The Dark Stuff: A Supernatural Horror Novel

  The Dark Stuff

  A Supernatural Horror Novel

  Paul Seiple

  Contents

  John Milton Quote

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Sophocles Quote

  What about the Ouija Board?

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  About The Dark Stuff

  About Paul Seiple

  About War is Hell

  War Is Hell

  "The mind is its own place, and in itself it can make a heaven of hell, and a hell of heaven."

  -John Milton, Paradise Lost

  One

  At least two-thirds of our miseries spring from human stupidity, human malice, and those great motivators and justifiers of malice and stupidity, idealism, dogmatism, proselytizing on behalf of religious or political idols.

  -Aldous Huxley

  The stagnant air suffocating the attic caused him to gasp. With each breath, the air felt like an oversized pillow wrapping itself over his head and raping his body of the little oxygen left. Humidity drenched the room with a stickiness that caused dust to adhere to his forearms in a doughy paste. His skin boiled under the relentless heat. Sweat felt like acid rain as it stung his forehead, reminding him to use lotion for his dry skin. He tried to think about anything that would get his mind off of the torture he was placing on his body. He was miserable. But Daniel Haley had a job to do.

  Earlier in the week, Daniel assured his girlfriend that she would have all the space needed for her things in the closet in the spare bedroom. And rightly so. Jess Alderson had been staying with him every other weekend for the last year. She had earned her spot in the Haley household.

  To that point, the closet had been a storage locker for fifteen years’ worth of comics, magazines, records, and cassettes. Daniel was a packrat. He kept everything. At first glance, there was no hint of the wood-paneled walls of the closet. Only stacks of Daniel’s childhood doused, like cheap perfume, with a musty smell of aged paper. Hauling his past to the attic was agonizing in the heat wave. His only defense from the boiling temperature was three small window air conditioners. It was a losing battle, but if Jess came home to find Daniel had broken his promise, the heat wouldn’t be a match for her cold shoulder. Daniel knew that if Jess decided to freeze him out, he would long for the warmth of an endless summer.

  The pressures of senior year had Jess’s fuse dwindling. The slightest thing could set her off like a powder keg. Daniel didn’t want to become a casualty by foolishly trouncing over another one of those land-mines. His wounds were still healing from last month’s explosion over a mix-up with take-out. A year ago, Jess would have laughed at the fast food employee’s inability to distinguish Dr. Pepper from Mountain Dew, but now, she wanted his head served on a platter. And since that wasn’t possible, she took it out on Daniel. All over a soft drink, but Daniel chalked it up to the stressors involved with senior year. He had his share of sleepless nights, pounding headaches, and four-alarm fires in the pit of his stomach over finals. He hoped her attitude would change after graduation.

  Hot air twisted around the steps like a serpent strangling its next meal. Daniel gave himself a pep talk before his second trip to the attic. He channeled his high school football coach, who shamelessly plagiarized the words of Knute Rockne before every game.

  “Build up your weaknesses until they are strong points,” Daniel said, placing a foot on the first step leading to the attic. He had heard that quote many times after dropping a pass. The words of Coach Evans never helped Daniel to catch the game-winning pass. But this was different. There wasn’t a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound kid looking to take Daniel’s head off when he caught the ball. This was just a little heat.

  Daniel reached the top step and braced for the enemy. Before he could quote Coach Evans again, the heat slapped him in the face, causing him to gasp and inhale dust. A coughing spell followed that intensified the heat to the point that Daniel felt as though the flesh was melting from his cheeks. In the end, it wasn’t much different from the linebacker. Daniel’s once light-blue Carolina Tarheel shirt was turning Duke blue from sweat. For a Carolina fan, that was more painful than the heat. The subconscious sting of being a traitor to his favorite college team, through no fault of his own, was enough to get Daniel through the barrier of humidity.

