The strange noises mystified Jacob, they always had. Ever since he’d been a toddler he’d been drawn to the sharp yelping, howling, and gibbering of whatever waited in the darkness of night on the mountain. Even now, when he was thirteen years old, he froze when he heard them. It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, the strange voices seemed to be calling directly to him. Not to his aunt or uncle—to him, and only to him.
Aunt Rose didn’t like the sounds and would pull Jacob away from the windows whenever he started to walk stupefied toward the windows.
“Go to bed,” she would tell him immediately afterward. But the walls of the small cabin were thin, and the cold wasn’t the only thing that got in at night.
They were sometimes sharp and quick as if the creatures were in pain, but other times they were long and mournful. Many times they were sounds of laughter, not human, but laughter nonetheless.
Sometimes there were dozens of them and sometimes he could only hear a few. Try as he might, he could never decipher what the calls meant as he listened, tucked into his bed.
Uncle Rich didn’t talk about them. But he didn’t talk very much anyway. He didn't do much except hunt and eat and take care of the cabin.
The noises were just beginning one evening and Jacob was near the window, as near as he ever got, when Aunt Rose found him as she always did.
“Go to bed,” she instructed, pulling him gently by the shoulder away from the whistling darkness just past the window. Jacob kept his eyes on the window, still trying to catch sight of whatever made the sounds. “Quickly now,” she added, raising her voice slightly. Jacob hurried along.
Jacob spent the night beside the wall of his room, listening as the eerie voices rose and fell, as their numbers increased and decreased. He fell asleep to their mixture of gaiety and misery and dreamed they were strange children playing at night because they weren’t allowed to go out during the day. He dreamed that Aunt Rose yelled sternly at them to be quiet, but that they didn't listen. Then Uncle Rich stepped outside with his rifle and gave them one look, enough to silence them and send them skipping off into the darkness. But they didn't stop playing. They just played somewhere else.
In the morning, while he did his outside chores, Jacob would study the ground. Sometimes he would see the marks of whatever it was that gathered there at night: strange footprints or dug-up dirt, grass that had been flattened by the bodies of the creatures.
“Hurry with your chores!” Aunt Rose would call from the window if he dawdled too long. Jacob would then quickly feed the chickens, check for eggs, and lock all the doors tightly as Uncle Rich had shown him to do. Once inside, Aunt Rose would have a plateful of eggs and a glass of milk ready.
She would have already eaten, and Uncle Rich would have eaten before she did, so Jacob ate alone most mornings. The only exceptions were on Sundays, a holiday, or his or Aunt Rose's birthdays. They didn't celebrate Uncle Rich's birthday, he didn't like to be the center of attention.
Jacob washed his plate as was expected of him, and set to his schoolwork. He was home-schooled, as there weren’t any towns let alone schools this far up on the mountain. He knew how to do everything himself, and didn’t need Aunt Rose to teach him, although she checked up on him sometimes to make sure he wasn't skipping or cheating. Jacob knew better than to cheat, but skipping several chapters or assignments happened every now and then.
After school was finished, Jacob usually spent his time outside. Darkness never seemed too far off, and he found it necessary to make use of the daylight while he could.
“Don’t go too far,” Aunt Rose would tell him before he left. “If I can’t see you from the window you’ve gone too far,” she would add as he stepped across the threshold. If he stayed a moment longer he’d hear her instruct him to put on his shoes. Once outside and free from school and chores, he felt he could run anywhere and do anything.
Yet the thing that remained constantly on his mind were the calls of the strange creatures out only at night. He wanted to travel deeper into the forest to see where they went after the sun began to rise. He had learned about nocturnal creatures and had decided that these had somewhere they slept during the day. Sometimes while he thought about them he would play like he was one of them, that it was actually night and he was dancing and yipping at the moon and stars with them.
“Come in, I’ve made you some sweet tea,” Aunt Rose would call if Jacob got too carried away in his imagination. She didn’t like the sight of him throwing himself around and mimicking the strange calls of the night creatures. He didn’t mind what she thought, so long as she didn’t interrupt his fantasies. When she did, he would drink his tea solemnly—although he did like the taste of it very much.
Uncle Rich would come home before dark, a bird or small animal strung over his shoulder. Sometimes he would have fish, but the majority of times it was something he had shot. He would skin and clean the dead animals by the creek behind the cabin, and return with the meat and skins. Aunt Rose would make a supper out of the meat, and Uncle Rich would dry the skins.
The three of them would then eat quickly, saying very little between them. What was spoken was usually by Aunt Rose, who asked Uncle Rich some of the details of his day. He responded with either “yes” or “no”, although occasionally he would use several more words from his limited vocabulary.
