Outside My Window: Last Chance

Steve Johnson was looking outside his window. There was no joy left inside of him anymore. It had only been seven hours since his son’s funeral. It was the middle of the night, and Steve did not like the dark, for he did not like not being able to see. The funeral had seemed so unreal, yet it had also seemed empty. Steve felt empty. He felt like everything had been taken from him. Nether his voice nor his brain seemed to want to work. He went into his room and sat down at his computer. He found an old game he used to play and started to download it. He could not bring himself to do anything productive. A few minutes later, when the game was about halfway done downloading, he got a call from Mr. Atkins telling Steve to meet him at the diner for lunch the next day. Steve had reluctantly agreed, and Mr. Atkins had said he would pay. 

The next day, as Steve and Mr. Atkins were sitting down in the diner, Steve asked a question. “So why did you want to have lunch with me?” is what he had asked.

“Because,” Mr. Atkins responded, “I know who killed your son and I think I know a way we can stop him.”

“Don’t say it,” Steve said. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m telling you there’s no way. He’d have to be as old as you, so there’s no way he would be in shape to start killing people again.”

Mr. Atkins sighed and said, “But... what if he ain’t human? What if he’s one of them ‘monsters’ or ‘demons’ that you say James Mallard got involved with? What if Tony West was scared straight because he saw a monster?”

Steve sat and thought about this for a minute. If it was true, then anything could be true. Anything could be possible. “If it’s a monster, then how do we kill it?” Steve asked.

Mr. Atkins put. Tony West’s revolver on the table and said, “I think Tony had the right idea. I’ve kept this gun clean and ready to fire ever since I found it. It’d be poetic justice to kill the monster with the weapon of one of its victims, wouldn’t ya think?”

Steve cracked a menacing smirk as he said, “Where do we start?”

“Nope, not happening,” Sheriff Williams was saying to Steve and Mr. Atkins twenty minutes later as they were sitting in his office.

“Sheriff, this is the best shot that we have at stopping any further murders,” Steve responded.

“My answer is no. N-O,” Sheriff Williams said. “Besides, you don’t even know for sure if the murderer is a monster. Heck, we aren’t even sure if it’s the same murderer.”

“The boy was killed in the same manner as those back in ‘78,” Mr. Atkins shot back. “Not only that, but he was killed precisely thirty years after the Mallard house burned down. And... there’s something else I haven’t mentioned.”

“And what would that be?” Steve asked.

“As we were running after the Sheriff when we found out about the murder, the mask was taken from me ever so casually. I simply felt it being taken from my hand, but since we were running I was not able to see who had taken it from me.”

Steve was shocked at this information. Sheriff Williams sighed and put his face in his hands. “Sheriff Williams,” Mr. Atkins continued, “if we don’t take action now, more people are gonna die. In thirty years, do you want to be like me? Do you want to be an old man trying to convince everybody that there were indeed murders? Do you want to feel the guilt of having not taken every opportunity that was given to you to stop these murders?”

Sheriff Williams leaned forward and hissed, “My boys and I will find this murderer and bring him to justice before there’s another murder.”

“And what if you’re too late?” Steve asked. “What happens when you find your child with a hundred bloody cuts on her? What will you do then?”

The sheriff thought about this for a second. “If there is another murder before we can catch the culprit, then I’ll try your way, but no sooner.”

“Deal,” Mr. Atkins said, “but you most likely have about a month. That was the time period between the fires.”

One month after the first murder, Sheriff Williams was standing over the body of the officer who had told him about the murder of Nickolas Johnson. This officer had been his friend. As the body was put on a stretcher and covered, Mr. Atkins walked up next to the sheriff. “You can feel it, can’t you?” he said. “You can feel the guilt of not doing enough to prevent this.”

The sheriff turned to Mr. Atkins and said, “Alright, we’ll try your way. The son of a bitch killed my friend, so this got personal. Fine, let’s go to the warehouse.”

Twenty minutes later, Steve had met with Sheriff Williams and Mr. Atkins in an old warehouse that was about an entire football field behind Steve’s house. Mr. Atkins was explaining the plan to them. They were going to set a trap for whatever was behind the killings in the town. After the plan had been thoroughly explained, Sheriff Williams said, “I don’t know about this. Some of this plan relies on factors we may not have control over. And what happens if it fails.”

“It can’t fail,” Steve responded. “If the plan fails, the three of us are dead men, and no one else in the town will have the guts to try to stand up to the murderer. This is our last chance.”

