Waiting for Dawn

Note: This story was a contest entry for the Oct. 2011 Halloween Horror Contest. To view the contest rules, click on Contest Rules:

There are minimal rules, so please follow the ones below CAREFULLY:

1. Open to horror stories (can include elements of other genres such as sci-fi, but primarily horror) up to 7,000 words. If you haven't scared me by then, you're not going to.

2. Rating 18+ or below.

3. Old or new items are fine, but not previously awarded.

4. One entry per member.

5. Post your entry using an item link in a message below with the subject "My entry" or something along those lines. Please include a word count either in your story or in the message.

6. Absolutely, positively NO EDITING AFTER THE DEADLINE.

That's it! 

JUDGING CRITERIA:

Does it scare me? I warn you, I'm very hard to scare.

Is it well-written? In other words, has the writer used spell-check and proper punctuation and grammar? I can't abide authors who don't try to polish their work.

Is it original? Straight rewrites of FRIDAY THE 13TH or DRACULA or the like bore me. I like something unusual (which is not to say you can't work with vampires; just don't do the same old same old).

Does it use gratuitous violence to excess? In other words, does it go for a "gross-out" rather than terror or horror? Then it probably won't get far with me.
 
  DEADLINE: OCTOBER 31ST, 2011, MIDNIGHT WDC TIME 
(technically, November 1st at 12:00 PM WDC time, but it sounds spookier this way)

"Halloween Horror Contest" 

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Waiting for Dawn

By Indelibleink

"Steve, can you hear me?"

Jeff Kroft nervously tried to shift in his sleeping bag, but had little luck. Notorious for talking 'big' in the daytime but becoming somewhat less aggressive after nightfall, the nine year-old seemed to think that the tighter he wound himself up in his bag, the safer he would be.

"Steve, are you awake?"

"I am now, you dufus. Thanks for waking me. Oh well, it's probably good you did, because I was having a nightmare, and our Science teacher Mr. Samuels was coming after us with a..."

"Don't try to scare me like you always try to do, Steve."

"No, really, I was dreaming that we were out camping, just like this, and we heard something coming out of the woods, and..."

"Please, Steve, stop! I don't feel good, and a scary story will only make me want to puke even more."

"Jeff, whenever we sleep out, you always go to the 'I don't feel good' routine when I start to tell a scary story. It's time you grew up and started acting like a man."

Steve Lasch, a year older than his neighbor and pal Jeff, had heard that line from his dad on a number of occasions. It felt good, for once, to be the sender - and not the receiver - of the message. On this night, though, Steve probably could have stood to hear the massage from his father again, since tonight it seemed colder, darker, and just plain clammier than usual.

The boys didn't normally sleep out this late in the year, but they were in the midst of a beautiful Indian summer, it was close to Halloween, and had talked about it for days at school before finally deciding to pull the trigger. Of course, they hadn't considered that it got dark much sooner this time of the year, and the nights were much chillier and all of the sounds of the night carried that much farther in the cool, dry air.

"Steve, I really don't feel good tonight. And I'm so cold. Would you go out and put another log or two on the fire? It's so dark in this tent - it's really spooky."

"Hey, buddy, I'm just as cold as you, you know? If I get out of my sleeping bag I'll get even colder. Besides, I don't think there's much firewood left. We'll need some in the morning for breakfast..."

"I'm worried about even making it to morning, Steve. How about if you throw the wood that we would have used for my half of the breakfast on the fire now, and I'll just skip breakfast in the morning?"

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, Jeff. But I know what you mean about not feeling good. My stomach's not bothering me, but my throat is sore as heck. Hope I'm not catching a cold."

"If our parents knew we were sick, they'd make us come home, right? We don't want to miss any school..."

It was enough to make Steve laugh. "'Don't want to miss any school', huh? All you ever talk about is how much you hate school, and now all of a sudden you're all worried about missing some? C'mon, Jeff, get real. Plus, we spent the whole week telling all the kids in school we were sleeping out this weekend. You wanna be the one to tell 'em we chickened out? You want to go running home crying like a third-grader, go ahead. But I'm staying here."

"Fine! So we stay, but if I puke in the tent, it's all on you."