  He stepped on the makeshift floor, a piece of plyboard resting on two by fours. The wood cracked beneath his feet. At any moment, he expected to fall through to the bedroom below. He sat the stack of comics next to a pile of Christmas decorations. The coughing deprived him of oxygen. Daniel’s head swam; lightheadedness caused his eyes to blur. He rubbed his face, smearing dust over his cheeks. When his eyes cleared, he focused on a dilapidated cardboard box that came into view after a Christmas tree tipped over. The sides of the box were held together with duct tape. Humidity had wrestled with the corners of the tape, causing them to curl. The adhesive looked like tiny cobwebs forming geometric patterns in the dust. Could that be my long-lost KISS figures? Daniel thought, brushing away the debris. Those things are worth a fortune on E-bay. The words “The Dark Stuff,” written in black marker, glared back at him.

  Daniel laughed. “I remember this stuff.”

  The tape didn’t provide much resistance as he tore through it like a kid on Christmas morning. Fitting, since the old Christmas tree lay at his feet. Shards of broken ornaments crunching under his sneakers provided the soundtrack to the opening credits of the nightmare that lurked. The first thing to catch his eye was a book about vampires. Being born under the sign of Scorpio, Daniel always held a special place for the dark side. Not so much the force ruled by Lord Vader, but more along the lines of ominous things that defied explanation. Things that caused you to wake, screaming, in the middle of the night, with your body drenched in a cold sweat and riddled with chill bumps.

  As a teenager, Daniel never missed a horror movie. He loved them all, from the slasher flicks to psychological thrillers. Digging through Aleister Crowley and Anton Lavey books, Daniel recalled ghost hunting with his friends on chilly fall evenings. They never found concrete proof of paranormal existence. Just the occasional creaky floor or photograph of dust orbs. Those things couldn’t rattle Daniel. The only thing to spook him was the Ouija board.

  Hairs stood up on Daniel’s arm like a jolt of electricity running through his body when he saw the corner of the yellowing board peeking out from underneath a stack of Famous Monsters magazines. Memories of how he came to own the board shouted through his mind, each one trying to out-weird the other.

  When Daniel was fifteen, he spent the night at his best friend David’s house. David’s parents were out of town, so he invited Daniel along with four others to hang out, watch his dad’s porn, and drink cheap beer that his brother had bought for them. Kevin, the outcast of the group, showed up with the Ouija board. While Daniel and the rest of his friends listened to heavy metal, Kevin bled tie-dye and followed the Grateful Dead. Staying true to the “deadhead” lifestyle, Kevin rarely bathed. His lack of hygiene and penchant for wearing large beads around his neck earned him the nickname “Witchd
octor.” It was ironic that the Witchdoctor brought evil to the party.

  The group was split when it came to testing the validity of the board. David and Mark thought the idea of contacting the other side was a bunch of bullshit. But they were willing to give it a shot because the Police Academy franchise had lost its luster after the third movie, and they were watching the fifth. Daniel and John thought making contact was a possibility, but given the attitude of the others, they didn’t hold much faith. Kevin didn’t figure into the equation. He sat on the couch, giggling and attacking a bag of chips. It was obvious that he had raided his father’s stash before coming to David’s house. And then there was Frank. He was having nothing to do with the spirit world. Frank wouldn’t be in the same room with the Ouija board. He pleaded with the others, asking them not to use the board. Curiosity and boredom formed a potent cocktail that got the inquisitive bunch much drunker than the cheap beer.

  They gathered around a coffee table. Amidst the laughter and cracking jokes, after the boys placed their fingers on the oracle, John managed to ask an innocent question.

  “What channel is the TV downstairs on?”

  After a brief stillness, the dingy piece of plastic slid across the board in a circular motion. First it pointed to two and then three.

  “Channel twenty-three?” John asked.

  “Which one of you assholes is moving this thing?” David asked.

  “Not me,” Mark said.

  Everyone else shook their heads, denying being the cause of the movement.

