Oct 12 Antagonist Background

Witchcraft exists. Myths exist. Monsters exist. The paranormal and the supernatural exist. How did Longfellow Darke know this? His old closet was a conduit to those worlds.

He should have been tired, playing two 6-inning softball games after lunch, then running the three-quarter miles from the park to his home during the unexpected thunderstorm just before the start of the third game. He was soaking wet once he arrived home, told to change out of the clothes and to “please take a shower.” He did and read while he waited for dinner.

Longfellow, Shay to most of the family and his friends because it was easier to say than his middle name on which his name was based, awoke from a dreamless sleep, that in itself made him nervous. He had a vivid imagination, the proof being the superhero prose and detective stories he wrote for school and family since he was 11, and he always had dreams, even if they were nightmares and if he couldn’t remember most of them. He moved his last gargoyle figurine he name Stony away from the clock. It read 3:33, much too early for him to get up, even if to just read more from the anthology of paranormal and supernatural stories his grandmother had given him, to further his ability in writing “scary stories.” He exhaled and looked up at the ceiling, the best he could without his glasses.

He was wide away, not tired. He debated again whether to put on a light and read some more. The distant rumble of thunder made him decide against it: rain was the white noise that helped him sleep. He pushed open the window more, to get the coolness of the breeze and the petrichor, a smell he loved. He was back in bed when a flash lit up the room for a brief moment. He thought he saw the closet door opening and went to look. Before he could reach it, he heard a low canid growl, as if a wolf had come into his room. Another lightning burst showed that someone or something was in the door threshold.

Shay slowly backed away. A chill ran through his body, his senses on edge. He fell onto the bed as another bolt struck. He saw it!

A dark figure walked slowly towards him. It was tall, shaped like a man, but Shay could tell it was not human. Another flash illuminated the face. It was red, its face grotesquely exaggerated with wide black eyes and even wider mouth, a nose hooked like those on Halloween witches, and it emanated a sulfuric aroma. He wanted to scream, but he was too terrified to even breathe.

The growl was louder, and it was closer. He could feel the breath of whatever was making the sound. He glanced with his eyes to his left, the only thing he could see was his lucky charm, a stuffed gray wolf named Howler. A gift from his paternal grandmother when he was 6 while he was suffering from pneumonia, it was also by his side when he penned his first published short story when he was 11. He looked again. The 14-inch animal had grown to full length, 5 feet in length. He felt no fear of the animal as it slowly crawled to protect him. He heard stone fall with a loud thud on his right. He saw the source of the sound.

His pewter figurine was now a stone gargoyle, slowly unfolding to its full 7-foot height. Still gray in color, Stony reached out with his left claw and pushed Shay backwards, back further onto his bed. Without hearing a word, the boy understood the action: They were to protect him.

The dark, hellish figure let out an inhuman sound, as if calling for more of its kind. Without hesitation, his two protectors, his two long-time toys, rushed at the demon, both hitting it. It staggered backwards. Howler leapt again, took its neck in his mouth, and knocked it down. Stony grabbed the creature by the flailing left arm and dragged it and his compatriot to the closet. Howler released it before the strong sentinel tossed the hell-born monster back from which it came.

His friends watched as the door closed. A long flash filled the room with light and Shay waited to see his now alive protectors walk back to him. He couldn’t believe what was now standing in his room.

She was buried in her favorite dress, a dark green and ivory silk dress which she had purchased a year before her death four years earlier. Margarita “Grandma Rita” Roche smiled as she looked at her grandson. He sensed her voice telling him that this was but the first of many times the creatures of darkness would visit him.

He wanted to ask her questions, had so many things to say to her, wanted to know how his friends came to life.

Shay awoke in the morning, his gargoyle in front of the clock, the stuffed wolf on the bed next to him. Was it a dream? Did it really happen?

“Yes,” he heard a female’s disembodied voice tell him.