It was getting late that night, so Lindsay and I stopped by her house, which was completely empty. While we’re progressing from watching a movie to embracing in her bed, down the street, Alexander Wilkinson is fiercely scratching away at a piece of paper with an inkless pen. The pen had run out of ink three days ago. Alexander has been sitting in the same exact spot for four days straight.
He saw no face on that man a few months back, and it’s possessed every inch of his thought since then. He just couldn’t think of why there had been no face, so he’s been sitting here, going through old letters, and doodling on them. Many of his doodles are of the faceless man, but more commonly, there are sketches of the streetlights. There are a select few pictures that blend the streetlights together, into a sort of stick figure lamp post monstrosity.
There are other doodles unrelated to the darkness, however; for example, there’s the picture of a dog in a box, floating away from the earth into outer space. He also doodles his mother, Karen.
Alex’s mother Karen died in a fire last summer, and his father couldn’t give a good shit about his well being. All he has left are his little brothers, but alas, Alex has completely forgotten them. The mania has completely grasped his train of thought, and now, all he can focus on are the scribbles now bleeding into the wooden desk under the torn pieces and bits of the letters.
Alexs’ brothers try and save him, but there’s no use; all they can do is watch as their brother falls into the darkness, as he will not be moved. Literally, and figuratively…every passing day, it seems the light in Alex’s room gets dimmer. Soon, on this early December evening, the room is completely black, except for the faint, orange glow of a street lamp outside. Despite the darkness, they can clearly see one thing; a vampire lurks under Alex’s second story window.
He sits out there, awaiting, arms outstretched. They cannot do anything but watch, though; if they called for help or got their dad to notice, the monster would take advantage of the momentary loss of defense in the form of the front door opening, and attack.
The vampire is getting closer with every passing minute, but somehow hasn’t moved a single inch. The vampire is dressed in a fabulous suit, and the vampire’s face is barely visible; only an outline could be seen. The hands are slowly stretching upwards, longing to touch the frosty glass incasing Alex, and protecting him, from the cold, and yet also, the warm embrace of the monster outside.
The glass is only temporary, the brothers realize. It’s too late, their poor brother is about to be taken.
While the vampire readies to suck the life out of poor Alexander, many insignificant, and yet related, things occur: two kids skating on a sheet of ice slip and fall into a weak part of the frosted glass, triggering it to collapse, plunging them into the cold water below; Bill’s mother sits alone, by the fire, letting the heat warm her while she worriedly glances at the grandfather clock behind her; an old man, walking alone in the sleet and ice, notices a street light is missing from its usual spot outside of the town center; Lindsay and I embrace in each other’s arms, and our lips touch each other’s for the first time; a police car skids, trips over itself, and crashes on the ice a block away from Alexander’s house, as he notices his long dead grandfather wandering alone in the snow outside of town centre; a friend of Lindsay’s, Alice Liamson, is working in her grandmother’s bakery, and feels a slight worry for her co worker Alexander, who she has not spoken to in days. While all these events are transpiring, Alexander’s two brothers, Mason and Brent, ran out into the front yard, in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. Their feet dashed across the snow and the pavement, waving at the monster to get its attention. As they approached the monster, they noticed a horrible fact; it was not a vampire, it did not need their blood.
It also did not need a face, or even have one, for that matter.
The brothers started to cry…their brother was done for. The beast had a target in mind, and he would not be wavering from it.
Or not. The monster sensed the fear the brothers felt, and turned around, gesturing his head down upon them.
“It’s the thing I always hear scrambling over my bed, in the attic.” Mason thought, while Brent thought, “It’s the thing I imagine lurking in the dark of the basement.” It was neither of those things, and yet both of those things; it was the Unknown, it was the Darkness, it was Everything and Nothing. It was their Fear, personified.
It was more, though, the thing in their closet, that watched them sleep.
It looked at the two kid’s faces, and nodded; the deal had been made.
Alexander returned from a point of absolute despair he wasn’t supposed to return from, but it was too late; the Suited Man had taken his brothers away from him.
The wind blew away the tracks leading from the door of the house, and the two boys followed suit; as far as the town was concerned, they had never existed. They were now with The Lost Boys in Neverland.
The darkness drifted away just as police sirens broke the illusion of quiet in the house. A father’s shout of cluelessness could be heard, but Alexander did not notice these.
He only knew that he was alone, alone, and so so cold.
He was now for the Neighborhood.
He was now a part of the Neighborhood.