Jacob would end the day by reading from a book, playing a card game with Aunt Rose, or going to bed early. Sometimes, when he was certain that neither Aunt Rose nor Uncle Rich would catch him, he would try to draw the creatures. He had never seen them before, so he imagined what they might look like based on the way they sounded. He imagined that they looked somewhat like him, only they had fur like a wild animal, and feet that matched the prints he occasionally saw in the dirt. They had mostly happy faces, but some had sad ones as well. He never drew just one but had to draw several together. It would have been strange to draw only one when he rarely heard one by itself. And there were far too many footprints for there to be only one. The fewest there could be were two, as the fewest he’d seen at a time were four prints.
One morning he was surprised to find Uncle Rich at the breakfast table when he woke.
“Do your chores,” Aunt Rose said as she prepared breakfast.
Jacob did his chores in record time, forgetting entirely to check for footprints left by the night creatures as he fed the chickens and gathered their eggs.
There were even fewer eggs in the basket this morning, and he noticed that the fence had been mended. He gave the two little consideration as he finished his chores.
Once he was inside, he sat down at the table as Aunt Rose brought his breakfast over. Uncle Rich was still sitting, taking a slow drink from his coffee mug every now and then. No one said anything until Aunt Rose sat down.
“You’re going to go with Uncle Rich for today,” she said.
“What about school?” Jacob asked. He was not at all concerned with what would become of his learning, but he didn’t want to do it after he got home.
“You’ll be fine if you miss a day,” was her response. Jacob said nothing more and quickly ate his food, eager to set out with his uncle.
When Jacob finished, Uncle Rich rose and began to put on a jacket and gather a few things. Jacob as well dressed appropriately and put on his tall boots.
“You do exactly as Uncle Rich says,” Aunt Rose instructed. Jacob nodded, and she turned to Uncle Rich. Her voice was lowering when she spoke to him, but Jacob could still hear. “You be careful with him, he’s still a boy.”
Uncle Rich nodded, grunted, and then opened the door, holding his rifle loose at his side. Jacob stepped out of the door, eagerly following.
“Be careful Jacob!” Aunt Rose called as they left the cabin. Jacob didn’t look back because Uncle Rich didn’t. This was the first time Uncle Rich had taken him anywhere, and he didn’t want it to go wrong.
Neither of them spoke as they walked down the hill and toward the woods. Before long they were already much farther than Jacob had ever been, and there were plenty of new sights to take in. And while his attention was busy with the world around him, his focus still remained largely on his uncle walking quietly several feet ahead. The stoic figure was tall and sturdy, yet felt small amidst the forest and scenery they were entering. It was so much lusher than the hilltops around the cabin. There were new birds, the sound of running water, and strange insects on nearby rocks. Jacob marveled at it, somewhat confused that this world had been kept from him despite being so close. He saw no danger in it, only beauty and wonder.
At one point, Uncle Rich stopped near a gentle stream. Jacob stopped as well, standing a few steps behind him. Uncle Rich bent over, settling on his haunches, and put his hand in the water. When he removed it, he held a thatched cylinder. A fish was inside, still alive and now gasping for air. Jacob watched as Uncle Rich emptied the trap, bashed the fish with one quick movement, and placed the empty trap back in the water. He then removed a sack, which he placed the fish in. He handed the sack to Jacob, who took it dutifully and without hesitation.
They then continued on down the stream, checking several more fish traps. Some of them contained fish, and some were empty. The sack got heavier as two more fish were placed in it, but Jacob found the responsibility thrilling. He felt that Uncle Rich and Aunt Rose were trusting him with a great task; the one carrying the dead fish was responsible for ensuring that they arrived at the cabin safely.
They were back to the cabin earlier than Uncle Rich usually was, leaving Jacob a little disappointed. He had secretly hoped that they would return late, when the sun had set and the night creatures were dancing and singing. But it was still very light out, and Aunt Rose was watching at the door as they climbed the hill. Jacob felt proud when he saw her, for here he was: walking home with Uncle Rich. And carrying the fish sack no less.
“Did it go well?” Aunt Rose asked, smiling but seeming anxious.
Uncle Rich nodded, took the sack from me, and handed it to her.
She smiled again, looking from him to me. Her mind was far from the sack, but neither Jacob nor Uncle Rich was going to say much on behalf of their hard day of work. Uncle Rich looked away, as if he was ashamed or embarrassed. Aunt Rose's smile lowered, and Uncle Rich walked past her. Jacob was surprised by the exchange and wondered if the number of fish was much smaller than usual. He had never seen Aunt Rose upset at Uncle Rich, at least, not in a way that really made him do anything. But here it was like that one look from her was able to make the stoic man feel guiltier than Jacob had ever seen him.
That evening they ate in silence, although Jacob could tell that Aunt Rose wanted desperately to hear everything. Yet there was a sort of caution over the table. Jacob could tell that Uncle Rich did not seem to want to discuss the day, and therefore he would not do so. Jacob in turn decided that, seeing as Uncle Rich had taken him out, he had to act much more like the man his uncle was. He would not discuss it either and equipped the same stoic silence.
