The Raid

By Paul Melniczek

“Hey Rusty, how much corn do you have left?” Tommy Miller questioned his freckled friend, a big grin crossing Rusty Patton’s face.

“A whole shopping bag full - that should be enough.”

Tommy nodded. “I’ve still got plenty since I went down to the field again Monday. Got a coupla cobs, too.”

The seventh graders walked down the sidewalk as a brisk October wind rustled the fallen leaves that were scattered around the lawns of their neighborhood. Several piles sat in the gutter, waiting for the leaf collection trucks to make their rounds. The boys gazed at the houses, continuing their short hike home from the school bus.

“Hey Tommy, look at the Crawford’s place.”

Rusty pointed a thin finger to his right, and the pair looked at a huge Jack o’ Lantern carved in the likeness of a cat, sitting on the front step of a two-story house.

“We’ll smash it tonight,” Tommy answered.

“Better run fast, though. If Mr. Crawford sees us, we’re in big trouble. He knows my dad, they go down to the bar sometimes.” Halloween raiding was an adventure, the trick being not to get caught. Both of the boys’ parents allowed them to go out with two conditions - they had to go together, and they had to be in by nine. The boys could deal with the rules, although they would bend them at times. They approached an intersection. On the far side was a large maple tree; strips of toilet paper strewn about its lower branches, as if decorated by an insane artist.

“Rob Sterner did that. Don’t know where he sneaks all the toilet paper from.” Rusty said and laughed.

“He takes it from the school bathroom,” Tommy said.

“Really? He’s crazy,” answered Rusty. “If he gets caught, he’ll be in detention for a week.”

“Yeah, he’s nuts all right. Hey, I forgot to tell you, Jimmy Krick is coming over later. He’s raiding with us tonight.”

Rusty stopped, looking over at his friend as they reached the other side of the street. “Jimmy? Talk about crazy. I don’t know if we should go with him.” Rusty adjusted his backpack, looking worried, his brown hair fluttering in the breeze.

“It’s okay. He’s not that bad,” said Tommy.

Rusty wasn’t convinced. “I heard he broke three windows last year, and soaped up a police car.”

“Well, don’t worry, if he tries anything like that, we’ll just tell him no.”

They approached Tommy’s house, and he turned around, shoving Rusty lightly. “Seven, all right? Meet us out front here, and make sure you bring enough corn.”

“See ya’,” replied Rusty. He crossed the street, angling towards his own house, which sat across from Tommy’s.

“Ready?”

Tommy and Rusty nodded, as Jimmy counted on his fingers. The boy was a pale figure on the wooden porch, taller than his two companions. He reached three and in unison the trio jumped up and down, stomping relentlessly on the floorboards. Laughing hysterically, they bounded away off the landing and ran, cutting through the neighboring yard. Lights came on at the house they had left behind, and a dog barked from within. Wordlessly they continued their flight for another block, until they were convinced that no one had followed.

“Good one,” said Tommy. We probably gave them a heart attack.”

“That’ll teach them to leave their lights off, won’t it?” Jimmy’s smug grin gave the boy a malicious appearance in the darkness.

“We still have some time left, let’s go.” Jimmy crouched behind a hedgerow, and the others followed him.

They scrambled across to a stone alleyway, leading up a small hill, which was wooded at the top. Jimmy hurried ahead and the alley ended, stopping at a poorly lit street. Few houses were there, mostly older stone dwellings. Across the road sat a solitary home, fronted by a bank of ivy, crumbling steps leading up to the entrance. Moss clung to the house like fungus. Half of the roof tiles were missing, the grass was unkempt, and dark woods loomed ominously behind the backyard. A single light escaped from an upper window, forlorn and sinister in the chill night.

“Now that’s strange,” said Jimmy. “Who lives there?”

