The Crescent

By

Jordan Deen

Black Rose Writing

www.blackrosewriting.com

© 2010 by Jordan Deen

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

First printing

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9825823-6-7

PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

www.blackrosewriting.com

Printed in the United States of America

The Crescent
is printed in 12-point Times New Roman

ONE

Blink 182 blared on my iPod as I shuffled down the sidewalk from my house leaving the stupidity behind me. My house slippers wet from the dew on our lawn left weird footprints as I walked. I tried to drown out the sound of my parents’ yelling in my head, their most recent argument rang in my ears. Being the only child meant being dragged into the middle of their arguments, each side using me as a pawn in their selfish and insensitive game of chess.

The war raging in my living room wasn’t about religious freedoms or Constitutional Rights; it wasn’t even about lying or cheating. No, it’s midnight and the topic for tonight was who used their ATM card at the gas station. Yeah. That’s right. People are dying of AIDS, kids are being abused and abandoned, but my parent’s find it necessary to fight over $25.42. Oh I forgot the $.50 processing fee for using debit instead of credit. So technically, the argument boiled down to $25.92 (including tax, of course). But if you asked my father, it’s about the
principle.

The more they fought, the more I couldn’t wait to get away from them. Next year I’d be enjoying the sand and sea in San Diego- the home of my Aunt’s alma mater and my future college. Not to mention its 500 miles away from this hellhole. My parent’s loved each other at some point, but it’s obvious that had to be years ago, maybe even before I was born.

As I walked past the Johnson’s house, I wondered if they knew my father was a drunk-in-denial and my mother had recently started popping pills- uppers in the morning, downers in the evening. Then again, I always thought Mr. Johnson was a pedophile since he watched the preteen girls from the neighbor-hood playing hopscotch from his bedroom window with binoculars. My family secrets probably wouldn’t scare him in the slightest.

The streetlight at the end of the block turned my skin a fake tan color like I had spent the whole summer at the beach, but I hadn’t. I looked towards my house, going back now I’d risk being dragged into the argument. But it was already late and I had no where else to go. I could go to my best friend Jillian’s house, but it would be my luck her brother would be outside smoking and rat me out. Ricky hit on me a few years ago and it freaked me out since he’s five years older than me and I had known him since second grade.

Kicking a few pebbles on the asphalt, I crossed the street and walked back towards my house. The faint shadows of my parents crossing the front room window of our house told me they were still fighting. I considered making another pass when an unsettling breeze rushed through my body, shaking me to the bone. PJ’s and slippers probably weren’t the greatest idea for walking around the block at night. This isn’t a bad neighborhood, but for all I knew Mr. Johnson lurked in the bushes waiting to pounce.

I quickened my pace as the sense of being watched grew in the pit of my stomach, I didn’t want to look behind me, but when I did no one was there. I contemplated pulling off my slippers and running barefoot, but decided that would be a gross overreaction if I weren’t in danger. The Carson’s cat was probably following me for a midnight snack. I hated that stupid cat; he always knocked over our trash cans and pooped in our yard.

I glanced behind me again and still nothing. My heart pounded in my ears and sweat collected in the bends of my arms and in the palm of my hands. Bushes on the opposite side of the street spooked me as they rustled in the wind. I broke into a run, the tail of my hoodie flying behind me like Superman’s cape, but I didn’t feel too
super
right now. All the houses on the street were dark other than mine and it felt like I was running in slow motion to the house; if only I could fly or have nerves of steel.

The road to my house had been stretched or maybe I was stuck on the treadmill from hell because it took forever to get to my house. My skin expanded with the force of blood rushing through me as my heart thumped in time with my feet on the pavement. I wondered if whatever pursued me enjoyed terrorizing teenage girls in the middle of the night.

Finally I rounded the end of the sidewalk in front of my house and bounded up the stairway to my front door. My hands shook as I turned the doorknob; the inherent danger that lurked in the yard relied on my failure, just waiting to claim me as its next victim. I considered pounding on the door, but that would alert my parents that I had left the house then I’d really be in deep shit. I briefly glanced over my shoulder just as the hedges in my lawn kicked up in the wind, blowing freshly fallen leaves into a cyclone. I would’ve stayed to watch the beauty of it longer- if I wasn’t shaking so badly.

The door felt like it was made out of cement as I got it open. I threw my body against it to get it closed, afraid that my weight wouldn’t be enough to stop whatever was about to start pushing it open. I twisted the deadbolt until the lock clicked, not that I really thought the small lock or door was any match for what my imagination knew had chased me to my house. My chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath with my back firmly pressed to the door waiting for something, anything.