  “Kevin, see what channel the TV is on,” John said.

  “What?” Kevin asked, rubbing his eyes, trying to fight off a pot nap.

  “The TV downstairs. Go see what channel it’s on,” David said.

  Kevin put the chips down and lumbered down the stairs. In less than a minute, he raced back up the steps, out of breath and pale. “It’s on twenty-three. The fucking thing is on twenty-three.”

  Everyone laughed, partly because they didn’t know Kevin could run like that, but they had been watching a baseball game downstairs before he showed up. They all knew it was on channel twenty-three.

  “What’s so fucking funny? The Ouija board said twenty-three and it’s on twenty-three. That’s some trippy shit.”

  “Dude, we were watching the Braves before you got here. Someone is moving this shit,” David said.

  “Real funny. Fuck you guys.” Kevin went back to the bag of chips.

  John was convinced that someone was moving the oracle. He asked another trivial question. “How many beers are in the refrigerator?”

  The oracle moved in a slashing pattern and rested on the number eight.

  “I may be high as fuck, but I’m not falling for that shit again,” Kevin said between chews.

  “Frank, see how many are in the fridge,” David said.

  “Nope. I’m not playing with that damn thing.”

  “Fuck it. I’ll check,” Mark said.

  He pushed by Frank, who was standing against the door frame in the kitchen. Mark opened the refrigerator and counted seven beers. “You’re wrong, all-mighty Ouija. There’s seven in the fridge.”

  “Whichever one of you assholes that’s moving this thing can’t count. It must be Danny,” David said, laughing.

  The oracle started moving beneath the boys’ fingers. It spelled out “I’m never wrong.”

  “Who did that?” David asked.

  “I’m not moving it,” Daniel said.

  “Wait, man,” Kevin said. “I put a beer in the freezer a few minutes ago.”

  “That makes eight,” John said.

  “This is bullshit. One of you fuckers is moving that goddamn thing,” David said, pushing away from the table.

  “What’s wrong, David? You getting scared?” Daniel asked with a grin.

  “I’m not scared. Ask it another fucking question.” David sat back down and pushed his fingers down on the oracle, making it harder to move.

  John took a deep breath.

  “And don’t ask it how many times Mark jacked off today. Ask it some scary shit,” David said.

  “Three, by the way,” Mark said.

  “Stop fucking around, or it’s going to stop working,” John said. “What should I ask?’

  “Old Lady Williamson just died. Ask if she is still next door,” David said.

  “Hell no. That bitch was mean,” Mark said. “Don’t contact her. I don’t want her haunting me. She did enough of that when she was alive.”

  “You’re just upset that you saw her saggy tits through her nightgown,” Daniel said.

  “Damn right, I am. That’s scarier than any ghost.”

  The oracle started to move under their fingers again. It spelled out “Not a ghost.”

  “Seriously, stop moving the fucking thing. See if she’s still here, John.” David paused. “And I swear to God, if any of you move this thing, I’ll punch you.”

  “Fine, but if she shows up, I’m telling her you’re the one who cut her phone line after she called the cops on us,” Mark said.

  “She’s dead. What’s she gonna do?” David laughed.

  “Haunt you, you dumb fuck. That’s what ghosts do,” Mark said.

  John interrupted the banter. “Mrs. Williamson, are you here with us?”

  The oracle didn’t move.

  “I knew one of you assholes was moving this thing.”

  “Mrs. Williamson, are you here?” John asked again.

  The oracle slowly moved toward “Yes.” The room felt ten degrees cooler. Uneasiness hovered like a mushroom cloud after an explosion.

  “Ask her for a sign,” Daniel said.

  Before John could ask, the phone rang. Frank answered it. His face lost its color.

  “Fuck this shit, I’m out of here.” Frank dropped the receiver. It dangled and clanked against the counter.

