Get back before dark, those were the rules, the rules that had been hammered into our heads since the day we learnt to talk and every day after. Never forget. Never question. Never be outside at night. These rules formed the backbone of our choices, our decisions and for good reason following the rules is what separated a dead man from a living one. We knew what was out there, or at least we thought we did. Stories passed from person to person, whispered around dinner tables and behind locked doors. People spoke of things that moved through the darkness, things that were fast, silent and hungry. Some claimed to have seen them. Most never got the chance. That was enough for us. That was why me and Mark followed the rule, day after day, night after night.
The day it all went wrong, it started when our father sent us out in the truck for supplies. He always said we needed to know the route ourselves, just in case he was one day to disappear. Mark had always been a rogue. He listened, sure, but he had more close calls than anyone I knew, rolling back into town with the last scraps of daylight at his heels. I’d thought he’d matured. I thought he’d finally understood the dire circumstances of the situation, I was wrong.
After oiling the engine and scraping remnants of rust from its pipes we left, halfway to the docks he slipped out of the truck to go see his “girlfriend”. I argued. He ignored me. He dug his heels into the fleshy peat, when Mark’s mind was set, it couldn’t be changed. He said I’d be fine. We agreed on a meeting point and went our separate ways, but as I watched him drudge and drag his feet down the road, my gut twisted. Every instinct told me something was wrong. I should’ve listened.
I got back to the meeting point just as the sun began to collapse beyond the horizon. The last light drained from the sky as darkness slowly crept across the road. I waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. He wasn’t back. An ominous feeling set in the air, a scent of malevolence seemed to shroud my judgement.
The road sat empty and silent. Do I wait, or do I go home? Do I risk my neck for Mark, the rogue, the one who always messed up, the one who loved living life on the edge, was this what he deserved for all these years of foolery? My chest pounded as my mind scrambled for an answer. Is this guy for real?