Part Two : Moving into our New House and seeing Midnight Apparitions, Spring 1994

Has the bruised man become a dominant figure in my life after falling off the back of a truck at Harmony House? I hope not, we are moving in to the new house and seeing Midnight Apparitions, Spring of 1994...

My life was full of new events, experiences, ideas and ownership in 1994. The winter and early spring was off to a speedy start. Besides the Metallica tickets I had in my possession, Maria and I had spoken to a mortgage broker, and signed our lives away for our first house. The new residence was a one and a half story cottage-style on the corner lot of Flagitious Street in Stevats. We closed the deal in March and had to wait until April 11th to move in. Almost eight months in our relationship and we had moved faster than most expected. With all the excitement of the house I almost forgot about the tickets, which were tucked away safely in a small box. As I packed up my Compaq personal computer purchased from Circuit City, equipped with a 1200 baud rate modem, and the latest in Windows technology, Windows 3.1, I opened the desk drawer. I pulled out the Planter's nut tin I kept keepsakes in. The tickets were tucked in between an old black and white high school picture of Maria and another vintage picture of my best friend Chris from Stevatsville Elementary, sporting a white Adidas shirt, both pictures of people going to the concert. I looked at the tickets and then stowed them away.

Despite closing on the new house, moving, and the fast paced nature we took to get everything situated, there was a looming feeling of dread as we settled. There were shadows in spaces that I was unfamiliar with. Rooms that didn't seem to belong to Maria or me, and the eerie sensation that the previous owners could walk in at anytime. These thoughts were irrational, but legitimate because this was the first time I had ever owned a house. Even though all of our things were unloaded, unpacked, and situated, the house felt as if we didn't really belong.

Our first night we lay awake in our bedroom, in the dark. We stared at the ceiling illuminated by a bright moon outside the window. We did it, a thirty year commitment to homeownership and a sense of pride filled both of us. We listened to the house settle and creak, and then heard a "THUMP" "THWACK" "THUMP" noise from downstairs. The noise persisted and Maria told me to go see what it was. I slowly walked down the oak staircase with caution. Maria's hands pressed up to my back as if I could protect her, or was she ready to push me towards the unknown? We stood on the landing, waiting for more noise. Headlights from a passing car beamed through the large front window. Our cat, Scrumpy, an eighteen pound tabby, was jumping at the lights, thumping on the ground, attempting to capture them. There was no intruder and we both laughed at our mistake in identity. I kissed Maria goodnight and after that excitement, I had to do a little writing.

The house was silent, except for Scrumpy, who was getting used to his new territory. The typical settling noises were abound and I comfortably began accepting the fact that those noises belonged to us. I sat down at my desk, which was in, what Maria insisted calling, my "den." The den was a room that was decorated Bavarian style. There was dark wood beams on the twelve foot ceiling and walls. Free floating shelves were hung and stained to match, they were loaded with all my King and Koontz books. There were faux homemade wood shutters on the inside of the upper and lower window the same dark color. I booted up the computer and listened to the fan come to life and the processor humming. To the right of the den was a bedroom. I dubbed the empty room Maria's "sewing" room, even though she didn't fucking sew, which always made us chuckle. The sewing room was more a guest room and barely used. To the left was the bathroom with a six foot door that I had to duck to go into. I clunked my forehead on this door many times in a drunkard's stumble. The soft glow of the Windows home screen, on the large awkward CRT, lit the desk, but the rest of the room was backlit in darkness. I jumped at an unfamiliar sound coming from my left.

I peered toward the window listening to the noise. There was a loud shuffling of feet, which sounded like someone was walking in a pair of oversized shoes. I thought that maybe Scrumpy was playing with a crumpled Kool cigarette package, a fetch trick Maria had taught him. I stood up, and waited for my eyes to adjust. Scrumpy was nowhere and an empty crumpled wrapper lay under the sill. I opened the shutters and looked out to our small patio. A tall bald man sneered at me. He scuttled away, his narrow angry eyes darted in my direction. My heart thudded in my chest as he disappeared behind the garage. I turned the monitor off and left in a hurry. I'm a coward, scared of my own shadow most times. The ambience of the dark den, the closed sewing room obscured by its door, a plethora of other scary shadows, and a freakish man, dominated my head. I ran upstairs to the safety of our bedroom and looked out the window.

There was a bird's eye view from the second story, down onto the garage roof and the chain link fence surrounding the side yard. I half expected the tall, bruised head and bloody sharp teeth of the Bruised Man, but there was no one outside. Had my imagination fooled me again? I slipped into bed beside Maria who rolled over and flung her arm across my chest. Did I really see the man from Harmony House that fell off the truck, haunting my backyard? I decided to forget about it, certain there was a rational explanation somewhere. I went as far as blaming it on exhaustion.

I fell asleep in the darkness, the street lights west of our bedroom illuminating the neighborhood below. The tarnished cross atop the church at the end of the block could be seen in the moon's bright luminescence. I dreamt about the Metallica concert coming up in less than three months. The thoughts of sharp teeth and bruised head of the man haunted my imagination, but I didn't allow it to extinguish my excitement for the upcoming summer event. I just hoped this monstrosity wasn't near me, and I didn't have to see him again. Deep down panic told me this would not be the last time...

Part III, coming next Tuesday, if I don't chicken out, procrastinate or end up lost in the woods. as always, thanks for stopping by!

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Tim Eagle

Tim Eagle is an author of the novellas Stolen Seed, Life Ship, and the Vasectomus Collection. He lives full time, on the road, with his wife, Maria and their dog, Cocoa. He grew up in Michigan and is inspired by the dysfunction of America. His books are available on Amazon, godless and this site timeaglefiction.com 

1994 Metallica, Scrumpy and our house on Flagitious Street