one’s inside, though. I wonder what happened!”
Annabelle and Howard climbed into the tiny boat and let the current drag them away from the shore into the mist and away from gazing eyes. As they drifted in the currents across the vast ocean, Annabelle leaned back in the boat.
“Do you love me, Howard? Am I the girl of your dreams?”
Howard was startled by the question. Unsure of how to answer, he touched the skin of her cheek.
“From the first moment we met, I knew you were the one.”
Annabelle looked up at the stars, and in her peripheral vision, she spotted the flower moon.
“The moon is bright and red. I could stay here forever. Don’t ever leave me.”
When the boat reached the coast, Annabelle and Howard got out and began walking home. The sky was lit with thousands of stars as they trailed the path toward their house. Walked lockstep down the road, Howard grasped Annabelle’s hand and held it tightly. As he looked out at the countryside, he felt a rising tremble in his chest.
“If I died at this moment, I would die happy, but I fear I will live many more years.”
Annabelle kissed his cheeks, and before they knew it, they were home.
Excerpt from Howard Ripples’ diary:
“I am struck by how short life is. I am 40 years old now, and I feel like I am just 20. Every year goes by faster and faster; soon, I will be dead with so much left undone. Though I still have dreams, I weep for my childhood aspirations buried long ago. Matthew had dreams, as well. I always found him scribbling in his notebooks. I think he wanted to be a writer. His poetry had all the markings of a novice, though some stood out in my mind. I don’t have them with me; Annabelle put all his notebooks in moving boxes and placed them in the attic. One day, she’ll let me rummage through his stuff and pick out the best poems, and I’ll send them to a literary magazine in hopes of getting them published. Matthew’s life cannot have been for nothing. Just a lit match that burns for a short duration and then expires, leaving only ash and smoke. Like Sisyphus rolling the boulder up the hill, only for it to roll back down in futility.”
Howard and Annabelle Ripple woke one morning on June 13 to the sound of thunder and rain splattering on their bedroom window. After having worked overtime the night before, Howard was still exhausted and groggy as he threw the sheets aside. Looking out the window, he saw the sun dimmed by clouds and the wind violently shaking the trees. Annabelle followed him out of bed and went downstairs into the kitchen to brew some coffee. Picking up a cup, Howard went to the door to pick up the morning newspaper. Outside, he saw Matthew, looking paler than a ghost, clad in ragged worn-out clothes, with deep circles around his gray sunken eyes.
“If anything else occurs, or if he seems more cognizant, give me a call.”
Howard led Dr. Brockwood out of the door. Matthew had been home for two days; initially delirious and unable to utter a coherent sentence, he gradually calmed down after Annabelle gave him two sedatives. Together, she, and Howard put him to bed, both in complete ecstasy because their boy had returned.
“The most important thing is that he’s home and alive. The rest is secondary.”
Annabelle stood in Matthew’s doorway and watched him sleep before closing the door and going upstairs.
“I found this note in his shirt pocket. Howard, could you take a look at this?”
Howard, who was lying in his bed about to drift off to sleep, turned on the nightlight and examined the note. It was written in red ink, possibly blood, in bold capital letters:’
“THE CEREMONY
DEEP INSIDE
THE WELL, THE WELL
O GOD IX AHTAB
GUIDE ME IN LIGHT”
Perplexed, Howard returned the note to Annabelle.
“I’m not sure what it means. Ahtab is an ancient deity. I used to read horror fiction in high school and came across some occult books. Who do you think wrote it?”
Annabelle folded the note and placed it on her bedside table.
“It couldn’t have been Matthew. Whoever abducted him must have written it. Some bizarre cult perhaps.”
“The dreams I’ve been having for some time now always take place in the forest. A woman is singing to me, like a siren song leading me into the trees. I’m sure whoever or whatever took him resides in the forest.”
Howard woke in a state of groggy delirium. The sound of chanting through the open window caught his attention. Turning over, he tried to wake Annabelle, who remained sedated. After putting on his coat and jeans, he went downstairs, through the kitchen, and followed the chanting out into the evening. As he stood on the edge of the forest, he listened attentively and then traversed into the trees.
The forest was blooming with color and light. The trees had a bright red hue, and the mossy ground was a distinct green. The chanting became louder as Howard staggered through bushes and over twigs. The singing was coming from the tree tops surrounding him, growing louder and then fading, like a human body breathing air. As he looked at the bark of the trees, he saw faces and mouths from which the chanting was emanating. Confused, Howard stopped and caught his breath, and then began to join in the chanting. Spinning in circles, unsure of the direction to take, he closed his eyes and let his body lead the way. When he opened them again, he was on a trail. He followed the trail until he spotted something in the distance through the wilderness.
“A well! It’s a well!”
The well was made of bones. Once again, Howard could hear the chanting, only now it was coming from within the well. In a trance, Howard peered down the structure, his body instinctively moving closer until he fell in.
Annabelle navigated her way through the forest, following Howard’s trail by listening attentively to the chanting, which led her deeper and deeper into the green. Suddenly, she emerged into an open area, unobscured by trees. In the distance, she saw Howard hanging upside down from a pole, a heavy brown bag covering his face and his hands tied together in knots. He was surrounded by cultists, all wearing identical pagan ritual masks, waving torches, and chanting in unison around a bonfire. Annabelle watched from a distance, terrified of what might happen if the cultists noticed her.
Suddenly, the chanting stopped as the group of pagans kneeled in prayer in front of Howard. Gazing attentively, Annabelle noticed the trees across the field begin to shake. A giant black tarantula emerged from the forest. The chanting started up again as the cultists parted, making a path for the insect. Slowly, ever so slowly, the spider walked toward Howard, who screamed in terror.
“HELP! FOR CHRISTS SAKE, HELP ME SOMEONE!”
In a state of complete delirium, Annabelle started running toward Howard.
“WAIT! TAKE ME INSTEAD!”
The spider halted as the cultists turned around and noticed Annabelle. She ran into the trees, with the cultists hot on her trail. Annabelle felt her heart beating faster and faster and harder and harder in her chest. As she continued running through bushes and weeds, she heard the sound of scattered, deranged screams behind her. Suddenly, her foot got stuck in a tree root, and she fell hard against the ground.
Annabelle woke up hanging upside down from a pole, similar to the one Howard was hanging from, with her feet and hands tied up. Looking to her right, she saw Howard, and to her left, she saw Matthew. Ahead, they were surrounded by cultists. Emerging from the darkness was the insect god.
The cultists danced and waved their torches in the air. As the spider began devouring Howard, starting by tearing open his stomach and spilling guts on the ground, Annabelle felt herself on the verge of fainting. She turned her head toward Matthew and spoke softly.
“I love you, Matthew. We will meet again.”
Gabriel Wing 