Jacob’s Well

   The air is still, the sea is like glass, the fishing boats are all back at port, the fuel lines for the lamps are closed, everyone is in their homes, and the tripwires are ready. I closed my front door and the shutters on my porch windows. I worked my way over to the kitchen where I saw my neighbor give a questioning thumbs up. I gave a thumbs up back and received a nod in return. I closed the wooden shudders on my kitchen window as he did, also making sure the faucet was off. I turned the gas lamp off on the windowsill and placed it in a cupboard below the toaster. A red glow illuminated the cold dark house. The tripwires were triggered and flares illuminated the farthest mountain. The shadows of big pines fell across the living room walls as I stoked the furnace with hardwoods almost burning my hands in the process. I quickly fumbled through the dark to lock up the bedroom windows just in time to watch human like figures crawl down the mountain like ants. They were here. 

   I shuffled over to the bedroom's loft and climbed up the wooden ladder into the little space. More flares shot into the night sky but closer this time. Slivers of bright red light floated up then down the bedroom walls returning to pitch blackness. It was quiet. I slid a cardboard box in front of the loft ladder. The smell of old sandal wood incense from the box permeated the air. I pushed myself up against the wall to sit up. I could still taste coffee from dinner. After a moment of deafening silence I could hear crackling. Unsure of its source I listened closer. The fire? No, too rhythmic. The house settling? No, too quiet. I heard it get louder followed by loud sniffing, wailing, and footsteps. They were looking for food. They were looking for us. 

   A loud bang came from the living room window and loud scuffling sounds shot past the kitchen window next to it. A pane of glass shattered in the store across the street. You always try to stay awake at first but its just so tiring. After a few hours of repetitive unsettling sounds from outside a sense of confidence overcomes your exhaustion and you fall asleep. 

   I woke up the following morning, slid the box away from the ladder, and climbed down. All the windows were intact. I went outside to see the extent of others’ damages. The tool store's front window was shattered. Klaus, the owner, stood out front shaking his head surveying the shards. Black soot covered handprints scaled the walls and tiled floor interior. It smelled like sulfur. My neighbor stepped outside into his awaiting work group with a box of flares and fishing line. The tradesmen checked the gas and kerosene lines for the lamps and houses. The fishermen stepped onto the boats to count equipment. The school teacher went door to door to check on the children and parents well being with the town doctor.

    I walked away from the busy street, pulling a pack of cheap Canadian cigarettes from my coat pockets. I put my hand up to block the early morning winds, striking the wheel several times to no avail. Pastor Bernard stepped down from the stoop of his church and handed me his engraved zippo. A picture of a Huey helicopter with the caption of his air cavalry unit. I lit my cigarette and handed it back to him. "Anything bad?" I asked taking a drag. He shook his head while bent over scrubbing the steps. "Nah nothing I cant clean or refasten." I got on my knees on the stairs and grabbed a brush from the soapy bucket and scrubbed the concrete steps with him. The grimy, six fingered handprints came off easily with Dawn dish soap and elbow grease. "Seems like they at least respect the stained glass." I said through a held cigarette in my lips. "And I appreciate that. Do you know how hard it is to get a hold of that stuff all the way out here? Trucked to Anchorage, boated in, then snowmobiled to our post office, and finally walked to the church. Worth its weight in gold just about." I nodded and continued scrubbing until my cigarette was finished then put the butt in my coat pocket. The stairs were clean and the crew with mops and squeegees had arrived to assist. I put the brush in the bucket and watched the black oily stains from the bristles diffuse into the water like a tea bag. I shook Pastor Bernard's hand and walked my way back into the busy town where cleaning and repairing efforts took place. 

   A big wooden board was put over the window with a sticky note on the door reading "still open.” Klaus fumbled around inside putting fancy screws and fasteners back on a shelf. A truck passed by with men sitting in the back. Big rifles were sitting up against the rear windshield of the cab. It was a small task force used to dispatch stragglers from the night. 

   Sometimes the dark menacing beings would be incapacitated by sunlight and needed to be put out before nightfall or they would run loose. The light made them weak and susceptible to conventional weaponry. That’s why they always ran back to the caves in the mountains when daybreak was imminent.   We all knew the rules of living here and so did they. Don't go out at night. Don't make loud noises at night. Lock your doors and barricade your windows. Make sure a fire is lit under all your chimneys. Don’t shoot unless you’re ready for the fight of your life. All those sorts of things. 

   Other than that it could be beautiful here in the remote Alaskan town. Where the seas were plentiful, the ground fertile and mountains were gateways to something otherworldly and ominous. This was the town of Jacob.