FICTION BY CHRISTOPHER DEROIS

Christopher Derois is an audiobook addict, paperback hoarder and frequent daydreamer. He fell in love with writing when he began using it to rid himself of the frequent nightmares he had as a child. He fell in love with the horror genre while playing video games like Resident Evil and Silent Hill. On the autistic spectrum and afflicted with other high functioning mental disorders, it is Christopher’s dream to be a recognized writer so that it may encourage others with similar intellectual disabilities to go forth and achieve their dreams. As clichéd as it is, he believes his mother when she says, “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

COME IN FROM THE RAIN
by Christopher Derois

She was confused when she woke up in a strange bed, in a stranger’s white nightgown. Of course, she would be equally confused if she woke in the field where the two young boys had found her. As she tried to get up, she felt a jolt of pain—a kick. She caressed her extended belly. She did not know how she got into this bed, but she figured she was pregnant. She didn’t know who she was either, but somehow she knew her name: Aikoh.

The bedroom door opened and an old woman’s sweet face peered in. The old woman opened the door further when she saw that the young Asian woman was no longer sleeping.

“Well, good morning! Nice to see you’re finally awake,” said the old woman. “I was starting to worry.”

“How did I get here?” the young woman asked.

“My grandson and his friend found you on our property. You were…ah…not wearing any clothes. But don’t worry; I put you into one of my nightgowns.”

“I don’t remember anything except my name. Aikoh. What’s your name?”

“Grace,” the old woman told her. “Ah…um…I couldn’t help but notice that you’re pregnant.”

Tears streaked from Aikoh’s eyes. “Apparently so. But I can’t seem to remember anything about it. Or anything else, other than my name.”

Grace grimaced and shuffled her feet. “Are you saying you got that, whatchamacallit, amnesia?”

Aikoh moved up in the bed so that she was sitting up higher. “I’m not sure. But what I am sure of is that I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“The baby.”

“Honey, having a baby is the most natural thing on earth. There’s nothing to fear. Women-folk’ve been having babies since time began.”

Aikoh’s lips trembled as she tried to remember the reason for her terror. “I don’t know why, but I feel there is something to be afraid of. Women may have been having babies since time began, but not this baby.”

*****

The dark clouds gathered fast. Brian first noticed them when he and his wife Grace had gone outside to see what fuss the two boys were jabbering about. Seeing those gathering clouds had prompted Brian to send Claude’s friend, Adrian, home—much to Claude’s dismay.

Now, eight-year-old Claude was in his bedroom playing some video game while Grace was talking to the pregnant woman upstairs in their bedroom. Brian sat on his recliner and watched the clouds through the window above the TV. They seemed to have grown larger in such a short amount of time, assimilating into one, and blotting out the blue sky.

He heard Grace close the guest bedroom door and come downstairs.

“How’s the lady?” Brian asked when she came into sight.

“Confused,” Grace said, settling down in her rocker. “I think she’s got some sort of amnesia.”

“She remember a name?”

“Aikoh. But that seems to be all she remembers. Odd name. Must be an Asian thing. Let’s keep her here for a day or two. If she doesn’t improve, we’ll have to call the doc.”

Brian nodded and looked out the window.

Grace looked too.“My God. Storms a’coming!”

Brian ran the situation over in his mind. If the storm got bad, the strange woman would have to stay with them for a while. Maybe that would give him time to get to the bottom of this.

He had been a police detective prior to his retirement. Once, when on the job, he had found dog kennels full of Asian women. All but one of those women was dead, probably from severe abuse. That one living woman had aided in the investigation. Anonymous tips revealed that a well-known sex trafficking group was involved—a group still at large, according to some of Brian’s former contacts. 

He tried to ignore the superstitious dread that coiled tightly in his stomach. That dread seemed to intensify when the rain began. He had always relied on his gut feelings, which so far, had never let him down.

Next, the power will go out, he thought. This is turning into some sort of horror movie.

The rainfall itself was unlike any Brian had ever experienced. It intermixed with hail and came down so hard and fast that it beat against the windows, threatening to break the glass. It drummed on the roof and when the wind picked up, Brian figured the intensifying storm would do some damage to his shingles and who knew what else.