“Old man Berger,” replied Rusty, a shiver going down his spine. “He’s some German guy, lives by himself. One time Micky Davis yelled at him to go back to Germany, and he came over to us, but we ran away. I’ve seen him once or twice after that, and he looked at me like he wanted to skin me alive.”

“Yeah, his place is supposed to be haunted.” Tommy shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the mysterious house.

“Cool. A real haunted house, and here we are, the weekend of Halloween. Perfect.” Jimmy fingered a tomato, and Rusty looked at him in alarm.

“I think we better go, it’s getting late.” Rusty looked at Tommy questioningly.

“Wait, we have to hit this place before we leave.” Jimmy turned to his companions. “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?” Tommy shook his head, but Rusty was silent.

“Oh, come on now, you guys call yourselves raiders? Now this is raiding.”

“I don’t know,” answered Rusty. “Well, we’re not going inside for trick or treat,” Jimmy mocked, gesturing with his hands in Rusty’s face. “Jump on the porch, throw a cob or two, then run. If he’s just an old man, then what’s the big deal? Tommy?” Jimmy looked at Tommy for support, the boy showing some hesitation. “It’s all right, Rusty. Let’s do it and we’ll run home.”

Already moving forward, Jimmy went into the street, the other two following reluctantly. They reached the sidewalk in front of Berger’s house, and Jimmy started up the worn flight of steps leading to the rotting porch. Rusty came last, and he glanced up at the gloomy upper reach. He gasped in fear as a shadow appeared at a window, and then it was gone.

“Wait,” he hissed, “I saw him look out.”

His friends stopped, scanning the building with straining eyes. After a few seconds, Jimmy spoke in a hushed whisper. “I don’t see anything, you’re just scared. Come on.”

He reached the porch, and the others approached with less confidence. Gesturing with his hand, Jimmy carefully went to the curtained front window, peering inside.

“Guys, you ain’t gonna’ believe this. Come here.”

Heart pounding in fear, Rusty stared at Tommy’s back as he stood with Jimmy. His legs felt leaden, his eyes darting left and right as he joined them. Rusty gazed inside, through a small curtain with tattered holes revealing glimpses of the interior. Black candles were placed in an odd pattern, circling the edges of a low table. The wicks sputtered wildly, caught in some unseen draft.

“Wow, that’s weird.” Jimmy let out a low whistle, his breath fogging the glass.

“Look! What’s that?” Tommy pointed inside, his fingertip touching the window.

The boys followed his gaze to a diminutive form hunched over in one corner. A small man, apparently sleeping, sat on the floor, the face hidden within the folds of an odd-looking robe.

“That can’t be Berger, he’s too small,” said Tommy.

“Is that a dwarf?” Jimmy pressed his face against the cold glass. Rusty had an ominous feeling, and was ready to bolt away. From somewhere in the street a low voice pitched upwards, accompanied by a short bark. Instantly they crouched down, with Tommy crawling to the rim of the porch.

“Berger’s coming, he’s walking his dog. And it looks mean.” A shuffling, bent figure approached the house, holding the chain to a large black animal, looking more wolf than dog.

“Oh no, if he catches us we’re history,” Rusty’s voice quivered. There could be little doubt as to what intentions the group had on the man’s porch this late.

“Quick, over the side, then around back.” Jimmy was already next to the stone ledge bordering the porch. He pulled himself over and disappeared. Tommy backed up to where Rusty knelt, motioning his friend to follow. Rusty shook with fear, and knew that he had to run. Glancing inside the window briefly, he noticed that the sleeping figure was gone. His eyes grew wide and dread clutched his heart.

What was it? And where had it gone? He had no time to think as Tommy reached the stone and the sound of Berger drew closer. On hands and knees, Rusty made it to the edge and slunk over, dropping onto the ivy that strangled the foundation of the house. He followed the retreating form of Tommy as he snuck along the side of the home. Rusty joined him as a harsh growl erupted from the front of the building.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Rusty was breathless from fear and the short sprint, and Tommy darted his head around, searching for their friend.

