Necro Files: Two Decades of Extreme Horror

So, they did. But not before Cole noticed the brown paper bags that were being packed with groceries at each counter.

Smeared faces looked back at him from the sides of the bags as if they were watching him lead his sister out of the store. The faces were haunted … and haunting.

On the way to the car, they passed the newspaper vending boxes and Cole stopped when he saw a picture of a little baby on the front page of the local paper with the word MISSING! beneath it. The word made him stop. He read the headline, frowning:

2 MONTH OLD BABY STOLEN FROM CRIB IN MIDDLE OF NIGHT—POLICE HAVE NO SUSPECTS

Cole stared at the baby for a while, frowning, wondering what had happened to it. Who would want to take a little baby? Why?

With a slight burning in his gut, he turned and hurried after his little sister toward the car.

They stood by the car, kicking a smashed soda can back and forth between them over the dirty pavement. The nearby ocean gave the chilly, damp breeze a salty smell and seagulls circled overhead, calling out sharply.

The musical voice of a little girl called to them from a few yards away.

“Hey! Wanna see my puppies?”

She stood beside a gray van. The sliding door on the side was half open.

“What kind of puppies?” Cole asked as he and Janelle took a few steps toward her.

“Little bitty ones.” She held her palms a few inches apart to demonstrate.

“Let’s go see the puppies!” Janelle said, grinning.

“Okay. But keep an eye out for Mom.”

* * *

Mom pushed her cart of grocery bags through the automatic door and stopp ed just outsid e the store. The door closed behind her with a h um as she fished a Marlboro out of her purse and turned against the wind, l eaning her head forward to lig ht up.

It was while she was lighting her cigarette that the gray van drove by.

By the time she lifted her head, taking a deep drag on the cigarette, the van was already gone.

So were the children.

* * *

Cole awoke in complete, solid, almost tangible darkness.

His ears rang loudly and his head throbbed. The ringing eventually subsided—slowly, gradually—and was replaced by the cry of a baby.

No, no, the cry of two … no, three, maybe four … no, several babies.

Somewhere nearby, there were voices that barely rose above the crying of the babies.

But there was something else … something weird … something wrong …

The ground beneath him and the damp, cold darkness all around him was moving … tilting back and forth … this way, that way, back and forth.

He reached down to feel the surface beneath him, but suddenly realized that he could not move his arms. His wrists were tied together behind him and his ankles were tied together before him.

Then he noticed something else: A low rumble that made its way through the surface beneath him and up into his body, gathering in his chest like quivering indigestion. It sounded like an engine.

Are we on a bus, or something? he thought, then: We? We?

“Janelle?” he said, his voice hoarse and weak. “Janelle, you here? C’mon, Janelle, say something!”

“Who you talkin’ to?” another voice asked. It was the voice of a child, a boy, somewhere around Cole’s age.

“What? I’m … talking to my sister,” Cole said quietly, uncertainly.

“Who?” a little girl asked from somewhere in the darkness, her voice trembling. It wasn’t Janelle. “Who are you talking to?”

“My sister, Janelle. Janelle? You there? C’mon, Janelle, you gotta be there!”

The voices paused for a long moment. Cole could hear the babies crying, some of them gurgling and making spitting sounds, and when he listened very closely, he could hear the breathing of other children. Some were making purring little snoring sounds. There was a lot of rustling in the dark, squirming movement.

He called for Janelle a few more times, raising his voice in spite of how much it hurt his head, in spite of the way his stomach was beginning to feel sick because of the lurching back-and-forth movements.

Finally, there was a little voice … so small and weak and frightened: “Cole? You … are you there?”

“Yeah, Munchkin. I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Where?”

“I’m here, real close. You hear me?”

“I can’t see you.”

“Yeah, I know, but you can hear me, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good, then that’s all that counts right now. We’ll see each other soon, okay? You just stay still and don’t be afraid, ’cause I’m here.”

“Okay. Good. Okay.”

Her voice was so small, like a thread being pulled through the darkness by a dull needle.

They were all quiet.

A few of the babies had stopped crying.

Cole thought of the faces on the milk cartons and grocery bags.

We’ve been taken, he thought. Just like them.

He wondered what he and Janelle would look like on those cartons and bags. Would their faces be as splotchy and smeared? Would Mom even recognize them if she saw them?

The voices outside were more audible now, easier to make out. But Cole was able to catch only snatches of what they were saying.