The Harbinger
- Left alone in the dark—go find your own Sun.
That's the phrase Erich heard from his grandma every time shouting and the sound of breaking dishes echoed from the living room. The boy would obediently head toward the window during daylight, or just stare into the dim glow of the wall sconce cutting through the gloomy dark.
Weirdly enough, most of those fights—contrary to what folks usually say about night arguments— happened in the middle of the day. So he'd climb up on the windowsill, stretch his legs all the way to the edge, and just sit there for what felt like forever, watching the thickets of the nearby forest, the sharp wooden fence posts, or the birds fluttering around the garden hose, showering in puddles of leftover water.
God, how he wished he could just become one of those free birds and fly off into the faraway. Or at least turn into that see-through water from the hose, soaking into the soil, with no idea what anger or pain even meant. No one would bother him then, and he wouldn't feel so lonely and helpless. In one way though, he did become like the water he dreamt of—tears kept slipping out of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks. Steady and slow. Drip... drip...
They felt endless. But like the yelling, they always faded eventually. And only ten minutes or so after everything had gone quiet would he finally dare to stick his messy red-haired head out of the room.
The hallway was usually empty, but the moment he pushed the door open wider and his bare feet touched the wooden floorboards, the door across the hall would swing open, and there'd be his grandma's stern, commanding face giving a look that clearly said: -Shut the door and go finish your homework!-
And he'd always obey. Because he knew that underneath that entire scowl, she was actually kind. She just didn't want him getting caught in the crossfire. That was it. Besides, he knew that soon, his parents would be dropping off Louisa—his sister—who, even though she was a couple years older, also had no friends and was stuck living with their Aunt Dorothy.
He'd begged Mom and Dad a hundred times to let Louisa stay with him and Grandma, but they never listened. They always had their own plans. Whether it was separating the siblings or choosing to live a life without their kids in it.
But he didn't hold it against them. Erich knew his folks were busy scientists working together, always off on their expeditions to study pharaohs and hunt for tombs of ancient Chinese emperors. They were passionate, to the point they even wanted to name his sister - Omm Sety after some ancient priestess (whatever that even meant), but Grandma had thankfully talked them out of it— said she'd get bullied in school for a name like that.
Erich himself never really had trouble fitting in at school. He always knew how to hold a conversation, and if some big kid started getting aggressive, he'd just distract them with some weird artifact he'd swiped from his parents' stash—always brought it back, of course! But these days, school stuff was the least of his worries. What really mattered was keeping an ear out, paying close attention to what was going on inside his (well, Grandma's) house.
Everything was silent now. Even Grandma's door stayed shut, which was odd. Erich tiptoed down the hallway like his favorite ninjas, trying to step real light across those old creaky panels. Suddenly, he felt eyes on him. He looked up—and jumped back with a gasp. He always forgot about them...
Those damn masks. Someone had nailed those creepy-ass tribal masks to the wall—twisted mouths, bright paint, hollow, starving eyes that seemed to stare right through you, like they were just waiting to attack and gobble you up! Erich wanted to dive behind the big claw-footed table in the corner— the usual safe spot when he couldn't make it to his room or Grandma's in time.
But curiosity beat fear. So this brave little hero balled up all his courage in one tiny fist and crept toward the spiral staircase that led down to the living room—where, surely, something fascinating was waiting. Step by step, he moved in closer, until he reached the top of the stairs. Victory number one: secured.
Now came the hard part. He had to channel his inner lynx—just like in those wildlife shows his dad sometimes watched, the ones that always made him kinda sad. Those little cats were masters of stealth. So he dropped onto all fours and crawled, elbows first.
It hurt. His elbows kept smacking into things, and even though he had his PJs on like some kind of armor, it still stung. But hey, real spies don't whine, right? He kept moving, stair by stair, inching his way down for what felt like a hundred years until, finally, the bottom. And there—there was the living room.
He saw the wide, soft armchair, and the back of someone's head. It was Dad, still seated. And then—BOOM!
Well, not a real boom—just the front door slamming. And Mom's voice shouting: – I get it now! You don't want to hear me.
Erich didn't care what she meant. What mattered was—she hadn't seen him. One less obstacle. The closing door rattled the potted plants by the entrance, and their leaves waved goodbye before the draft died down. Silence returned.
Last stair —done. Erich grabbed the railing and slipped behind the staircase's base. From there, he peeked up, taking in every detail. A real spy always remembers the little things. Otherwise, he ain't a real agent!
In the middle of the living room stood another table, this one covered in papers, drawings, and photos (he couldn't make out the images from that far). One of the photos caught his dad's attention, and he reached for it, still seated, holding it up for a closer look.
That did it. Curiosity overrode caution, and the little sneak crept closer. One crouching step at a time.
And then—a loud slam upstairs! So loud, Dad jolted to his feet and looked around wildly. And then—he saw him.
The boy's mouth fell open in a silent scream. His dad's face—there were no eyes, no mouth, no nose—just this stretched, smooth sheet of skin where all his features should've been! And yet, somehow, even without eyes, Dad was looking straight at him.
In his hand was a photo—of Erich. Taken after baseball practice. He was holding a bat, all proud and sweaty, grinning for the camera.
Dad took one tiny step toward him. And the stealth master? He bolted.
Man, he ran like the wind! The stairs blurred behind him, and soon he was dashing toward his room—no, Grandma's room! And there she was, standing with her arms folded, looking mighty pissed. But honestly? That was the least scary thing he'd seen today.
– What's wrong with you? Why you running around like a maniac?
Grandma... The boy buried his face in her worn robe, the one with stars stitched into the navy fabric, and tried to wrap his arms around her whole body. Her sharp ocean-blue eyes stared down at him.
And that wart... the one with the long hair poking out of it...
He was shaking like mad, and she—maybe for the first time ever—didn't scold him. She just stroked his messy head and muttered gently:
Don't be scared, It's over now. But oh, how wrong she was...
Erich pulled back a little, eyes wide, and managed to whisper:
No, It's not over. There's a monster down there!