“He couldn’t of gotten far”

Dozens of yards away stood the dark woods, and rotten tree stumps littered the backyard. To the side of the house lay a wide stretch of grass, and the moonlight would have clearly revealed anyone crossing. The sound of a door being closed reached them, and they stared at each other in horror. It came from behind the house.

“Someone came outside,” hissed Tommy. He hesitated. “Or went in.”

“Now what?” Rusty’s pulse raced. Visions of the strange little man swam before his eyes. Were they trapped? There were no other noises from Berger. For all they knew he could be waiting out front. Rusty felt like he was drowning, indecision freezing him.

“Got to find Jimmy. Let’s check the back. If you see anything, run like crazy, and don’t stop.”

The pair crept along the house, expecting at any moment to have someone jump out at them. Thorn bushes lined the home’s exterior, the nasty undergrowth cringing against the cold stone as if trying to scale the walls. Tommy reached a corner which blocked the view from the back entrance, and arched his neck as he gazed around the edge. “Nothing here, come on.”

A narrow porch sat a few yards to their left, the wooden planks warped and bent upwards at several spots. A dim light spilled out from a partially shuttered window next to the porch.

“I don’t see anyone. Do you think Jimmy went inside to hide?” Tommy’s question was a terrible one. What if Jimmy had gone in? He would be taking a dreadful chance of being caught. But then again, Jimmy had done some outrageous things before.

Tommy moved to the window, and Rusty turned around, worried that Berger might sneak up the side of the house. “Hold on,” he whispered, returning to the corner. Nothing stirred. Rusty returned, gazing across the silent yard as he rejoined Tommy’s huddled form.

“It’s clear. Berger must’ve gone in.”

Easing up to the window, they held their breath, not daring to disturb the frame. Through the cracks, they saw a table in the middle of a modest kitchen, a seated figure facing the back door. It was Jimmy, staring straight ahead, unmoving.

Two mouths gaped wide at the sight of their friend inside the forbidden home. But that was not the worst of it, for standing on the table was the little man, his back turned to the spying boys. He was gesturing to Jimmy, his tiny hands swaying in front of the boy’s face like a diabolical maestro directing his orchestra. Rusty shuddered.

“Wh-what’s he doing to him?” Tommy’s voice whispered in Rusty’s ear, but the boy was unable to respond.

As they watched in horror, Berger entered the kitchen, his gaunt form leering down at Jimmy whose lips moving mechanically, mesmerized by the waving limbs of the dwarf. Berger nodded, a malevolent grin piercing his face, empty and humorless. Without warning, Jimmy stood, the movement dreamlike and controlled. He shuffled towards the door.

“What’s he doing now?” Rusty felt Tommy’s hands gripping his shoulder, palpable fear in the tightening hold. “Are they letting him go?”

Jimmy reached the door, and the boys struggled with indecision - to leave the house far behind, or try and help Jimmy if possible. The door opened.

“Tommy, Rusty. Come on inside. Mr. Berger wants to talk. He knows where you are.” His voice was low and emotionless.

At that moment, the little man turned around, staring straight at the two boys, who watched in horrid disbelief. The dwarf had a long pointed nose, and a face that looked like a rotten apple core. A pair of wicked yellow eyes gleamed menacingly, and small fangs protruded from a cruel mouth. They bolted away, almost knocking each other to the ground in an attempt to escape the evil house and its hideous occupant. Jimmy laughed at their fleeing forms, the sound lacking any semblance of mirth.

“He knows who you are. You can’t run from him.”

They raced away in the night, their tension finding release. Fear gave them the endurance needed to carry their weary frames past the long blocks back to their own neighborhood. They passed trick-or-treaters and another group or pranksters, ignoring all of them, their only thought to reach the comfort of home. Neither boy spoke until they collapsed onto Tommy’s front porch, gasping for air, cramped and tired.

Almost immediately the door opened, and Tommy’s mother looked out.

