“I have a present for you, Arty.” Father told his son the next morning.

Arty’s head was pounding. He hadn’t said a word that whole morning. His dreams were haunting him.

Arty kept expecting to look at Father and see him headless.

Father frowned at Arty’s pensive, blank face. “Don’t you want to know what it is…?”

Arty said nothing.

“Arty…? Father whispered worriedly.

Tears streamed down Arty’s cheeks. “I don’t want any more presents; I just don’t want you to leave ever again.”

Father’s mouth was pulled down in a wobbly frown at his son’s pain. He pulled him into an embrace, warming Arty’s lonely heart.

Eventually, Father held him at arm’s length. He poked Arty’s nose, eliciting laughter from the boy. “I won’t ever leave you again. I promise. In the meantime, I don’t see why you can’t have a present. Ready?”

Arty nodded, wiping the tears from his face.

Father stood up, opening the door.

Sitting behind the door was a giant Dire Bulldog, biger than a horse, wagging its brown tail and panting with a stupid smile on its droopy face. Around its neck was a red, heart-shaped collar.

Arty yelled with the most excitement Father had ever seen from him, “He’s so cool!”

The boy leapt up from his bed and threw his arms around the big, brown dog. “This is the best present ever! Aside from you promising to stay. He’ll be great at protecting you!”

Father raised an eyebrow. “Protecting me?”

The Dire Dog licked Arty’s cheek, and Arty wished he hadn’t said anything. He said with a trembling voice, “Mom is… scary.”

Father’s shoulders, which had been tensed, slumped with relaxation. “I know she looks… different, but she has nothing but our best interests at heart. I promise. We have to be supportive of her at the Gizzenbar tonight. She’s been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Arty couldn’t fight the sinking terror in his stomach. He looked down. “Be careful, Dad.”

Father shook his head with a great big grin. “Everything will be fine.”

Arty leaned his cheek against the Dire Dog’s shoulder, hoping that Father was right.

A theremin began singing a haunting melody, despite the joy Arty felt at his father’s promise.

Arty, Father, and their new dog who Arty had named “Barktholemew”, all had a grand day together. For once, Arty was not scared of the creaky house, or the music playing endlessly in his mind…

Or whatever beasts might be hiding in the shadows or...

In the depths of Mother’s eyes.

__

Ten minutes before midnight, while Arty slept peacefully in his bed for the first time in weeks and Father slept on the carpet next to Barktholemew, there was a gentle knock on the door.

The theremin belted out a ghostly note, combining with the screeching night wind whipping the house to make an unearthly noise.

Father roused first with a yawn. Arty stayed where he lay, facing the wall.

The door clicked open.

Mother’s shadow was cast on the wall Arty faced.

Her fingers were long and thin like strings; her shadow looked too much like the spidery shadow from the night before, too much by half.

“There you are, darlings. It’s time.” Mother announced proudly. In a sharper, angrier tone, she asked, “What’s that?”

“Arty was lonely, so I got him a dog.” Father answered.

“Leave it inside.” Mother commanded.

Thunder rang; a chaotic violin joined the singing theremin.

“But--”

“Leave it.” Mother repeated.

The shadow Father cast on the wall hung its head.

“Just let me get Arty and we’ll be out in a second.” Father whispered.

Mother elbowed her way past Father. “I’ll get him. You go on ahead.”

The violin assaulted his ears, the strings snapping.

Arty threw his blanket aside. “Wait! I want Dad to take me!”

Mother looked wounded for a moment, but then recovered. “I want to spend some time with you, darling. Father will follow us to the gizzenbar to protect us.”

The bow of the violin angrily grinded against the snapped strings even as the howling theremin increased in volume. Before Arty could protest, Mother had swept him up in her arms.

His hands were icy cold and tensed with fear, digging into Mother’s back as she hauled him through the vacant hallways of their small home.

Father and Mother weren’t speaking. That was the oddest thing.

They used to talk all the time… Arty thought to himself before his thoughts became absorbed by the madness of the incompatible instruments and thunder.

Arty closed his eyes, refusing to look at the hallways after his frightening dream from the night before.

Rain began pattering on the roof of the house. Mother’s heels clacked on the tile floor of the kitchen.

A door clicked open.

Thunder, unmuffled by the confines of the house, struck Arty’s ears. Cold air, fresh and free from the stuffiness of the house which had long kept him captive, brushed Arty’s face. The boy’s grip on his mother’s back loosened; he opened his eyes, looking up at the night sky.

The world was big. So much bigger than his room.

He delighted in the stars, blinking at him like thousands of beautiful diamonds above. He embraced the wind shrieking in his ears that momentarily drowned out the chaotic, melodiless instruments in his head; his skin was rejuvenated by the cold water dotting his face.

Hy was hypnotized by the world around him--a world that seemed too huge to be real.

“Mom, I can catch the raindrops with my tongue!” Arty said joyfully.

Mother flashed an enchanting smile. “Isn’t it wonderful darling? You’ll be able to experience such joys whenever you want soon enough.”

Arty continued looking up at the big blanket that was the black night sky with fascination. Slowly, the theremin and violin were replaced by a peaceful harp.

He was with Mother and Father, and he was outside. Everything felt perfect.

Until the world felt almost too big for him to handle.

There were long shadows of overgrown trees everywhere and houses lined up at the edge of the circular clearing that all looked eerily the same.

A faint chittering faded into his hearing.

Long shadows of hairy beasts were emerging from the trees surrounding the village.

The theremin swooped back into his hearing, making him deaf to all other noise as Mother lay him down on a stone altar.

Mother’s mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear what she said. Father was standing next to her with a worried look on his face, his hands twitching.

Arty’s vision doubled eight times.

In the reflection of Mother’s earrings, he saw his eyes. He gasped.

His eyes were like Mother’s.

Mother snapped her fingers, his vision went dark.

He felt something bite into his arm. He was too petrified to move.

He went numb, feeling nothing at all.

Slowly, the music in his head was getting quieter and quieter, and Arty never realized how much scarier a quiet mind was than a busy one.

He lay there in the dark for what seemed an eternity, raindrops cascading upon him.

The music was fading away completely. Arty couldn’t fight the feeling of lethargy that had seeped into his bones about losing it.

Something warm and feeling cut through the darkness and silence.

“Master Arty! I’ve got you!” For half-a-second, his vision turned back on. His butler, Beardsley, lifted him from the altar and into his arms.

Beardsley climbed atop a kneeling, saddled Barktholemew, holding Arty tightly.

A trumpet blazed into his mind full-forced, eliciting a euphoric feeling that spread throughout Arty’s whole body.

His vision turned off again.

The theremin still sang quietly at the edge of his hearing.

“Mom and Dad?” Arty whispered. “They’re coming, too, right?”

Arty barely heard Beardsley over the music in his head, “Your father told us to leave.”

Arty felt an aggressive wind whipping his face; Barktholemew must have been bounding away from the altar. Arty said dazedly, “Go back…”

For another half-second, his vision turned back on.

He was looking over Beardsley’s shoulder at the scene behind him.

Mother had Father pinned to the ground, grappling with him, hundreds of gargantuan spiders converging upon them.

Just before his vision cut out, he saw that Mother’s teeth were no longer her own.

They were fanged.

__

Eventually, Barkthomewl stopped running.

The music in Arty’s head had simmered down, becoming a soothing flute. His vision turned back on, and he let the butler help him down from his steed who was whimpering compassionately.

Arty woodenly sank to a cross-legged sitting position.

I’ll never leave you again. Father’s voice whispered comfortingly.

Empty tears ran down the boy’s cheeks.

So much for promises.