  John picked it up. A static hummed through the receiver. The hiss was the only sign the boys needed. Daniel shoved the board back into its worn box, splitting a corner of the cardboard. They spent the rest of the evening bracing for another sign. Nothing happened.

  Kevin refused to take the Ouija board home the next morning. David was not going to keep the board. After a peaceful night of sleep, Daniel rationalized that the static was probably just a bad connection. David’s house was old. The wiring was too. Daniel took the Ouija board home. There was never another incident, but the board still had an evil vibe.

  And here it sat in front of him, fifteen years later. The dust and grime tarnished its sinister aura. Daniel smiled. “Good times. You scared the shit out of us.” He tossed the board into a trash pile. He started back down the stairs, stopping when an idea came to mind. The prankster took over. Daniel wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving a smudge. “I could really scare Jess with that thing.” He took the Ouija board from the trash.

  Daniel didn’t give any thought to Jess’s current state and that the prank may explode in his face. The little kid in him wanted to scare the girl. But the evil lurking had a different motive.

  Two

  All things truly wicked start from an innocence.

  -Ernest Hemingway

  The Ouija board lay undisturbed on the floral print sofa, hidden under a stack of old music magazines. The trips to the attic grew exhausting, and Daniel decided the rest of the junk from the closet would live in his home office temporarily. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to draw attention to the board. There were the occasional creaks in the hardwood floors. The pipes rattled like a prisoner clanking a steel mug against the bars of his cell. But those noises were to be expected. The house had fixer-upper written all over it when Daniel bought it three years earlier.

  The house, built in 1870, hadn’t fared well through the years. The walls bore cracks as war injuries from years of battling with a settling foundation. The floors, battered with scuffs and water stains, couldn’t hide the abuse. Aesthetically, the house wasn’t much, but the scars held a history that gave it an identity. I
t was the past that drew Daniel to the home. The price didn’t hurt either. Being a high school history teacher didn’t afford Daniel the luxuries of being choosy. He felt confident that, with the vast knowledge absorbed from do-it-yourself shows, he could tackle any project thrown his way. But to this point, he had dodged most of those tasks, a habit that would surely have had Coach Evans quoting Knute.

  The first room to get the makeover treatment was the master bedroom. It wasn’t Daniel’s first choice. He would have rather started with the office. But through persuasion and new lingerie, Jess convinced him that the bedroom was top priority.

  After renovations, the bedroom barely reflected Daniel’s taste. Ivy-covered border accented the taupe walls, painted-on flowers bloomed on the hand-me-down dresser, and the lavender comforter that hid a stained mattress looked to be stolen from Daniel’s grandmother’s bedroom. The scent of lilac from a candle permanently imprinted itself on the room. The stereo, cluttered with compact discs of his favorite ‘90s grunge bands, was the only hint of Daniel’s personality. The room was Jess’s. Daniel was okay with that. He just slept there.

  Jess’s happiness was Daniel’s number one priority. And if that meant he would have to take allergy medicine before going into the bedroom, he would suffer. He had met Jess a year earlier at an outdoor music and arts festival. Jess had been best friends with Beth, David’s wife, since high school.

  Daniel lost contact with most of his childhood friends but remained close to David. They were the “older” kids growing up; it was a bond that transformed into a lifelong friendship. They knew each other like twins but never looked the part. David was tall, fit, and had perfectly straight teeth and hair. Everything about Daniel screamed average — his height, weight, and a slightly crooked front tooth kept him from making a perfect list. Beth thought she knew Daniel, but she didn’t. She always played matchmaker but failed miserably. Daniel never warmed up to any of her choices for him. She would always tell him that he was destined to become the crazy old cat guy. Jess was so different from Daniel. Out of his league, but Beth would never dare say that. The thought of setting them up never crossed her mind. And that was probably why it worked. From the first moment he saw Jess dancing under the hot sun on that summer day, Daniel knew she was the one. The one to complete his life and be a part of any other stupid love cliché he could muster.