My parent’s argument was still in full swing and it was apparent that neither of them noticed my little excursion into the neighborhood. Swallowing hard I glanced out the front windows into the yard, not really sure I was ready to see what was waiting for me. I was disappointed and relieved to see the yard was empty and the hedges were ghostly still; no monsters, no demons, and thankfully no Mr. Johnson. I just ran all the way back to my house over nothing; hopefully none of my neighbors saw me. Maybe Jill and I had watched one too many slasher movies this summer.

Laughing at myself, I took several deep breaths to get my heart to catch up with the rest of my body. My breathing was almost normal again when I realized the voices coming from the kitchen were different than any other petty argument they’ve had. I sprinted to the doorway just in time to see my father’s fist land squarely on my mother’s jaw line. Time stood still as I watched my mother, all hundred and twenty pounds of her, fly backward and land on the kitchen table. She rolled onto the floor and tried to regain her composure. I focused on my father’s clenched fists and the veins protruding from his neck. I had never seen my father so upset, so enraged before in my whole life.

“Dad NO!” I shouted when he started to step forward. Mom stood between us and pushed her weight against me trying to force me from the kitchen. “Stop. What have you done?” I screamed ignoring my mother’s firm grip. I was at least three inches taller than her and outweighed her by ten pounds. It would have been easy to push her out of my way.

My father slumped back onto one of the counters, as mom whispered for me to go to my room. Ashamed for not allowing her to will me from the kitchen, I avoided looking into her eyes, but when I finally did- we were both crying. The cheek beneath her left eye was already pink and swollen from the blow; I reached out and gently touched the spot with my fingertips, not sure it was real.

“Shhh…” My mother’s voice was almost a whisper as I started to talk again. “Go… go to your room now.” She turned to look at dad; the counter was the only thing keeping him upright. I fought the urge to smack him by glaring at him instead; if I hit him then I would be no better than he was.

“Is he drunk?” I didn’t bother lowering my voice. I wanted him to be humiliated.

“Go to your room, now.” My mother’s blue eyes were unrelenting. She wasn’t up for my Joan of Arc routine tonight.

Scowling at my father, I pushed the earphones back into my ears and leapt up the stairs to my room. I got the music playing but not before my father and mother started yelling at each other again. Their heavy footsteps on the stairs rattled my windows and then their bedroom door slammed shut. Now I wished I didn’t have the room right next to theirs. My iPod was loud, but not loud enough to block out my mother’s high pitched screaming.

I couldn’t stand another round of this. I headed back downstairs and took one look at the front door. It wasn’t safe to venture out there again, not after earlier. I went out into the backyard instead. I settled onto one of the swings of my old play set and pushed myself back with the tip of my toes. The rusted metal of the chain crackled and squeaked as I glided forward. The houses to either side were still dark and the small patio light cast creepy shadows across the grass. A cool breeze shook mom’s rose bushes and the few hedges that surrounded one side of the patio.

But when the wind stopped, the bushes didn’t. I froze staring into the darkness trying to see the threat that was waiting just to the side of my family home. I held my breath trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it. I couldn’t hesitate much longer. Rising slowly from the swing, I lingered again trying to judge the distance between the swings and the safety of the kitchen door.
Can I make it before it gets me?
IT!
Coming outside again tonight was a bad idea.

That’s when I saw them. Two monstrous golden brown eyes peered at me from the hedge. I wasn’t imagining those eyes. They were menacing as they went from full moons to half then to crescents. My heart raced as I took possibly the last breath of my life and sprinted for the door.

TWO

Dad had gone to grandma’s house again. I’m not sure whether mom kicked him out or if he left on his own this time. After mom left for work I headed to the kitchen to pull out the biggest butcher knife from the drawer preparing to go to the backyard. At least I was ready or thought I was ready, for whatever could be waiting for me. Just in case, I pulled on my best running shoes and headed out the sliding glass door determined to flush out whatever was spying on me from the rosebush. Although I really hoped it would be gone by now.

I knew I looked stupid as I kicked and hacked at the bush the eyes had been staring out of. “HA! Now what?” I say just as my neighbors’ nine-year old daughter, Megan witnessed my insanity from over the wooden fence separating our yards. I slinked back into the house in shame and replaced the knife back into its hiding spot, hoping my mother wouldn’t realize I had defiled her bush with one of her most expensive knives.