As he went to bed, he could hear Aunt Rose and Uncle Rich talking, although he had to press his ear against the wall to understand them.
“So you didn’t talk to him?” Aunt Rose sounded disappointed.
Uncle Rich didn’t answer.
Aunt Rose sighed heavily.
“Rich, I know this is hard for you. Believe me, I know. But you have to help him out of his childhood. He hasn’t got anyone to really motivate him.”
“I had to grow up myself,” Uncle Rich grunted.
“I know. You had to do a lot of things that no boy should have to. But at least you had a father—”
“He was not a father,” Uncle Rich interrupted.
“He was, Rich,” Aunt Rose’s voice was louder and more dominant than Jacob had ever heard it. He could almost hear Uncle Rich look up at her in surprise. “He may not have been what you or Nelly needed, but he was your father. It’s better for a boy to have something over nothing.” She sighed, and her voice returned to the soft tone Jacob was used to. “Jacob needs a man to help him grow up. It isn’t right that he dances around and makes noises like a—”
“Don’t,” Uncle Rich interrupted again.
“Alright, I won’t say their name.” She sighed again, and Jacob heard Uncle Rich scratch his face. “But you understand, don’t you?”
Uncle Rich gave a positive grunt.
There was a long silence between them then, the cricket's songs taking the place of the two voices. Jacob almost thought they had gone to bed when Aunt Rose spoke up again.
“Don’t you remember how you always wanted a son?” Her voice was softer than usual and had a tinge of sadness. “We both did. Remember, Rich?”
Uncle Rich didn’t respond. Jacob wondered if his eyes were wet, if he cried like other people.
“We can be that to Jacob. It’s not too late.”
“But what if I'm like—” Uncle Rich paused, his voice still low and full of grit but soft at the same time. “What if I'm like him, Rosey? What if I treat him like he treated me and Nelly?”
Aunt Rose clicked her tongue and scoffed.
“I know you better than that, Richard—” she never called him that “—and so do you. You aren't your Pa.”
There was another silence before Aunt Rose continued.
“And don't you think for a moment that what you had to do means you can't be a Pa to Jacob,” she said sternly. “What you did you did for Nelly as much as yourself.”
“I know,” he answered, a sort of submission in his tone.
“It takes opening up, Rich.” Her voice was soft and consoling. “You’ve gotta leave what happened to your Pa behind. And your sister.”
Uncle Rich didn’t answer.
“I think it’ll do you both good to talk to Jacob. He's a boy, Rich, and he's more than your nephew.”
Those were the last words Jacob heard of the conversation. After he was sure they were finished, he went to bed, anxious for the sound of the dancing creatures and somewhat fearful of what Aunt Rose and Uncle Rich had planned for him. The way they had talked about Uncle Rich confused Jacob. He realized then that he didn't know much of anything about his uncle. Or his aunt. He wondered what his uncle’s father was like and who Nelly was. These thoughts didn't keep him up for long, and he forgot them by morning.
During the next week, Uncle Rich took Jacob out several times. Each time, Jacob knew that there was something Aunt Rose wanted him to hear, something she wanted Uncle Rich to tell him, but each time he returned without hearing it. They never wandered far and stayed clear of the forests for the most part. The house on the hill was always within eyesight and he felt that they weren't going as far as Uncle Rich usually did. Jacob was confused by his uncle. He’d never seemed like an emotional man, but after hearing his heated discussion with Aunt Rose, he began to see him differently. He wasn’t like the silent and powerful man he was before. Now he was a little softer, as if he had a fur coat of his own. Maybe he had a strange voice too, one that cried and laughed in the night, just like the night creatures. Jacob wanted to know more, wanted to ask more, but knew that Uncle Rich didn’t like questions, and wouldn’t be as accepting of having him along on his outings if he asked. So he kept quiet and patiently waited.
After that week, there were no more outings. Jacob was disappointed when he woke to find that Uncle Rich was gone, realizing that he would have to do his school and stay indoors for the majority of the day. He completed his chores, noticing yet again the decrease in eggs and clutter of feathers.
“There aren’t very many eggs,” he informed Aunt Rose when he reentered the house.
“That’s alright,” she said and took the basket.
“And there are feathers all over.”
Aunt Rose didn’t answer, but set to storing the eggs.
“Did Uncle Rich have to fix the fence again?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Now eat your breakfast.”
Jacob did, although he wanted to be out with Uncle Rich. As he set to his school, he couldn’t help but notice that Aunt Rose wasn’t herself. She was fidgety, not quite as focused as usual. Jacob didn’t understand it, but he didn’t understand a lot of the things she did.
After school, when he was about to go outside, he turned to hear Aunt Rose’s warnings about going to far. But they didn’t come. Instead, she sat in her armchair looking idly out the window. Jacob didn’t say anything, nor did he think something was wrong. Instead, he saw an opportunity to escape her protection.
