The Dark Man

Chapter One

There once was an old man who decided to take a walk along the streets of his neighborhood. It was a humid August evening and he hesitated walking out of the home. He lived alone. He had never married nor had any children. He supposed that his childhood affected his ability to be involved in a committed relationship. The old man did went by the name of Peter, although his minimal amount of friends called him Pete. He did not have many friends because most people feared him. They came up with stories that had passed down with generations. The stories were told be the children in the neighborhood and they had grown more intense as the years had gone by. Pete knew of these stories about himself. He was an intelligent man and wise as well, but the way he lived was somewhat different.

His home was always surrounded by darkness. Trees and bushes and weeds grew in all different directions around his house. His house was small and the plants were large. The children knew of him as "The Dark Man". Pete did not come out during the day, which he thought, most likely explained his title. But, he had a very good reason for his actions. It was because most people had already knew of him as the old man who never left his home during the daytime. If they had saw him outside during the afternoon, walking along the courtyard, or going to the town square to buy his groceries, they would not dare talk to him pleasantly. In fact, if they did make any communication with him, it would not be to Pete's satisfaction. The communication would be taunting and cruel. The children of the town might start repeating, "There goes The Dark Man. There goes The Dark Man..." Pete did not want that.

The old man grabbed his cane at the side of his house and slowly made his way down the house's walkway. He came out to the clearing in front of his fence and proceeded to walk. He was used to his regular course by now, since he had been doing the routine for nearly ten years. Every night at 9:30 sharp he would allow himself to get some exercise by walking around his neighborhood. By this time, either the children would be sleeping, or at the very least, inside their homes. This was Pete's favorite time. He did not need to fear.

Pete continued down the side of the road. He lived in a nice neighborhood, but lately he heard that there had been a few kids causing trouble. They would throw rocks through windows, rampage through flower gardens, and paint inappropriate words on people's fences. The majority of the neighborhood thought that these kids were nuisances and a horrible influence on the other children. However, Pete did not think that way. He came to a realization that these children were very much like him. It was not the fact that Pete did anything wrong or caused trouble. It was the Pete was misunderstood. These troublemakers were the same for that matter. They were probably misunderstood children who had problems of their own and did not have anyone to talk to. In this way, they were like Pete.

The old man walked steadily, thoughts buzzing around his mind. His head hurt from all the thinking that he had done. He decided to sojourn from his thinking and find a bench to sit down on. His stick-like legs could barely hold him up any longer. Gravity was becoming too difficult for Pete to overcome. He feared that even his cane was not doing much good and that soon enough he would not be able to go on these walks anymore. In the meantime though, Pete refused to consider that. He wanted to believe that he could use his legs for a much longer time; but for now he just needed to sit down and rest. In the distance he saw the bench that he normally rested on during these nighttime walks.

He wobbled his way over and took a seat. He propped his cane up on a tree adjacent to the bench. Pete was nearing the end to his walking journey and would return home as soon as he rested for a while. The neighborhood was in the shape of a circle. His home was not far away.

Pete closed his eyes and relaxed. He listened to every sound that was in hearing distance. First, he heard an owl repeating, "Who? Who?" over and over again. He also noticed the chirping of a cricket. The cricket's chirping somewhat loud and annoying, but Pete blocked the sound out of his ears. He moved onto the next noise, which was the leaves rattling in the wind. He loved this sound because it reminded him of the times when he was a boy.

Although he was a boy a long time ago, the memories of it were as if they had just happened yesterday. His mind searched around for a moment and picked up one of his favorite memories. It was of him and his sister. They were running around outside playing a game of hide-and-go-seek and it was Pete who had to go seek out his sister. He ran around, feeling the mud against his bare feet, looking this way and that. He seared behind bushes, around rocks, and up trees. When he came to a very large tree and looked up, he froze in place. Sunlight glittered through the leaves and the wind shook them excitedly. The noise that they made was the same noise that Pete had just noticed while sitting on the bench. Young Pete had thought the leaves were dancing and laughed at the funny sight. He had soon lost interest in the leaves and continued to search for his sister. Now, when Pete thought about the dancing leaves, a smile would creep to his face.

Something interrupted Pete's memories. It was another noise and it did not come from nature. It was a clanking sound. Clank, clank, clank! He decided to find out where the noise was coming from so he forced himself of the bench. He reached out his hand and grabbed his cane. Clank, clank, clank! The noise seemed to becoming nearer to his house. He took out a pocket knife that he had always carried with him in case of an emergence. He had never had to use it though. Pete increased his speed slightly and mumbled under his breath.