“I’m sure the storm’ll pass,” Grace said, her tone contradicting her words.

Brian, whose hunches had made him a good detective for thirty years, wasn’t so sure.

*****

Claude found himself in a state of confusion upon waking. It was just getting light outside although no sunlight shone through the blinds of his window. The clock above his Spiderman poster told him that it was eight in the morning.

He was confused because this bedroom was still a new experience for him. He was visiting his grandparents for the summer, and so he was not yet used to their home.

He got up out of bed, went to the window, and peered out through the blinds. Claude saw that the rain had not let up. It was still dark out there, perhaps even darker now because the streetlamps had all gone to sleep for the day.

He listened to the creaking of the house and realized that the wind must be very strong. It seemed to howl as it blew the rain sideways. He again looked out his window and saw that visibility was poor. All the rain pelting the glass distorted everything that was familiar outside.

He could smell the rain, even from inside the house. It smelled damp and earthy. He could hear the heating system working, and he understood that this storm was a cold one.

He heard a knock on his door. “Who is it?”

“Gramma.”

“Come in.”

His grandmother entered the bedroom. He was still looking out the window and she said, “Sorry you can’t play outside today, kiddo. Looks like the rain hasn’t stopped overnight.”

“Seems more than rain.” Claude commented. “Seems like a bad storm.”

“Ayuh. I never seen it come down like this. And I been around some sixty-six years.”

There was something worrisome on Gramma’s face, even though it was obvious to Claude that she was trying to sound cheerful. “But the power’s still on,” she said. “You want some pancakes?”

“Sure,” Claude said.

He followed his grandmother downstairs and saw Aikoh sitting at the table. He had learned her name during last night’s dinner. He offered her a small hello.

“Morning, everyone,” Grandpa said as he walked into the kitchen and sat down next to his grandson. “Wish it was better weather.”

“Morning,” Aikoh greeted.

“How many pancakes do you want, Brian?” Gramma asked her husband.

“Four’s fine.”

Other than the rain and the strange woman at their table, it felt like any other morning. When the pancakes were done and eaten, Gramma asked Claude if he would take out the trash.

“Do I have to?” Claude asked. “It’s raining! And I can’t see out there because of the rain!”

“You can see if you turn the light on out there,” Grandpa said. “Besides, that trash is getting overfull. It’s startin’ to smell up the whole kitchen. Just do as your gramma says.”

Claude put his shoes on, not even bothering with the socks. He threw on his raincoat and tossed the hood up over his head. He grabbed the garbage. It did indeed stink. He tied it up, and went outside. He then threw the garbage into the dumpster, turned away to go back inside when he heard a familiar meow.

There were a lot of stray cats around, but one in particular—an orange feline with white stripes—often came to visit Claude because he shared food with it. Now he heard sounds from inside the dumpster, and he figured that somehow, the cat had gotten inside. He lifted the lid, and the porch light streamed into it, making the contents visible.

He stared in horror at that same cat lying on its side, its guts half-in and half-out of its own belly. Due to the rain’s blurring effect, Claude did not at first notice the dark face beside the cat staring up at him with its many eyes. When those multiple eyes blinked at him, Claude saw the creature: its hairy, bulbous body crouched on eight legs, seemingly ready to spring.

Claude opened his mouth to scream, but the thing lashed out, striking Claude’s lips with a long slender black limb, turning the scream into a desperate muffle.

“Don’t make any noise,” the horrifying creature warned.

Claude was shocked that it could talk. How could an arachnid talk? He was overcome with fear to such an extent that he couldn’t process the unreality of the situation. He blindly obeyed the creature’s command and didn’t call out to his grandparents. As a child of eight, he was accustomed to taking orders from adults. And this thing talked like an adult: strong, unrelenting, but silky and cold.

Suddenly an overwhelming smell assaulted his nose through the pounding rain.It was something like ammonia mixed with fried fish and spinach. And then he was in darkness, unable to move. The darkness felt small, yet full of power—of pressure.  He heard a sound, like a rusty gate moved by the will of the wind. It was not just darkness that Claude was trapped inside. He was in something. Something that—

Finally he screamed. He couldn’t stop himself, no matter what the creature had told him. “Help! Gramma! Grampa! Help!” Even to himself, his screams for help sounded small, muffled and useless. He was on his own. But I’m just a kid! he thought helplessly. I can’t be on my own!