Once outside, he wanted desperately to follow the wind, to let it take him wherever it wanted. But, he remembered that things were different now. Uncle Rich had taken him out with him for a short time; this meant he expected him to be more responsible and act his age. Jacob wasn't sure what that really meant, but he was sure that it was what both his uncle and his aunt wanted of him. It was also what might let him earn back his outings with Uncle Rich. So Jacob stayed within sight of the cabin, walking in circles and daydreaming of the night creatures.
When Aunt Rose called him in, he noticed that it was much later than usual. It was already getting dark, and she kept watching the windows. He sat down to eat and waited for her to do the same. It wasn’t until Uncle Rich arrived that she sat down. Uncle Rich said a blessing, short and sweet just like Jacob preferred it, and they began to eat. He didn’t pay much attention to the silence, although it was certainly much quieter than usual.
That night, Uncle Rich and Aunt Rose skinned and cleaned a large deer in the storage room on the other side of Jacob’s wall. The noise and smell kept him up for a time, although he would have kept himself up anyway in the hopes of hearing the night creatures.
Instead, he heard Aunt Rose and Uncle Rich talking. Although their voices were hushed, he could make them out.
“I’m going down the mountain tomorrow,” Aunt Rose said abruptly.
“What for?” Uncle Rich’s voice was urgent, much more than Jacob had ever heard from him.
“Rachel will be due soon, I want to be with her when the baby comes,” she answered.
There was a long silence.
“Jacob?” Uncle Rich asked.
“No. Rachel doesn’t have much room there, and we’ll be busy with the baby.”
“What do I do with him?”
“Take care of him,” Aunt Rose answered.
“Can’t come with me anymore,” Uncle Rich said.
“That's another thing I wanted to talk about. He’s plenty old enough for you to take out and you stopped all of a sudden,” Aunt Rose said. There was another short silence, but Aunt Rose continued. “And I know you didn't talk to him.”
Uncle Rich was silent.
“Rich, if you don't talk to him, I'm going to,” she suddenly said.
“No,” he replied, almost startled.
“At least tell him something,” she sighed, “tell him not to pretend to be like them or tell him that they're dangerous. I’m not asking you to tell him everything, just something to keep him from going the way your Pa did.”
Uncle Rich didn’t say anything, but Jacob could tell he had submitted.
“I worry about Jacob,” Aunt Rose murmured. “You know how he is, Rich, he takes after the animals, barking and dancing around like he’s one of them. You gotta stop this now or he'll end up just like—”
“He won't.”
“You don’t know that Rich.” There was a long moment of silence, apart from the scraping of the knife against the deer. “Have you seen his drawings?” Aunt Rose asked silently. Jacob suddenly felt a pang of fear. He’d never allowed anyone to look at his drawings, he felt that they were personal to him, that the night creatures he drew were somehow special.
Uncle Rich made no response.
“He doesn’t know what they are,” she explained. “If he’s going to stay here he needs to learn so he doesn’t hurt himself.”
There was another long silence, and Jacob listened carefully. He heard a long sigh from Uncle Rich.
“I’ll talk to him,” he finally said.
The two stopped talking, and Jacob lay awake full of new curiosities and suspicions. He hoped the creatures of the night would come, comforting him with their frenzy of sounds amidst their dancing and frolicking. But at the same time, he wondered if he should be afraid of them. Surely they weren't as bad as Aunt Rose made them out to be. They couldn't be. They sounded too young and emotional to be.
The night creatures didn’t come that night and Jacob slept uneasily. He didn’t like having to think so hard about what his aunt and uncle were saying.
Jacob found Uncle Rich with the chickens when he went to feed them the next morning. Jacob said nothing as he drew closer, he only watched Uncle Rich’s hands as they fiddled with the chicken wire. He stood beside him, silently watching the experienced fingers twist and bend the wire into a sturdy fence. He remembered the discussion he’d overheard the night before and was curious as to whether Uncle Rich would be taking him today. It wasn’t until Uncle Rich was nearly finished that Jacob noticed the amount of feathers in the coop. They littered the straw bedding like black snow, and Jacob walked gently through it. Each of the chickens eyed him carefully as he passed by with the pail of cornmeal. When he scattered it in the grass outside the coop, the chickens didn’t flutter to it as they usually did. Instead, one stood at the entrance to the coop, its darting head eyeing Jacob and its surroundings carefully.
After it pecked at the first piece, the rest followed and returned to the chaotic pecking they usually displayed. Jacob watched them a moment longer before leaving with the empty pail to collect the eggs.
Again there were less eggs than usual, but Jacob didn’t mind. It was less for him to carry.
As he returned to where Uncle Rich had been, he found that the repaired fence was alone, and assumed Uncle Rich had left for the day. He returned to the house.
Aunt Rose had eggs ready but it wasn’t her that he found sitting at the table.