"What is that clankin' noise comin' from near my house?" His cane pushed into the dirt road and he applied pressure to keep his balance. Then he saw someone. "Excuse me?" Pete called out to the stranger. The person turned towards the old man and jumped. Pete came up to the person and saw that it was a boy. He put his pocket knife back in his pocket.

"Excuse me young man, but what are you doin' here so late at nigh. Shouldin't you be inside by now?"

The boy did not say a word. He kept quiet.

"What is it? Cat got your tongue? Can't you speak boy?"

Again the boy did not open his mouth. He shifted something behind his back and the noise coming from it sounded awfully familiar to Pete. Clank, clank, clank!

"Oh? What is that in your hands? I heard that noise when I was takin' my walk 'round the neighborhood. do you got somethin' behind your back? Speak boy, speak."

"It's nothin' sir," the boy said finally.

"I think it's anythin' but nothin'. You wouldn't be one of those kids causin' trouble 'round the neighborhood, would you now?"

"No sir."

"Well then, you wouldn't mind if you showed me what you got there." Pete could tell that the boy was becoming upset with him, but that did not make him back down.

"Sir, if I got a right to anythin' then I don't got to show you. Besides, it's none of your business anyway. So, if you'd just let me through then I'll be one my way," the boy snapped.

"Actually boy, it is as much as my business as it is yours."

"How's that?" the boy asked.

"This here," Pete pointed to the fence behind the boy, "Is my property. And to me, it looks like my face has been painted on." Pete neared his fence and sure enough, someone had painted some words on it, not to Pete's interest.

Even in the dark, Pete could tell that the boy's face went pale. He started stuttering, "You're...you're The Dark Man? I didn't do a thing sir. I didn't do a damn thing."

"Oh? I just wanted to know hear where that clankin' noise has been comin' from and it seems to me, that it's comin' from behind your back." The boy started to turn around. "Don't run now. I'm not going to tell nobody. I just you to apologize, that's all. Maybe tomorrow or later this week even, you could top by and fix my fence for me. I'm not as young as I used to be and hands aren't as steady anymore."

"I didn't do nothin' sir!" the boy exclaimed. "Plead don't hurt me."

"Why would you think I'd lay a hand on you?" Pete asked. Pete was an elderly man who wanted to live his last years in peace. At this rate, it did not seem as though this was happening. Children were thinking that Pete was going to hurt them? That was just nonsense.

"That's what everyone says sir. I'm listenin' to them. They all said that the man who lived here was The Dark Man and that he killed anyone that he ever saw. And...and...now please sir, don't kill me too. I'm sorry I put those words on your fence. I didn't know it was yours."

"Why would it be any different if you painted words on anyone else's fence? "The Dark Man" story is rubbish. You kids have been thinkin' up these stories for years. Next time you see your friends, you tell them for me, that I'm not anything but Pete. My name is Peter Wiggins and I'm nothin' but and old man."

"So you're going to let me go sir?" the boy asked eagerly.

"Course I am--" Pete was interrupted.

"Thank you sir. Thank you so much sir. I'll be sure to tell my friends that you ain't so bad after all. I promise. Can I go now? Can I go now sir?"

Pete laughed at the boy. The boy was rushing to leave when there was really no need to. Pete would not report the boy to the sheriff for damaging his property, but he would not accept his fence being left in the condition that it was. "Just a moment boy. You got to also promise to come back tomorrow."

"Why is that sir?" The boy still held something tightly behind his back. He did not let it slip for one second.

"It's 'cuz you got to paint my fence. I'm not going to leave it the way it is. You wrote all those words over it, so you're going to come back tomorrow and fix it."

"Do I have to sir?"

"Unless you want me reportin' you, you'll come back. I got all the paint that you're ever going to need in my shed over there." Pete pointed slightly past the fence. "Plus, I got some paint brushes in there too."

"Okay sir, I promise I'll come back. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Pete said simply.

The boy seemed relieved. "Thank you sir."

"Now run along. Be back here no later than noon," Pete told him, and the boy ran off as fast as he could. The clanking noise followed him.

Pete walked up to his front porch. He laid his cane on the side of the house and opened the door to his home. He never bothered to lock it because no one would dare try. That was the only thing about "The Dark Man" title that came in handy. He never had to look for his keys. He never had to use them, but he knew where they were just in case he ever needed them. The keys were on top of the mantel of the fireplace where they had been for years.

Pete wobbled into his kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He poured the tea into his favorite, and only, mug. It had been a gift for his seventieth birthday from his friend Muriel. Muriel was one of his few friends that he had. Pete barely ever got to see her. How long had it been since the last time they had breakfast together? Had it been a year? Five years? Pete had lost track of time.

He sipped his tea, sitting down on a wooden chair. It had been a long day and Pete was getting fairly tired. When he finished his drink, he slid into his bed and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

(Now read chapter two!!)