Into the Void Read online

  Into

  the

  void

  Amanda Frame

  Copyright © 2018 Amanda Frame

  Cover Design © by Alexander Von Ness

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For permissions contact:

  [email protected]

  ISBN: 978-0-9998311-1-3

  PROLOGUE

  He observed her for years, hoping what he was doing wouldn’t affect her. He knew it was dangerous and he risked drawing her into it. She was just a child. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to her. He had to be careful.

  ~

  I pulled my purple comforter over my head and squeezed my eyes shut. I’m dreaming, this is a dream, I told myself. I lowered the comforter down to the bridge of my nose, just enough to peek out from under it. The room looked the same as before I had shut my eyes, and I tried to convince myself I was having a nightmare. A dim glow from an unseen source lit my bedroom just enough for me to see the crumbling walls that had been whole and new just moments ago, the soft pink color drained and pale. The rug on the floor and toy chest that sat near my closet were gone, stained and peeling linoleum in their place.

  I saw a shadow skitter by. The thing looked like a short human with too-long arms that dragged on the ground, and an elongated head with a jaw that stuck out far beyond its forehead. My breathing was fast and shallow, and sweat beaded on my forehead as terror stronger than anything I had ever felt filled my entire being.

  I screamed.

  My mom came bursting through the door after an eternity. Right before she flipped the light switch, I looked at her dimly lit face. Her cheeks and eyes were sunken in and her lips too thin, as if her skin were stretched over a skull. Her hair was wiry and patches were missing. The spindly arm of the shadow monster reached its twitchy fingers slowly toward her, gently gripping her arm. My scream tore through the room once more and I slapped my hands over my eyes, trying to block out the nightmare before me.

  “Anna!” my mom shouted. I kept screaming and wriggled upright, pressing myself into my headboard, hands still over my eyes. “Anna!” She pulled my hands down and I saw light through my eyelids.

  I opened my eyes and stopped screaming, still panting and out of breath. My mom looked normal. The room looked normal. She wrapped me in a hug and held me while I sobbed and shook. I grabbed fistfuls of her blue silky night gown and pressed my head into her chest. When I had calmed down, she gently dislodged my fingers from her gown and pulled away so she could look me in the eyes. Her face was blurred and watery through my tears.

  My dad rushed into the room, hair frazzled and eyes wild. “What the hell is happening?!” He looked scared. My dad never looked scared.

  “Another night terror,” my mom replied. “It’s never been this bad.” She smoothed my light brown hair back and wiped the tears off my freckled cheeks, her worried eyes scanning my face as though she could determine what was wrong with me if she just looked hard enough.

  “This is ridiculous,” my dad said, “she’s twelve years old, for Christ’s sake! We’re taking her to a specialist.” I had gone to my doctor a few months ago when this started and he said I was having “night terrors,” whatever that meant, and that they would probably go away within a few months.

  My mom nodded in agreement and looked at the clock. 2:23 am. There was only about three and a half hours before my parents had to wake up for work and I had to get up for school. There was no chance I would be sleeping anymore tonight and no chance I would turn my light off ever again. My breath quickened again as I remembered the shadow-man’s grip on my mom’s arm. I feared shutting my eyes, thinking he might be there when I opened them. I jerked away and squeaked when I felt a light touch on my shoulder, but it was just my mom’s hand, trying to comfort me.

  She sighed. “Okay, I’ll make an appointment for some time this week and…”

  “No!” my dad interrupted. “She’s going today! This is getting out of control.”

  “Okay, okay, Steven, relax. I’ll get someone to cover my shift at the hospital and hopefully that neurologist the pediatrician recommended…what’s her name? Hopefully she has an appointment available.”

  “Dr. Sharver, I think. I’m coming with you.”

  “Don’t you have that big meeting today?” my mom asked.

  “It doesn’t matter, Margaret, she’s my kid too, and I want to know what the fu…heck is going on.” My dad never missed a day of work, not even when he had the flu.

  “You should go to work, Dad.” My voice sounded hoarse and it burned to talk. Probably from the screaming.

  “It’s fine, sweetie. I can reschedule my meeting.” He gave me the best smile he could manage, given his bloodshot, tired eyes. “Try to go back to sleep…”

  “No!” I shouted, startling both my parents. “Please don’t leave me alone…” I managed to croak feebly, stifling a desperate sob.

  “It’s okay, Anna, you can sleep with us,” my mom said gently. The three of us trudged down the hall to my parents’ bedroom, me dragging my blanket behind me. I squeezed between them in their queen-sized bed. My eyes wouldn’t stay open, no matter how hard I tried, and eventually exhaustion drowned me in a restless sleep filled with monsters and darkness.

  ~

  At 10:30 am my parents and I sat in the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting room of Dr. Caroline Sharver, Board Certified Neurologist with Specialty in Sleep Disorders, according the plaque hanging on the wall. According to my dad, my pediatrician had “called in a few favors” to get me an emergency appointment.

  I wriggled in my chair, uncomfortable and nervous. Would she tell me I was crazy? Would they lock me away somewhere and I would never see my parents again? Would the monsters and cracking walls haunt me for the rest of my life? My parents had assured me none of that would happen, but I wasn’t convinced.