“Where’s aunt?” Jacob asked Uncle Rich.
“Had to make a trip down the mountain,” Uncle Rich said—or rather, he grunted.
This was certainly the first time Aunt Rose had left the mountain that Jacob was aware of. It was also one of the first times that Uncle Rich was at the cabin this late in the morning.
“How long?” Jacob asked.
“Couple days,” he answered.
A long silence was invoked, in which Jacob ate his breakfast. But the presence of his uncle at the table seemed to fill his mind. He had a way of filling up his attention without intending to, and it made Jacob fear and respect the man.
“We’re going to have to change some things while she’s gone,” Uncle Rich said.
Jacob sat as still and serious as he could, his eyes fixed eagerly on his uncle.
“You’re coming with me every day.”
Jacob was ecstatic but did not show it. He’d traveled out with Uncle Rich before, a gun over his shoulder and the entire mountain ahead of him, but never had he gone out every day with him. He’d begun to suspect that on the days he wasn’t with him, Uncle Rich was doing something that Aunt Rose wanted him to see. Now, he was sure he’d see it.
“And we’re going to do her chores.” Uncle Rich pointed to a list. “She’s got a list.”
Jacob had no problem with the chores. He felt that it would be worth it to be able to travel with Uncle Rich. When they’d finished Aunt Rose’s chores, they set off.
Just like the last time they’d gone out, they checked the fish traps down the stream. Jacob again carried the sack while Uncle Rich inspected the traps, bashed any fish that had gotten caught, and then placed the traps back in the stream. Once they had checked all of the fish traps, Uncle Rich changed direction, and they headed away from the stream in the direction opposite of the cabin. The terrain grew steeper, and the fish felt heavier as they began to climb a hill. Jacob stumbled once, but the fish didn’t spill, and they eventually made it to the top.
Jacob froze as he felt the wind brush across his face and spread its many fingers through his hair. He had never felt it so fully, not even from the cabin on the hill. Here, in the small clearing atop this hill, it seemed that the wind was greater. Perhaps it wasn’t greater, it was just more of itself. Jacob looked to where the wind was coming from and to where it was going.
“Listen,” Uncle Rich said, and Jacob watched the man put his hand to his ear. Jacob listened, cupping his hand to his ear as well, hoping to catch whatever Uncle Rich was hearing.
At first, he heard nothing, only the sound of the wind on the trees. But, after seeing that Uncle Rich was still listening, he tried to listen harder. Then he heard it: a quick yip followed by several more and then a long whistling moan.
Uncle Rich glanced at him, and Jacob saw that he heard as well.
The night creatures continued, their voices strange cries of joy, sorrow, anger, and every other emotion. Jacob was enthralled, and even more so when he saw Uncle Rich’s face. He was somber and tense, his grit and stoic indifference all gone.
When the voices died out, Jacob spoke.
“Are we going to see them?” he asked.
Uncle Rich looked up as if startled.
“No,” he shook his head. Jacob didn’t protest, he knew better than that. But he did want to see the night creatures. “Those sounds,” Uncle Rich said, looking away. “They’re not your friends, Jacob.” He then gave him a stern look. “They’re animals. All that means is that they don’t think, they just do what an animal does.”
There was a silence between them, the voices completely gone now and the only sound the faint whispers of the wind.
Before they left, Uncle Rich motioned for Jacob to hand him the sack, which the boy did promptly. Uncle Rich then reached in and removed a fish, laying it carefully on the ground. Jacob studied his actions, his brows lowered in curiosity but restraining his need to understand.
Uncle Rich looked at the fish a moment, and then at Jacob.
“Sometimes these animals,” he paused and looked away, “sometimes they get sick and then people get sick because of them. And then the people—” he scratched his forehead and sighed. A long time passed before he continued, Jacob anxiously waiting for his conclusion. “If people are smart,” he tapped his head, “and they know that an animal's an animal and keep their mind working, they won't get sick.”
Uncle Rich didn’t bother explaining anything more and returned the sack to Jacob.
“Let’s go,” Uncle Rich said as he began to descend the hill.
Jacob took one last look at the world from this view as well as the abandoned fish and then followed.
His head filled with imaginings of the creatures, and of Uncle Rich. He imagined that maybe when he was a boy Uncle Rich had danced with them, that was how he knew they could be heard from that hill. Watching the man in front of him, he wondered what had happened to stop Uncle Rich from dancing with the creatures. Perhaps when he’d married Aunt Rose. Or maybe it was whatever Aunt Rose had talked about with his father and sister. Or perhaps it is simply something that happens once a boy grows up.
They neared the stream again, and Jacob saw several ducks beside it. One of them was colorful while the other was gray and brown. He liked the colors of the bright one but there was something serene about the gray one. He stalled a moment and then watched as they flew away suddenly. He moved quickly to regain the ground he had lost with Uncle Rich.
