A Perfect Evil

Chapter 68

When darkness came, it came quickly. Despite Timmy’s efforts to remain calm, the inevitable prospect of the long, dark night ahead destroyed his defenses.

He had spent the day trying to come up with an escape plan or at least a way to send a distress signal. It certainly wasn’t as easy as they made it look in the movies. Still, that helped him stay focused. He thought of Batman and Luke Skywalker. And Han Solo, who was his favorite.

The stranger had brought him Flash Gordon and Superman comic books. Yet, even equipped with the knowledge and secrets of all those superheroes, Timmy still couldn’t escape. After all, he was a small, skinny ten year old. But on the soccer field, he had learned to use his smallness to his advantage, sneaking under and through other players. Maybe strength wasn’t what he needed.

It was too hard to think with the dark swallowing up corners of the room. He could see that the lantern had very little kerosene left, so he needed to hold off lighting it for as long as possible. But already the panic crawled over him in shivers.

He considered the kerosene heater. Perhaps he could drain kerosene from it for the lantern. Gusts of wind still knocked at the-boarded window, rattling slats and sneaking through the cracks. Without the heater he might freeze before morning. No, as much as he hated to admit it, he needed the heater more than he needed the light.

He replayed scenes from Star Wars in his mind, repeating dialogue out loud to keep himself occupied. He squeezed the lighter, reminding himself that he did have control over the darkness. Every once in a while he flicked it on and off, on and off. But the darkness wasn’t the only enemy. The silence was almost as unsettling.

All day he forced himself to listen for voices, for barking dogs or car engines, for church bells or emergency sirens. Other than a distant train whistle and one jet overhead, he had heard nothing. Where in the world was he?

He had even tried yelling until his throat hurt, only to be answered by violent gusts of wind, scolding him. It was much too quiet. Wherever he was, he had the feeling it was far, far away from anyone who could help him.

Something skidded across the floor, a click-click of tiny nails on the wood. His heart pounded and the shivering took over. He flicked on the lighter, but couldn’t see anything. Finally, he gave in. Without leaving the bed, he reached over to the crate and lit the lantern. Immediately its yellow glow filled the room. He should have felt relief. Instead, he curled up again into a tight ball, pulling the covers to his chin. And for the first time since his dad had left town, Timmy allowed himself to cry.