“Well, what have we here? You two rascals had enough escapades for one night?” The boys stared at each other, not knowing where to begin.

“Tommy, I have a message for you. Jimmy’s mom just called. He thanked you for letting him come along.”

“What? Jimmy’s home?” Tommy stood up, his face pale and disbelieving.

“Of course. He went to bed already, guess it was a long night for you guys.”

Neither of the boys spoke. Jimmy had gone home, without a word concerning Berger or the dwarf? Impossible.

“Come on, time for bed, Tommy. Good night Rusty.”

She gently tugged on Tommy’s arm, pulling the confused boy inside. Rusty felt very alone now, and walked over to his own home, eager for the security of familiar surroundings. He scarcely said a word to his parents, who were watching an old movie on TV.

“Hey Rusty, did you have fun?”

The boy nodded his head and went up to his room, locking the door behind him. He lay back on the welcome softness of his bed and noticed a light flashing on the answering machine. His parents had given him his own phone line for friends to call. Rusty’s hands trembled as he pressed the button, retrieving the message.

“Hey, it’s Jimmy. Just called to tell you I had a great time tonight.”

There was a brief pause. Jimmy’s voice changed, drawling out the next sentence.

“Your turn is coming soon.”

Recoiling in horror, Rusty stood, his young face aghast at the dire warning left on the tape. He had to do something. His parents needed to know, and if they heard the strange message, maybe they would believe him. The tape rewound itself, and he pressed the play button again.

“Hey, it’s Jimmy. Just called to tell you I had a great time tonight.”

Click.

There was nothing else. Rusty was chilled to the bone. A realization dawned on him - there was no denying it. He was dealing with the unknown, the supernatural, and Jimmy had been taken. Changed somehow. All of them were in danger.

He was suddenly very afraid.

Rusty paced about the room, the clock hands moving to the darker hours. Sleep was far off, and on a whim he jumped up, locking his bedroom window - the night was not to be trusted. He decided to call Tommy, to convey his fears, and also come up with a plan. Rusty dialed the boy’s number. Tommy also had a private phone, and they sometimes called each other late at night.

The line was dead. Rusty’s hands felt cold and lifeless, holding the receiver. A coincidence, or something else? He went to his closet, bringing out a telescope. He carried it over to the window, now unlocking it for a clearer view through the screen. The lens needed adjustment, and after several moments he zoomed in on Tommy’s house. The angle of his own home was perfect for a direct sighting, and he moved the frame into position. Rusty peered into the scope, and saw a faint light coming from Tommy’s window. There was no sign of his friend, but he probably was in bed. A single downstairs lamp was on, and Tommy’s parents were night owls, so nothing unusual there.

He turned the lens again and stopped. Something moved at the side of Tommy’s house. In the bushes, which sat below the terminal box. Rusty felt a new wave of chills crawling along his back. A small figure appeared, wearing a hat, climbing up the drain spout, which passed within reach of Tommy’s window. It was the dwarf.

A huge lump formed in Rusty’s throat, and he couldn’t swallow. The dwarf! Going for Tommy! Rusty had to warn him. He grabbed for the phone again, this time dialing Tommy’s main number. The line was disconnected.

Panicking, he looked through the scope. The dwarf was now along Tommy’s window, fumbling at the latch. The horrible creature was having some problem, so hopefully that meant it was locked. Rusty had no time to waste. By inaction, he would bring disaster to Tommy and himself. Berger and the dwarf would be after him next, for their unknown diabolical purposes. The boy left his bedroom and ran down the steps. The living room light was still on, and his dad was up yet, watching a black and white horror movie.

“Dad, you’ve got to come with me!”

Rusty’s dad jumped up, surprised by his son. “What? Oh, Rusty, what are you doing up? It’s late.”

“Over at Tommy’s. There’s a burglar outside his window.”

His dad stood up, eyes darkening. “Are you sure?” He knew his son could be excitable at times, but Rusty wasn’t a liar.