Both Mr. Atkins and Sheriff Williams nodded their heads in agreement. “So we all know what we have to do,” Mr. Atkins said, “but we have maybe a month to prepare.”

And prepare they did. They used as much free time as possible to prepare for the trap. Steve used his grievance period for two things: setting up the trap and getting fit. In order for the plan to work, Steve was going to need to be able to run the whole distance from his house to the warehouse. Running was not too big a problem, for Steve had played football in high school. The main problem was that a forest lay in between the warehouse and Steve’s house. So once Steve was able to run the distance, he made a mental path in the forest for him to follow so that he would never get lost.

Sheriff Williams had put everyone on a curfew. No one was allowed to be out of his house after sundown. Sheriff Williams also provided much of the materials needed to make to the trap. He also provided ammunition. One day as they were beginning to work, Mr. Atkins walked in with a small box filled with silver jewelry. “When my ex-wife died, my son didn’t want her jewelry, so I took it. I thought of selling it, but I think it will be of better use to our cause.”

“How do you mean?” Steve asked.

“Sheriff, would you happen to know anyone who makes bullets?” Mr. Atkins asked.

“I do,” the sheriff responded, “but... oh, I see. You want to make silver bullets just in case we’re fighting a werewolf, don’t you?”

“You can never be too safe in our situation,” Mr. Atkins shrugged. He handed Sheriff Williams the box. The next day, the sheriff arrived with three silver bullets. The bullets were left with Mr. Atkins until the night that they would be needed. 

Weeks passed until the day before the day they expected the next murder to occur finally came. Steve, Mr. Atkins, and the sheriff were at a bar having a few drinks before curfew. Steve had taken the day off from work and slept. He would need as much sleep as he could get, for the plan rested on how long he could stay awake. Sheriff Williams had told everyone they were to remain inside their homes until either the day was over or he gave the thumbs up. Mr. Atkins had brought the three bullets to the bar and given them to Steve and the sheriff. “To success!” the three of them said as they clanked their glasses. They drank, paid, and went home. 

At precisely 11:50 that night, three alarm clocks went off. At 11:55, two people were making their ways to the warehouse. At exactly 12 AM, three people were in position for the trap they had started setting a month earlier. Steve had made himself a lot of coffee, brought an icebox filled with food and drinks, brought a stack of books, taken a chair out on his yard for him to sit on, and also taken an umbrella that he could set up when the sun rose. This was his post. Mr. Atkins and Sheriff Williams were hidden inside the darkest parts of the warehouse. Strapped to each one’s belt was a revolver with four regular bullets and one silver bullet, a flashlight, and a walkie-talkie provided by the sheriff.

Steve sat in his front yard and passed the time as best as he could with what he had. He could not sleep, lest he be killed by what he was attempting to trap. Sheriff Williams and Mr. Atkins were sleeping in shifts. Steve watched the hours slowly pass by as he sipped his coffee while the other two men tried to sleep when it was their turn, but they could not out of anticipation. 

A few hours after the sun rose, Sheriff Williams got a call. “I don’t mean to be the nosy neighbor,” the caller said, “but that Steve Johnson fellow is sittin’ outside lookin’ mighty comfortable when we were all ordered to stay inside our homes.”

“He’s supposed to be out there,” the sheriff responded. “Stay inside your home and don’t bother Mr. Johnson. He’s on official business for a case.”

“Well, if you say so,” the caller said and hung up. The sheriff got quite a few calls like this throughout the day, and they ended the same as the first.

The three men were losing hope when the sun started going down. Steve was now afraid, for he did not want to confront a known killer in the dark. Both the dark and the killer scared him, but he was terrified of what they could do together. That night, about 10 PM, Steve turned on his flashlight. Standing on the yard of the his neighbors across the street was a man. “Hey, buddy!” Steve called out, “you shouldn’t be out so late. Don’t you know there’s a killer lurkin’ about?” When the man had turned around to face Steve, he began walking. Having seen the tape mask, Steve ran into the woods. Steve got his walkie-talkie and said into it, “Boogeyman on the run.” He put his walkie-talkie back on his belt.

While Steve was putting his months of training to good use, Sheriff Williams and Mr. Atkins were getting into their positions at the warehouse. As Steve was running, he looked behind him to make sure that the killer was still following him. When he saw no one, he made the mistake of stopping. He looked around him at the trees. Behind any of them could be his pursuer. As he scanned the area with his flashlight, he heard a song. It was so quietly sung that a man could have mistaken it for the wind, but Steve heard the lullaby:

I must be in bed before nine.