  “Anna Flores?” I jumped at the sound of my name. A pudgy nurse in ill-fitting pink scrubs waved us over. She led us through the door that hopefully contained all the answers to my problems. I stared at the roll of fat hanging over the nurse’s pants as she took my blood pressure. I jumped at the sudden tightening of the blood pressure cuff.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie, did that squeeze a little too hard?” she asked, giving me an apologetic look and standing up. She assured us the doctor would be in shortly and left the room.

  I grabbed the Highlights magazine from the rack next to the door and glanced at the hidden pictures page. Some kid had already circled all the objects. Frowning, I shoved it back into the rack. My mom stared off into space while my dad was zoned in on his phone, probably checking his company emails and silently freaking out about what he was missing at work.

  The doctor walked in the room and startled all three of us.

  “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Flores. And you must be Anna,” she said, looking at me. I didn’t respond. She gave me a little smile and sat in the black rolling stool near the opposite wall. She rolled over towards us, the wheels squeaking, making me cringe. “I’m Dr. Sharver.” She paused, as if waiting for me to say something, which I didn’t. “So what’s going on with you?” she asked.

  “Her pediatrician says she’s having night terrors, but we wanted a second opinion. She also gets bad headaches sometimes,” my mom answered for me. She launched into my story. I started screaming in the middle of the night about three months ago, telling my parents that things in my room were disappearing and that I knew monsters were going to get me. Eventually I stopped telling them what I was seeing and hearing,
but I was still screaming in the middle of the night. It was happening a few times a month and taking a toll on all of us.

  What I didn’t tell my parents was that this had happened several other times. While I was awake.

  “Does this ever happen during the day?” Dr. Sharver asked, as though reading my mind.

  “N...no,” I stuttered. It was the first thing I had said since she came into the room. I felt like I shouldn’t tell her the truth, but I didn’t really know why.

  “And how do you feel when these episodes happen?” she asked.

  “Scared.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Um…it feels, um…real.” I spit this out without really thinking about what I was going to say. The doctor raised her eyebrows just the tiniest bit and wrote something down on her pad of paper. Maybe this wasn’t something that happened during night terrors? “Or…or maybe not. I don’t know,” I retracted, getting nervous.

  My dad sat up straighter and his forehead creased. My mom’s lips parted as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t decide what. I shrank back in my chair, afraid that now everyone thought I was crazy. Staring at my feet, I tried not to cry.

  “Okay,” said Dr. Sharver, addressing my parents, “I’m going to get an MRI and put her on two medications, Diazepam and Risperidone.”

  “And what are those, exactly?” my dad asked.

  “Diazepam can be used for anxiety and sleep disorders and may help with the headaches. Risperidone is…an antipsychotic,” she answered.

  “An antipsychotic?” my dad shouted, “You think my daughter is crazy?” I looked from my dad to the doctor, terrified. Oh my God, I am crazy. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

  “No, no. Not at all. Hopefully this is just temporary,” she said.

  “Hopefully?” my mom asked.

  “Yes,” replied the doctor. “It’s important that we control this until she grows out of it. Was she born premature?”

  “Yes,” my mom replied, “why?”

  “Sometimes night terrors are a sign of an under-developed nervous system, which can happen in children who are born premature. It’s usually just a phase that will go away on its own. It isn’t as uncommon as you think. We will gradually take her off the medication in about two months and see what happens.”

  “What if they come back?” my dad asked.

  “Then we might need to consider that this might be something else. Her symptoms are quite severe for night terrors. But we can discuss that further when and if the time comes. Here are her prescriptions.” She tore two sheets off her little pad of paper and handed them to my mom. “And the MRI facility will call you when they have approval from the insurance company. I’ll see you guys back in two months. Call me if there are any further issues.” Dr. Sharver smiled and shook my parents’ hands.

  We walked in silence to the car. My parents spoke in hushed voices on the ride home while I zoned out in the back seat. I stared out the window. At a red light, I saw our old neighbor happily cutting his grass with a push-mower. I felt as though I would never be happy again.

  CHAPTER 1

  ALBERT

  On June second, 2007, Albert John Marshall was dead for seven minutes.

  It was the weekend of his eightieth birthday and he was going to see his only daughter, Maureen, for the first time in more than six months. His granddaughter Allison was coming too, and bringing her four-year-old daughter. The only three living family members he had would all be under the same roof for the first time in three years.

  He had been looking forward to their visit ever since Maureen told him they were coming. It was the first birthday since his wife died that he was actually excited about.

  Mr. Marshall had spent the day cooking, something he hadn’t done in a long while. He moved in the slow motion of old age, every stir of the pot taking twice as long, every cup of sugar twice as heavy. But he didn’t mind. His family was coming. It was worth it.

  The smell of lasagna wafted into the living room. Bubbling cheese and tomato sauce tickled his nose while he sat in front of the TV, watching the news as he waited for the three generations of women who somehow all looked just like his wife. His heart ached every time he saw them.