The evening ended much quicker than it usually did. Aunt Rose wasn’t around to read to him or play a game, and Uncle Rich didn’t fill that role. But he did stay in the main room, almost as if he was guarding the windows against Jacob’s curiosity. Jacob made no attempts to steal past him or interact with the quiet man. He stuck to a book he was reading, although the words on the pages didn’t stay with him very long.
When it came time for bed, which was earlier than usual, he was somewhat relieved. But the creatures didn’t seem to be in the mood for a dance that night. Jacob listened attentively for a time, but not a single yip or foreign song was heard. And so he went to bed, confused and somewhat disappointed.
But he remembered that Uncle Rich had taken him up to the hill, and recalled the sounds he had heard there. He had still heard them, and what’s more, he’d heard them before the sun had set. That had never happened before. And so he was able to sleep happily.
In the morning, Jacob woke up to find Uncle Rich standing over him, nudging him. Jacob was immediately pulled from any sort of sleepiness and startled by the sight of the gruff man. He’d never been woken up by Uncle Rich and he was much less gentle than Aunt Rose.
“Up, boy,” he said, moving from the bed toward the door. “Something you need to see.”
Jacob didn’t hesitate and leaped out of bed. The morning light was just starting to creep through the windows and gave the room a gentle almost magical glow. Jacob hurried through it and after his uncle, eager to see what was important enough to wake him up early.
When he got to the main room, Jacob saw Uncle Rich standing by the door looking out the window, his rifle in his hands. Jacob didn’t think much of it until his uncle looked at him. His face was grim, as always, but had a bit of anger or fear in it. Jacob couldn’t decide which.
“Come here, boy,” he said, motioning for Jacob to stand beside him.
That was when Jacob noticed the sound. As he moved toward the window, he heard a twisted growling. It was certainly an animal, but not anything he’d heard before. As he got closer, he thought it sounded like the night creatures, but realized it was far too angry and frantic.
When he reached the window, Uncle Rich pointed to the edge of their hill. There, stumbling and almost shaking, was an animal Jacob had never seen before. It had thin fur covering its body and walked on four taut legs. The legs extended forward, backward, and then forward again, and the creature walked unsteadily on them. It had a tail branching out behind it, colored a grayish-brown like the rest of its body. But its head was what caught Jacob most. Two large pointed ears came from a small head with a long snout. But it wasn’t the shape that caught his attention, it was the eyes and the teeth. The teeth were sharp, not at all like a human, but like something that would kill chickens. Its eyes were wide—yellow glowing orbs with a small darker one in the middle, all surrounded by a line of darkness embedded in the creature’s fur. The creature was hobbling forward, glancing forward then to the side and then back again—its teeth bared and short snarls slipping through its jaws.
“That’s what you hear at night,” Uncle Rich said.
Jacob didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. The creatures at night were different, they sounded different. They didn’t walk on all fours, they walked on two feet, and they danced and sang and played and cried and—
“He’s an animal,” Rich said, and Jacob felt that his uncle wasn’t talking to him. He then gripped his rifle a little tighter. Jacob noticed, and understood what his uncle was going to do.
Jacob felt a sudden impulse of courage. Whether it was the right thing to do or not, he turned to Uncle Rich and spoke.
“Do you have to kill him?” he asked.
Uncle Rich looked away from the creature for a moment—just a moment. There was a bit of a sting in his eyes, as if the question meant more to him than it did to Jacob.
“I got to,” Uncle Rich said, and then gestured toward Jacob’s room, “go back to your room.”
Jacob didn’t protest anymore. Uncle Rich wouldn’t stop, and he knew better than to keep asking. He took one last look at the creature stumbling around outside.
“He’s sick, Jacob,” Uncle Rich said, his eyes on the creature but further away as well. “He can’t live like this no more, he'll hurt us and then die anyway.”
Jacob looked at his uncle, and then back at the creature.
“Go on. Now,” Uncle Rich said, a little more firmly.
Jacob obeyed, running back to his room and shutting the door. He sat on his bed and listened for the sound he knew would follow. But before the loud crack of the rifle, he heard the last miserable sounds of the sick creature.
Jacob stayed in his room for a long time after the sounds stopped. He thought about the creatures he heard, about the pictures he’d drawn. He was certain they couldn’t be the same as the groveling animal that Uncle Rich had shot. But his uncle would never lie, he was too gruff and quiet to lie. And Uncle Rich knew everything about the mountain, about the animals that lived on it. Why would he lie?
Jacob suddenly felt anger. The creature hadn’t been doing anything wrong, and they weren’t going to eat it. So why did Uncle Rich shoot it? Jacob remembered him saying it was sick. Then why didn’t they help it? Jacob looked at his pictures. If it had looked the way he’d drawn them, would Uncle Rich have shot it? He wouldn’t have, Jacob decided. Because they weren’t animals.