“I swear it! You’ve got to hurry!”

His dad was not one to back away from trouble, and he sprinted into the garage, reappearing seconds later with a small pistol. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”

“No.” Rusty’s frightened look spoke the truth.

“Okay. Call the police, and tell your mom.”

He went to the front door and left. Rusty quickly dialed the emergency number, and went outside. He was afraid for Tommy, afraid for his dad as well. They didn’t know what they were dealing with here. He felt confused and frightened, not wanting to let his dad face the dwarf alone. He needed to do something.

Rusty had an idea.

Jon Patton crouched next to Tommy’s house, staring up at the window. It seemed unbelievable, but a strange miniature figure was holding onto the spout, grasping at Tommy’s window. Jon heard a soft clicking, and the window began to open.

“That’s enough. Come down now, or I’ll shoot a hole in that hat of yours, you little creep.” The dwarf froze, and looked down. He made a gurgling noise, and spat his distaste at the man below.

“Right now. Move.”

The dwarf descended, lowering himself with remarkable agility. When he reached the ground he paused, his face obscured from Jon’s view.

“Hands up, turn around. Slowly. No tricks, either. We wait for the police.”

The dwarf moved, head bowed. It suddenly snapped its chin up, revealing the hideous features. Jon gasped in shock, his hold on the gun faltering for a moment, and that was all the time the dwarf needed. His tiny hands rose in the air, gesturing hypnotically, capturing Jon’s gaze. The man’s eyes grew unfocused.

Nodding in satisfaction, the dwarf stepped forward, muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath. He scowled as he stood before Jon, his hands clenching the air. Yellow eyes glittered in the twilight.

The dwarf then glimpsed something approaching from the corner of his eye, and he turned around, gasping in surprise. From the sidewalk erupted a large black form, as Rusty released Krypto, his pet shepherd.

“Get him Krypto!”

The dwarf shrieked in rage, flying back as the dog pounced on him. Growls from both combatants pierced the night and the two bodies tumbled over into the bushes. The dog barked furiously, trying to bite the much smaller opponent. The spell was broken, and Jon waved a hand across his brow, running forward. Krypto yelped and the little man broke away, but not before Jon fired a shot at his retreating form.

The dwarf vanished into the night.

The three boys sat in Tommy’s kitchen the following morning, having been given the day off, trying to unravel the previous night’s events.

“Dad said he hit him, but they found no blood. And Jimmy, you don’t remember anything?”

“Nope.”

Rusty was astonished. “Nothing about Berger, the dwarf, the house?”

“Like they said, I was probably hypnotized, or something. Can’t remember anything after leaving his front porch. Weird.” Jimmy sat quietly, looking perplexed.

“Well, Tommy, I’m officially retired from raiding.” The boys nodded their heads in agreement.

“I knew you would get us into trouble.” Rusty yawned, tired but relieved to see Jimmy had returned to his normal, but unusually reserved, self. He mulled over the morning’s events in his mind.

The police had entered Berger’s house. The old man was gone. Apparently no one had lived there for years. Everything was covered in thick dust, without any signs of recent occupancy. Bizarre. But they did find one thing to corroborate the boy’s fantastic tale.

A small tattered hat, with a hole in the middle.

Paul Melniczek

Paul Melniczek is a small business owner and a college graduate, with a degree in business management. He also teaches a part time class at a local college, is married with two children. In year 2000 he began writing, and since then has had over seventy stories published or accepted for publication in a wide variety of markets, including print anthologies, print magazines, e-zines, and e-anthologies. Some of these include sales to Fangoria, Black Rose, Cold Storage, and many others.

He is also a musician, playing classical piano and electric guitar. In his free time he enjoys the outdoors, weightlifting, golf, and tennis. Living in the country lends much inspiration to his writing, and he is currently working on another short story collection, a fantasy novel, and a children’s book.

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