He felt as though he were in a metal, coffin-like box. And it was getting smaller. He tried to move—to fight his way out—but he soon realized that he was paralyzed, lying flat on his back. Paralyzed, but not unfeeling.

He cried out in pain as the metal pressed in on his legs, crushing both tibia, fibula, and femur. He screamed as he felt the coffin press in further, shattering his ribs. Screamed as it pressed in on his head, his jaw, his neck. Screamed as its weight crushed his collarbone, suffocating him, making it impossible to scream, impossible to breathe. He could only taste blood.

Then the darkness faded. Claude was staring into the dumpster, the unrelenting rain and wind pelting him—staring at the multi-eyed demon that had killed the cat.

“That was just a taste. Trust me, it could get worse for you,” the thing said. “I have plans. Now that you know I exist, I will spare you if you say nothing. Spare you if you keep this all a secret. Spare you if you stay out of my way and let me carry out my plans, even though you will know that I am responsible for what is to come.”

*****

“Is he all right out there?” Aikoh asked.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Brian said while Grace placed the bottle of maple syrup down on the table. “Probably found that damn cat.”

“I told him not to touch that nasty thing,” Grace said. “Lord knows where that stray’s been.”

“He seems to’ve faired okay with it so far.”

“Well, we ain’t keeping it indoors, no matter how many times he asks.”

Grace placed a plate of pancakes before Aikoh, along with a fork and a butter knife. As Aikoh cut into her pancakes, she found herself fearing for the boy. Something told her—the same something that had revealed her name and the fact of her pregnancy—that Claude was talking to someone she knew somehow. Someone she couldn’t remember (was afraid to remember?).

Without thinking, she touched her bloated belly and caressed it.

When the door opened, Aikoh held her breath. The image of eight slender legs crawling within a universe of white webs filled her mind. Then Claude entered and threw off his raingear and sat down next to her, and she heard herself breathe an audible sigh of relief.

She continued eating her pancakes, trying to study Claude without it being obvious. His eyes were wide and haunted. He had seen more than just a cat out there. He had seen it.

But what was “it”?

More memories came to Aikoh. Fragments, but invasive ones. The creature’s caressing touch with its many limbs, its numbing venom, its silky voice, its many eyes.

Another contraction, this one painful. Oh God!

“I’m feeling very ill,” Aikoh suddenly said. “Excuse me.”

She did not turn to look as she stood and made way for the stairs. She staggered, and she felt the stares on her back. When she reached the upper hallway, exhaustion possessed her like a demon. When she reached the guest bedroom and lied down, she felt her soul begin to drain.

Let me die, she thought. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember!

But memories don’t listen. They bubble up just like foam; like spittle around a wolf’s lips. She remembered the night she and that thing had made love in the dark. Who had she been then? Who was she before? And how did she end up in these kind people’s field?

Stop, Aikoh. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to remember…

She closed her eyes. Eventually, consciousness faded. In sleep, she dreamed of webs.

*****

Claude played cribbage at the kitchen table with his grandmother, while his grandfather watched a video tape of True Grit with John Wayne in the adjacent living room. Aikoh had gone to bed a couple of hours ago.

Claude was surprised—maybe even a little sad—that neither of his grandparents had yet asked him if he was okay. Neither had shown any sign of concern, but he felt that Aikoh had seen that something was wrong. It was in the way that she stared at him when he came in and sat down at the table during breakfast: a close inspection and then a look of fear.

“The cat that usually comes to see me is dead,” Claude announced after he took his turn at the game.

“My goodness!” Gramma replied. “When did you find this out?”

“When I took out the trash.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You didn’t ask!” Claude shouted, and realized that it came out rougher than he had intended.

“Watch yer mouth, young man,” said his grandfather from the living room couch.

“Sorry,” Claude said. “I was just afraid that whatever got the cat would get me.”

“What in Hades does that mean?”

As Claude opened his mouth, the memory of his bones crushing beneath his squashing flesh surfaced, as well as the strange creature’s promise: I will spare you if you say nothing. He closed his mouth.  