Jacob woke suddenly to jarring cries, snarls, and shouts. The sounds—voices—were close, right past the walls. Jacob sat up, a chill coming over him as he realized the sounds were coming from other places too. They weren’t just one direction, they were everywhere. Behind, beside, and in front of him, they clamored and clashed with each other. Jacob was afraid, immediately and without thought. These were the night creatures, but they had never scared Jacob.
Jacob climbed out of his bed, curiosity gripping him and threatening to overthrow his instinctual fear. He moved toward a window, cautiously and with sweating palms. He reached the window, curtains drawn tightly over it. Aunt Rose always tied them shut. Jacob put his hands to the careful knot, untying it with shaking fingers. Once he did, he took a moment to breathe. Then, slowly, he pulled the curtains back.
Dozens of eyes, glowing yellow like the creature that Uncle Rich had shot, were circling the cabin. They darted everywhere like they were looking for something. Jacob watched them, fear and fascination freezing him in place. He could hear their teeth clashing together, and see their eyes grow wide and then narrow as they yelled and screamed. One of the sets of eyes stopped after catching sight of Jacob. It was still a moment, eyes locked with him. And then it started snarling and shouting more aggressively. The others caught on and fixed Jacob with their mysterious glowing gaze. In an instant so quick that Jacob lost all ability to breathe, he was ripped away from the window by two fearsome hands.
“Get away from there!” Uncle Rich shouted after forcing Jacob’s head toward his. “What’s the matter with you?!”
Jacob was too terrified to answer. He simply shook his head and began to tremble. Uncle Rich fixed him with a ferocious glare for a moment, one that instilled dread in Jacob. And then he eased into a sort of understanding, something Jacob rarely saw.
Without thinking, Jacob fell forward and wrapped his arms around his uncle, shaking and starting to cry. Uncle Rich stood still, completely shocked and unsure how to respond. It took him a moment, but eventually he put his hands on Jacob’s back and patted it gently.
“Alright,” he grunted gently, “it’s alright Jacob.”
He pulled Jacob off him and looked him in the eyes. There was an emotion that Jacob didn’t understand, one that made it look like his uncle was going to cry and tell him something. But he didn’t, he just nodded and then motioned to the door.
“Come out here with me for tonight.”
Jacob followed, trying to wipe the tears from his face. He was almost ashamed that he’d cried in front of his uncle, but the sounds of the creatures outside made him remember that he was still afraid.
Uncle Rich took him to the living room, where his rifle was loaded and ready, propped against the table. He took it and then sat down on a chair, motioning for Jacob to sit on another.
Jacob sat down and kept his eyes on Uncle Rich. It helped him shut out the voices streaming in from the windows and cracks in the walls.
“Are they more of what you shot?”
Uncle Rich looked at him for a moment and then nodded.
“Are they mad you shot one of them?” Jacob asked, finding comfort in talking.
This question stopped his uncle a moment. He lowered his brows and looked at the door.
“They don’t think like that,” he answered.
Jacob heard the voices grow louder and felt he had to say something again to keep them from getting to him.
“They sound mad,” he said bluntly, “or sad.”
Uncle Rich looked at him again and then nodded.
Then Jacob remembered the talks his aunt and uncle had those nights before she’d left. He remembered how Uncle Rich hadn’t wanted to talk about the creatures. He had seemed mad at them. Jacob wondered what had happened, how his uncle had come to hate the creatures.
“Uncle?”
Uncle Rich looked at Jacob and gave an expectant look, his way of implying that he was ready for a question.
“Why do we live on the mountain?” Jacob asked.
Uncle Rich seemed surprised by the question and didn’t have an answer ready. He looked away again and then fidgeted with his rifle.
“Mountain not good enough for you?” he grunted.
“I like it,” Jacob answered. “But you don’t.”
Uncle Rich looked up fiercely.
“Who says I don’t?” he asked, a low scowl across his face, “your aunt tell you that?”
Jacob shook his head, a bit intimidated by his uncle’s sudden anger.
“I—” he stuttered, “I think you don’t like the animals.”
Uncle Rich gave him a bit of a lost glance, one that seemed desperate and confused. There was a long silence before he spoke.
“I love the mountain,” he said, a calmness taking over that almost drowned out the cries and snarls. He let out a short smile before continuing. “I love the wind across my face, the smell of the pine trees, and the sound of the birds. I love the water, the sound it makes when it comes down the rocks. I love watching the fish and finding berries in the bushes.” This was the most Jacob had ever heard his uncle say at one time, and it was the most passionate he’d ever seen him. “Your aunt was the one that didn’t like it,” he continued. “She’s from down the mountain.”
The voices suddenly picked up and began shrieking high-pitched cries of misery. Uncle Rich looked up at the window, gripping his rifle a little closer.
“It’s them I hate,” he said, his voice becoming gruff and hostile again. “I hate what they make a man do. What they make a boy do.” His eyes were fierce, and very far away from Jacob.