  The clock said 4:16. Maureen had told him they would be there at 4:00. He was starting to worry that they wouldn’t come. Maybe the emotional tension between him and the rest of his family was too much and they had changed their mind. Sure, he had made mistakes, but he had been trying to atone for them for the last several years. It wouldn’t make up for the decades he had spent as an absent father, but he would try anyway.

  He desperately wanted to see his great-granddaughter. It would likely be the last time he ever would. He was old and only getting older, and Allison lived far away. The apprehension was making his chest feel tight.

  It was hot in the house, and Mr. Marshall worried about comfort of his family should they decide to stay. He felt sweat bead on his temples and a lone drop slide down his cheek. His breathing became ragged.

  4:31. They aren’t coming. He gripped his chest and winced. Grabbing the remote, he turned up the volume to drown the pounding of his pulse in his ears and the anxiety in his heart. It was his birthday. They’d be there soon.

  He checked his watch again. Tears welled in his eyes and pain shot up his neck and down his arm. They aren’t coming.

  Mr. Marshall stood up, his knobby joints cracking. Something was wrong. He reached for his cane and missed, and felt a sharp, hot pain in his hip as his body hit the floor. He cried out, but it only took a moment for the pain in his chest to overshadow the stabbing burn in his leg.

  The front door opened.

  “Dad?” a familiar voice called. “Sorry we’re late, traffic was…Dad!”

  Mr. Marshall felt the vibration of running footsteps under his cheek. He heard the high-pitched wail of a small child. What he would give to be able to turn and see her face.

  “Call an ambulance!”

  “I am!” came the panicked response from Allison. Her voice was so similar to his late wife’s that for a moment he thought it was her. But she was gone, and he would soon be with her.

  Mr. Marshall could only listen. He could pick out the unfamiliar noises that were only here because his life was fading. Sirens, squeaking wheels, men’s voices, plastic and Velcro.

  “Is he breathing?” I could hear the desperation in Maureen’s voice.

  “Step back, ma’am. If we can get him to the hospital, he will be…”

  “He’s not breathing!” Allison cried, cutting off the man’s reassurance. The screams of the toddler in the background got louder.

  Mr. Marshall wasn’t breathing, but he was happy. They came.

  They loaded him into the ambulance and got him to the hospital in time to restart his heart.

  But seven minutes is a long a time to be dead.

  CHAPTER 2

  ANNA

  “Anna! Anna!” I heard my name shouted from down the hallway. It was Becca. I finished the text I was typing to my mom about how cross-country practice would probably run late today so I wouldn’t be home for dinner.

  “Relax,” I said to Becca, sticking my phone in my pocket and tucking my hair behind my ears. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I forgot to do my pre-calc homework. Can I copy yours?” She looked at me with the most pathetically hopeful look in her eyes.

  I rolled my eyes but I smiled. “Ugh, fine.”

  “Oh my God, I owe you!” She scrambled in her pink backpack for the double-sided worksheet handed out yesterday by Mrs. Miller, our evil pre-calculus teacher who gave you an automatic zero on your assignment if you handed it in so much as five minutes late.

  “We’re in crisis mode here, Anna! Killer Miller is going to eat me alive if I don’t hand this in; I already missed last week’s quiz and she won’t let me make it up.” Her dramatic desperation was just the tiniest bit funny.

  Becca s
at on the floor, furiously scribbling down answers, using her chemistry textbook as a desk. I stood up, leaning against my locker, on the lookout for anyone who might report her for copying. It was ridiculously obvious; she had my homework on the floor next to her and kept glancing back and forth, her red curls bobbing with the movement.

  A teacher was about to walk by so I kicked the locker next to me with my heel causing her to jump. She grabbed all the papers and tucked them into her chemistry book. She peered up at me beneath eyebrows that were so light you could hardly see them. She had a resigned look on her face. “The bell is about to ring anyway. This will have to be good enough. Whatever.”

  “I hope you changed my answers enough so that it’s not obvious.” We fell into step beside each other, on our way to Miller’s class. My phone vibrated in my pocket, probably just my mom texting me back to be careful driving home, blah blah blah.

  “Seriously Anna? I know how to cheat effectively.” She gave me an incredulous look. We stepped through the doorway of the classroom just as the bell rang, and split apart to go sit on opposite sides of the room. Mrs. Miller had a habit of separating people she knew were friends so that they “wouldn’t become a distraction from the importance of mathematics.”

  After the slowest, most boring hour of my life, the bell rang. I sighed with relief, as did about half of the class.

  “Oh my God, that was torturous,” Becca said dramatically as I met up with her in the hallway. I laughed and hitched my backpack higher up onto my shoulders. We only had one other class together today, art, which was next. It was just an elective we needed to get enough credits for the semester; the class was pretty much a joke.

  “Hey ladies.” It was Aaron Norberg. He was annoying sometimes. He was on my cross country team, so I saw a lot of him. Unfortunately, Becca went all melty and doe-eyed whenever he was around. He was good-looking, I guess. His dark hair always looked intentionally messy, like a Calvin Klien model who just rolled out of bed.