"'All on me'? Puke? Now, that's something to be really afraid of."

"Ha-Ha. So funny I forgot to laugh."

"Well, you'd better laugh about something, because we have a long, cold night ahead of us just to make it to morning..."

Indeed, it was a long, cold night for the pair. The usual banter found between the two was not at the usual high rate of exchange; rather there were long periods of silence interrupted only by brief inquiries by one, wanting to know if the other was awake. Tonight, invariably, the other one was.

Steve stared skyward as the first hint of morning - the sense of impending light rather than the actual discovery of same - invaded his thoughts.

"Jeff, are you awake?"

"Yep."

"Are you looking up?"

"Now I am."

"What do you see?"

"Holy cow, Steve! What is that?"

"It's light coming through a skylight or something."

"But, we're in a tent."

"I don't think we are anymore. Can you reach over and touch me?"

"Sure...Well, wait a minute...I feel my hand going over where you should be, but I don't feel anything. Steve, what is going on with us? There seems to..."

"Hold on Jeff...Don't panic yet. There's a little more light now. Can you see me?"

"I can see you, but your mouth isn't moving when you talk. Your eyes are open and you're just staring up. And - God, Steve - your neck is cut and bloody!" 

"Something's going on here, Jeff. I can see you now, too, but we're in a big room, not a tent. And I see another person laying on the other side of you. Wow! It looks like Mr. Samuels..."

"What the heck is going on..."

The conversation was interrupted by a intensely bright light which appeared in the room, hovering above the two boys before morphing into the shape of a young woman. She appeared quite normal with the glaring exception of being translucent - ghost-like by most standards today - and she came to rest upon the edge of one of the steel tables it was now obvious the boys were lying on.

"Hello Steven, and Jeffrey. My name is Dawn. Do you have any idea of where you are, or what happened to you?"

Steve, being the oldest and therefore the inherent leader of the pair, spoke first.

"Me and Jeff here were out camping, and..."

"Did anything bad happen while you were camping?"

Jeff just couldn't contain himself.

"Yes! Steve...Remember the dream you were telling me about with Mr. Samuels, but I made you stop?"

"I sure do. It was so real, it scared the heck out of me..."

"Well, I had the same dream, except Mr. Samuels stabbed me in the stomach with something sharp, and then he went after you - trying to cut your throat. It was so real to me, too, that's why I stopped you from telling your story to me. I didn't want to be any more scared. It made me want to cry, and..."

Dawn put her index finger up to her lips.

"Hush, my children, and let me tell you what my job is: I am an angel who helps young people who - because of unusual, which in this case means rapid - circumstances are not quite ready to make the 'transition' yet. You see, normally most people - take the aged, for example - have time to prepare themselves for the reality of what shall soon be taking place. When they are at peace with that which is inevitable, it is not nearly as difficult a task to embrace the reality..."

Voice quivering, Jeff was scared to ask.

"What happened to Steve and me?"

Dawn reached over and stroked the terrified boy's cheek.

"Well, my son, the dreams both of you remember so well weren't dreams. It was an easier way for your minds to cope with the trauma of what actually happened earlier in the evening,"

Steve was beginning to understand.

"I know now. We were telling all the kids in school - including science class - about camping. Mr. Samuels was asking a lot of questions about our sleep out. So Mr. Samuels really did come and..."

"Kill us!" Jeff shrieked.

Again, Dawn placed her hand on Jeff's forehead. Oddly, while he couldn't feel her touch, he did feel the warmth, and it was reassuring.

"The bad stuff is over my sons. When someone goes suddenly, especially a child, the idea is to wait a little while, and let them discover some of the reality themselves. This way, the transition is much easier for them."

"And Mr. Samuels?'

"A very bad man, indeed. The good news is you'll never have to see that man again. A neighbor heard your screams when you were attacked, and the police came and when Mr. Samuels tried to attack them, they shot and killed him. Mr. Samuels is headed to a place far different from where you two are going."

Jeff finally stopped with the intermittent sobbing.

"Will I still be able to see and play with Steve?"

"Of course you will. Where we are going, you've earned the right to an eternity of happiness. Now, if you will each take hold of one of my hands, we can begin the next stage of your journey."

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