“What do they make boys do?”
Uncle Rich turned to Jacob, his anger giving way to a sort of sympathy and fear. But the fear wasn’t directed toward himself. It looked like it was fear for Jacob, fear for his nephew.
“They make a boy grow up,” he said, his tone soft and vulnerable. “Make him do things a man should do.” He gripped the rifle tighter, until his knuckles were white.
Jacob was quiet then. He remembered what Uncle Rich and Aunt Rose had talked about, and the way he had looked before he shot the creature. There was something more between his uncle and the creatures, Jacob was sure of it. But he didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry, Jacob,” Uncle Rich suddenly said. The voices outside the window seemed to stop suddenly as a shameful look came over the stern man. “I haven’t been the kind of man a boy should have,” he murmured.
Jacob was stunned, and too confused to speak.
“I didn’t grow up right,” Uncle Rich said, looking to his nephew and nodding, “but I think you deserve to.”
He then looked away again and bit his lip while fidgeting with his rifle. Jacob studied the man, unable to understand everything that he was thinking, or what his words really meant. The only thing he was able to pull from it was that his uncle cared a great deal more than he knew. This made him feel warm inside, like the times Aunt Rose kissed him on the forehead before sending him to bed. But at the same time, sitting up late at night, guarding the door with Uncle Rich, Jacob felt like a man. Uncle Rich had talked to him differently than he ever had. He hadn’t called him boy, he’d called him Jacob. That seemed important, and he didn’t know why.
The two sat still for the rest of the night until Jacob fell asleep in his chair. Rather than move him back to his room, Uncle Rich laid him out on the couch where he slept until morning.
Aunt Rose came back not long after that night. She was more cheerful than usual and hugged both Jacob and Uncle Rich. Jacob accepted and reciprocated the hug, while Uncle Rich acknowledged it in his own way. Jacob didn’t understand it, but Aunt Rose seemed to. She kissed him on the cheek and then told them about the baby that had been brought into the world. Uncle Rich listened patiently, but Jacob could hardly sit still. He wanted to tell Aunt Rose all about the creatures, how they had circled the house and screamed all night long. He wanted to tell her that Uncle Rich had said more to him than he ever had. But he suddenly felt that he shouldn’t. The look he’d seen in his uncle’s eyes told him that it wasn’t something to tell other people. Glancing at Aunt Rose, Jacob realized she’d probably seen the look too. She’d probably seen it more often and probably always understood what Uncle Rich was talking about. Jacob thought back to one of the things he’d said, about how the creatures make a boy grow up. Jacob knew he hadn’t acted very grown-up. He’d clung to his uncle and cried in his arms. That didn’t seem very grown-up. But he felt sure that he was growing up.
Later that night, as he was going to bed, Jacob heard a shrill call. It was the night creatures, the ones he had heard before that night with Uncle Rich. They weren’t snarling and angry, but yipping and moaning in both delight and sorrow again. Jacob sat up in his bed, his eyes wide with excitement. But then a certain fear seeped into his mind as he remembered the glowing eyes. The way they had glared at him, so venomous and hateful. He questioned whether they were the same creatures. Maybe, just maybe, they were different. Maybe these kind walked on two feet and danced and sang.
Jacob heard another sound: the slow creaking of feet on the floorboards. Uncle Rich.
His mind went to the man who would be sitting in the living room, rifle nearby and a cautious eye on the door. Jacob lay back down and stared up at the darkness where the ceiling was hiding. The creatures were the same ones that had snarled and gnashed their teeth at him. They were the same as the sick one that Uncle Rich had shot.
Jacob still listened with curiosity to the night creatures, but he thought about them differently from that point on. He knew they didn’t walk on all fours. They didn’t sing and dance—at least, not like he had imagined they did. They didn’t look like him, and they were scary at times. Sometimes they got sick and couldn’t get better. But they weren’t completely bad.
“They’re animals,” he reminded himself, trying to sound like Uncle Rich. “And they’re just doing what animals do.”
This year's wrapping up pretty quickly! I've officially started working on 2021's collection of short stories and poetry and will be pretty busy with that (I'm working on making a nicer one this year that includes all the art I've done with my poems and stories). I'll keep doing as many poems and stories as I can of course, but I'll probably miss a few weeks as we get closer to the holidays. With three months left in the year, I'm estimating about two short stories left and around ten poems still to go. That sounds like so few, but really, there are only about thirteen weeks left until 2022! I hope you've enjoyed the blog so far, I've definitely become more comfortable with it (as well as with writing poetry and short stories) over the course of this year.
I want to say thank you to everyone who has been reading my content as well. This blog has been a great balance for me while I work on novels. It's a great way to keep my creativity flowing and explore lots of ideas while working on something bigger. It also helps me put up with revision, as that time can be really boring for me.
Anyway, thank you, and have a great weekend!
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