I do not get up after bedtime.

Until morning I stay asleep.

I do not get up to take a peek at the TV.

If I am curious I stay in bed,

Or outside my window will be the Tape-Faced Boogeyman.

To Steve, it sounded like a whisper from the past. He heard rustling behind him. He turned around, but nothing was there. Steve prepared his revolver for if he needed to shoot anything. He heard more sounds, so he turned in the direction he heard them coming from. His gun was in his hand. After scanning the area once more and realizing he was not facing the direction of the warehouse, he straightened himself to face his desired path. In front of him was his pursuer.

Mr. Atkins and the sheriff were getting anxious. Steve should have been there by then. Mr. Atkins pulled out his walkie-talkie and said, “Steve, come in. Where are you? Steve?”

Over in another part of the warehouse, the sheriffs said into his walkie-talkie, “Have faith in him Mr. Atkins. It’s not like he’s gonna get caught or anything.” Mr. Atkins was not so sure. 

Even Steve was starting to have doubts when he came face-to-face with the killer he was trying to catch. History seemed to repeat itself as Steve ripped off the mask, took a step back, and put his revolver to the killer’s head. Only, where a face should have been, there was a dark void of nothingness. “What the hell are you, demon?” Steve whispered almost to himself. 

As the blade that had taken so many innocent lives morphed out darkness into the demon’s hand, the demon whispered, “Your doom.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw the blade appear. He pointed his gun down and shot the monster in the chest with his silver bullet. The demon let out a terrible streak of pain and anger. As Steve ran past the demon, he said, “That was for Nick Johnson.”

As he ran through the woods, Steve could hear the demon pursuing him, and it was no longer attempting to silence its steps. Steve reached the warehouse and got into position. As Mr. Atkins let out a small sigh of relief, Sheriff Williams mumbled to himself, “Finally.”

The demon burst in through the warehouse door that Steve had come in through. A black substance was oozing out of the hole in its chest. It was growling primitively as it searched for Steve. Finally, Steve jumped out of his hiding place and yelled, “Here I am, hell spawn!”

The demon ran at Steve, but it never reached him. It had fallen right into the trap the three men had worked so hard to set up. Both of the demon’ s legs were caught in the bear traps that had been set up right in the middle of a square made up of holes in the ground. When he saw that the demon was stuck, the sheriff cut a rope, which caused a large metal cage to fall on the monster. The bars on the cage fit perfectly into the holes in the ground. “In those holes are strong magnets,” Mr. Atkins said as he stepped into the light, “so you aren’t gettin’ out anytime soon.” Steve turned on his flashlight and took pictures of the demon with a camera he had left in the warehouse. “For evidence,” Mr. Atkins said. 

Sheriff Williams came out into the light as well and sprayed gasoline all over the demon. Both the sheriff and Mr. Atkins pulled out their revolvers. “I see you already got your shot in, Steve,” the sheriff said as he threw a matchbox to Steve.

“Well, it was either that or die,” Steve responded he caught the matchbox. He took out a match and was ready to light it.

Mr. Atkins walked up to the demon and had its empty head at gunpoint. “Any last words?” Mr. Atkins said.

“You are not the first human to trap me,” the demon responded inn its soft, scratchy voice, “but whatever happens, you will be the last!”

Mr. Atkins fired Tony West’s gun as he was stabbed with the same sword that had killed Tony. Sheriff Williams fired his silver bullet into the demon’s back. Steve walked up to the cage, lit a match, and set the demon ablaze. Once the fire was out, nothing was left but black ash. Steve and the sheriff had ran to Mr. Atkin’s side. His last words were as follows: “We have avenged those we have lost.”

A week later, Steve was being interviewed. He was donating everything from the case to a local museum that was to be built in Mr. Atkin’s honor. The sheriff had agreed to this of course. Steve was asked many questions until the interviewer finally asked the last two. Steve was meeting the sheriff for lunch after the interview and did not want to be late. 

“What were you doing when you first saw the ‘demon’ for yourself?” the interviewer asked.

Steve responded. “I had a flashlight in my hand shining at it and acting as bait so that we could catch the demon.”

“Okay, last question,” the interviewer finally said. “Where were you when you first saw it for yourself?”

“It was across the street from me, “Steve responded, “and I believe that I was standing right outside my window.”