The Suff

A haunting horror returns to a family previously shattered by its visit.

It was Hunter’s turn to watch the kids. It was the same weekend he had to go take care of his ailing father, a man who’d been unstable most of his life but always tried to be a good grandfather. As soon as Hunter entered the eighth-floor apartment, he knew it was going to be a difficult weekend. Grandpa Rob was sitting in his recliner wrapped up in layers of blankets with the heat turned up. It was a chilly autumn, but not that cold. Rob stared right through the TV, breathing with his mouth open. Hunter passed his two boys off to their room and told them to play until he called them for dinner.

“Pop,” he said, nudging his father. “Pop, it’s me.”

Rob turned an empty gaze on Hunter’s face. A dim light came on behind them. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, hi boy. I didn’t forget. I was just watching the game.”

“Right,” Hunter said, glancing at the totally dark TV. “You want to get out from those blankets and see the boys?”

“Oh, they’re here too? It must be the weekend already. Get me my walker, would you?”

Hunter wheeled the walker over and Rob got up. The old man saw the look in his son’s eyes and offered him a sheepish smile. “I’m okay,” he said. “I am. No trouble this weekend.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

As Hunter was gathering the blankets from the recliner and piling them on the couch, Rob’s smile faded and his eyes fell to the floor. “I saw him again. Harrison. He was just the same as I remembered him.”

“Pop. Harrison is dead, remember?”

“He was in my dream,” said Rob. “He saw me, waved to me. He was under this tall shape, this… This huge, black curtain—”

“That’s enough,” Hunter said, taking his father by the arm. “Now come on, none of that tonight. Go visit with the boys. I’ll get something started in the kitchen.”

Rob nodded, smiling, and the dream left his mind. As he hobbled down the hallway, Hunter made for the kitchen. The two boys came running out of their room to see Grandpa Rob, and for a second he was delighted that they somehow knew he was coming. The older boy, Joshua, was wide-eyed and flighty, and the younger boy, Trevor, was simply toddling along after his elder. Joshua flung himself at Grandpa Rob’s leg.

“I don’t like it,” he moaned. “I don’t like it, Grandpa!”

“Now boy you calm down. Tell Grandpa Rob what you don’t like. Hey, Trevor! You sure got big, boy.”

“The face in the window,” Joshua said. “It was waving at me, right there Grandpa. I don’t like it. Don’t make me go back in there.”

Hunter had arrived in the middle of the commotion. When he heard something about the window, he shouldered past the three of them and went into the room. There was one window looking out over the darkening courtyard in the center of the concrete complex, but there was nothing behind it. Hunter checked that the window was locked and drew the curtains closed.

“There’s nothing in there,” Hunter said. “Stop kidding around.”

“I’m not kidding,” said Josh sullenly. “I don’t want to sleep in there.”

“Then keep the curtains closed.”

“But what if it’s still behind the curtain?”

Hunter squatted in front of his son and patted him on the arm. “Buddy,” he said soothingly, “we are on the eighth floor. Nothing could possibly climb up here and hurt you. Now stop it, you’re scaring your brother. Visit with grandpa while I cook dinner.”

Rob frowned in thought. “You know, a long time ago, I saw something in a window too. Your Grandpa Harrison was there.”

“That’s enough, dad,” said Hunter. “Okay, everyone into the family room. I’ll put on the game.”

Grandpa Rob and the boys sat on the couch and watched the game while Hunter cooked. Over the meal in the light and warmth of the dining room, the boys forgot their troubles, Rob forgot about Harrison, and Hunter was finally able to relax. Afterwards they played a few card games, and when the night had waned far enough, the boys were shuffled off to their room and Grandpa Rob went for his own bed.

Hunter stayed up watching the TV, falling asleep around ten. When he awoke there was an odd draft in the house and a small chill prevailing through the apartment’s heater. He went for the hallway restroom, and as he reached for the handle, a shuffling sound came from the boys’ room. He laid an ear against their door, waited, but he heard nothing else.

On his way back from the restroom, Hunter laid an ear against the door again. Someone inside was sniffling. He put a tentative hand on the handle, thought the better of it, and turned away.

“Daddy!” a voice screamed.

Hunter shoved open the door and threw on the lights. Trevor was wrapped in his blankets, sobbing. The room was deathly cold. Hunter ran to his son and gathered him in his arms. He surveyed the room. The curtains over the window moved slightly as if pressed by a breeze. Then they whipped apart, revealing a deformed and twisted window, like plastic wrap melted in the sun. The wind whined through the broken glass. The bed next to them was in total disarray. Joshua was not in it.

“Where’s your brother?” said Hunter. “Trevor. Where’s your brother?”

“The bogeyman,” Trevor whimpered. “The bogeyman took him.”

A thumping came down the hall. Grandpa Rob lingered in the doorframe, and as he took in the whole sight, the emptiness cleared from his eyes. His gaze stopped on the billowing black curtains.

“Harrison,” he muttered. “Harrison.”

“Stop it,” Hunter said.

“The suffering,” Rob said, transfixed by the curtains. “Oh God, the suffering. It came for him, didn’t it? The suffering. The suffering! The suff—”