“Well?” his grandfather asked.

Suddenly they were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass from upstairs, and a piercing scream.

Grandpa jumped up and Gramma stood up quickly, knocking the kitchen chair flat on its back.

“Stay here, Claude!” his grandfather commanded as he raced up the stairs, followed closely by his grandmother.

Claude did not listen. He was crazy not to, but he was also eight years old. At nine, he believed in everything. He believed the monster was telling him the truth when it said that it would spare Claude if he didn’t say anything. The creature had never told him he couldn’t react, though. It simply had said to stay out if its way.

So he climbed the stairs and reached the hallway. He stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, trying to figure out what he should do next. He felt frozen with the fear of the unknown. Yet he needed to know if his grandparents were safe. He tried to listen to his surroundings, but didn’t hear anything besides the wind and rain outside. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or if it was an ominous sign that something was very amiss.

A decision had to be made.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the guest bedroom door.

Gramma and Grandpa lay collapsed on the floor in stiff postures, their eyes wide, their lips trembling as though they yearned to speak—or scream. Claude rushed to them and knelt next to them. But then he saw something move out of the corner of his eye that caused him to stand back up.

The thing from the dumpster was here. It was much bigger than Claude had first perceived it to be through the blurry haze of that strange rain. It stood over Aikoh as she lay screaming on the bed. Four legs on one side, four legs on the other; its body, a black cephalothorax attached to a bulbous and glistening abdomen.

Despite his terror, Claude turned to look at the woman in the bed. Aikoh’s shirt had been torn off and her belly glowed orange-red. It reminded Claude of the lava lamp he kept somewhere in his room. He saw that the mattress was very wet between her legs.

The spider thing that stood over Aikoh sang to her. Sang words in a language Claude would never understand. Aikoh’s belly burned hotter. Her stomach popped—burst like an overstuffed balloon. It sent blood everywhere, splattering onto Claude’s pants, his shirt, and parts of his face and neck. The blood was very warm, almost hot.

A baby then emerged from Aikoh’s steaming belly, a baby with a body like its father, a head and eyes like its mother. The infant scurried over to Gramma and opened its jaw. Blood spewed from its mouth in a steaming red gush. The blood did not melt his grandmother so much as it shriveled her. The baby then went over to Claude’s grandfather and did the same thing, spewing hot blood and turning him into something like black and charred. The bodies themselves began to whiten and calcify, breaking apart into tiny pieces that then seemed to meld with what Claude would, years later, understand as melted tissue and organs.

Claude watched in horror as the baby slurped the remains of what used to be his grandparents. It fed with such speed that Claude was reminded of a cartoon he had seen recently where the character cleaned someone’s kitchen by slurping everything spotless. Like the cartoon’s kitchen, there was nothing left of his grandparents when it was finished. Nothing at all.

The infant turned its head and grinned an innocent, baby grin. He started for Claude, but by then Claude had broken out of his frozen state, and turned to run out of the bedroom.

As he ran down the hallway, he could hear the monster from the dumpster—the baby’s father—speak in that same language it had sang to Aikoh. The baby began to cry like any other baby would. It scurried toward its father, but Claude was no longer there to see what happened next.

When he reached the ground floor, he could see through the window that the sun was breaking through the clouds and that the storm had ended.

*****

“And that’s it,” Claude told her. “That’s what happened when I was eight. I know it sounds impossible, but you know I never lie to you.”

Claude watched his wife as she sat there on her rocker—a rocker not much different than the one his grandmother favored so many years ago.

Eight months back, he and Kimiko had gone to Japan to see her family. A month after their plane landed in Tokyo, she disappeared. He had frantically searched for her, but she seemed like a ghost in the wind. Finally he came back to America without her, devastated by his loss.

Last week, Claude had pulled his pickup into the driveway and realized she had somehow found her way back without him. Kimiko appeared on their front porch, unconscious, naked, and very much pregnant. He brought her inside and cared for her until she regained consciousness and felt better. But she couldn’t explain where she had been or how she got back.

That’s when he told her his story.

“I’m scared,” she said. “You never killed that thing. What if it’s still out there somewhere?”

Claude had no answers for her, or for himself.

Outside, the clouds began to gather.