 They were cheering when he jumped, but he did not come up again. Turnpike Troubadours Before the devil and those were dead. I remember one time growing up when my best friend David asked if my grandparents were still living. His own grandmother had passed away a few days earlier, and I think he was just looking for someone to talk to about it. Do you still have your grandparents around? David asked from the sidewalk, pausing for a moment and looking over at me. Yes, I said, leaving it at that. Of course they were around. Everyone was, but I could never tell. That's what mom and dad had said. No one in my family has died for quite some time, at least not in the traditional sense. Sure they will become sick, and maybe for a few hours they will even leave this world. But they always come back. Like my uncle Carl for instance, he had developed bone cancer in his late seventies, and day by day it wore down his body until by the end he could nearly pass for a skeleton. One day as he lie in bed with his family circled around, his heart finally gave in and stopped fighting. He took one last breath, held his necklace tightly in his right hand, and then he was gone. My mother held me close and watched as I stared over at his vacant body. It's okay dear, he'll be back tomorrow. And he was. Sure enough the next morning uncle Carl was the first one at the table for breakfast. And what's more, he was young again. Uncle Carl, I yelled happily, running over into his arms. Hey there spore, I miss you, he said, ruffling my hair. Is it gone? It's gone buddy, he replied warmly. I didn't ask, and I'm not sure that even he knew the exact age he now was, but he appeared to be in his early thirties. It's different every time. I like to think that maybe you come back at the age you were most happy, but that's just speculation really. None of us know why you come back the age you do. All we know is that you always come back. That is until recently. My great grandfather Isaac was the strongest of us. He had been a coal miner and had seemingly come back in his best physical condition. His shoulders were broad and wide, and his arms thick and muscular. He still wore the same dusty pants and cloudy gray jacket that no doubt came from the old days. He would even wake up wearing a cracked mining helmet that looked to be over 100 years old. I could hear him swearing every morning, son of a sore neck again and his cursive thing. He would yell through the house, throwing his helmet angrily against the wall on the other side of mine. I always chuckled. That was one of the peculiarities with the family. Once you died and came back, you always woke up every morning wearing the same set of clothes. It seemed to be chosen at random, as far as we could tell. I was particularly embarrassed one day when upon entering my great aunt Natalie's room, I found her wearing a bright red negligee and a black top hat. Needless to say, I left the room immediately. I'm not going to ask about that one, but I digress and back to the main story. I'm 18 years old now and was due to leave for college this week when grandpa Isaac went missing. Maybe more accurately still, he never showed up. That morning when our family sat around at the breakfast table, I noticed his seat was empty. I wouldn't have thought much of it had it not been for the surprised look of fear from my remaining family. I'll go, his wife had said, quickly rising from her chair and leading three or four family members upstairs to his room. He wasn't there either. We held the funeral three days later. I had never been to one before. His wife, my grandma gave the eulogy and I wish I could remember more of what she said but I was too shaken up. I had never experienced death before and as she stood up in front of us, I only recall her saying one thing, death seems to have found us again. After it was all over, she took my hand, come with me, she said softly, leading me up the old creaky stairs that led to the attic. She unlocked a dark wooden chest I had never seen before and pulled out something small that was wrapped tightly. You need to know. That night, I walked with her from door to door and window to window. At each, she would recite a set of words. I'm still learning Latin but upon asking she told me the approximate translation. Death is not welcome here. The chest had contained an ancient vial of liquid. Dry blues, forest greens and taxicab yellows seemed to swirl endlessly and with purpose and I held my breath and wonder as I walked behind her through our home. She would recite the words and then close her eyes, dip her index finger into the old vial and use a small portion of the liquid to draw a small symbol. The liquid seemed to glow more brightly upon contact with her skin and when the symbol was drawn completely it would shine as well. We double checked that every door on window was covered. They were. Upon our completion, the rest of the family was then in charge of taping up the windows with dense black paper that made it impossible to see through to the outside. That night, as the last of the sunlight began to fall over the mountains, we locked the front door and checked it twice. My grandmother sat down next to me. There's one more thing. What is it, Grandma? She looked towards the closest window and then back at me. Whatever happens tonight, whatever you hear, never look outside. It's better you don't think of such things. Just promise me. I looked back at her. I promise. Good, she smiled. It's going to be alright, dear. That evening, as my family and I stayed up to keep watch, the night seemed to pass like any other. We played cards and made poor temps at joking, trying our best to keep our minds off the current situation. And then the knocking started. First, there were three knocks at the front door. My family grew silent. Then, there were three more on the kitchen window close by. And then, suddenly, there was a rapid, more powerful knocking that seemed to strike every window and doorway in the house at once. Something wanted desperately to get inside. After a time, it stopped. There was quiet again. A minute or two passed and the calm was interrupted by a great howling. Our heads looked up almost in unison towards the ceiling as we strained to hear the distant noise. It came from directly above us, far off in the sky. The howl could be heard echoing throughout the house and seemed to shake the very foundation. And then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. It was like none of it had ever happened and a sense of relief came over my family. We had survived, but there was a problem. Later that night, I awoke to the sight of two blue eyes staring down onto me. It was my nephew, Ewan. You scared the hell out of me. I whispered angrily over at him. And then he began to sob, first softly and then uncontrollably. I know I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have. He cried, bearing his head into my chest. It's okay, I said warmly. It's gone now. The crying stopped for a moment as he looked up at me innocently. When the thing knocked on my window, the paper must have not been taped on good enough and my heart filled with dread as he continued. And I saw its face looking back. What's gonna happen now? he asked. I looked into the bright blue eyes that belonged to my eight-year-old nephew Ewan and I answered him truthfully. I don't know. Part two. May we all get to heaven before the devil knows we're dead. Turnpike troubadours. What's going to happen now? he asked. I looked into the bright blue eyes that belonged to my eight-year-old nephew Ewan. I don't know. I answered truthfully and I didn't know. How could I know what was gonna happen next? Why the hell would you? I suddenly saw the fear in his eyes and came to my senses. Instead of yelling, I hugged him. It'll be okay, buddy. We'll ask grandma for help. I said, trying to calm him. You won't let anything bad happen to me. Will you, Stephen? I forced a smile. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Checking the alarm clock on the old antique bedside table next to us, I saw it was nearly two hours past midnight. Now come on, let's go wake her up. I said, patting him on the back. He smiled genuinely and as he did, an ominous feeling seemed to pass across me. I suddenly knew that none of this could end well. For a brief moment, I understood that when Ewan had looked at whatever ghastly figure had been on the other side of the window, it had sealed the fate of himself, myself, and possibly even that of our entire family. But perhaps it wasn't entirely his fault. This had started with the death of our grandfather Isaac, something dark had finally found us. Maybe whatever it was could sense the happiness and innocence of a family that had lived without a fear of death, that had lived without that inevitability hanging over it, that inevitability, my mind repeated. Death can't be cheated, and your family has cheated me for too long. Stop it, Stephen. I told myself angrily, pushing those thoughts back into a deeper recess of my mind. I took a breath and opened the door to the hallway. It seemed darker than usual, and a certain musty smell hung in the air, almost like the smell of… stop it. We walked quickly down into the darkness and towards my grandmother's room, ignoring the thick silence. When we got there, the door was already wide open. Stay close to me, Ewan, I said. Before realizing he couldn't have been any closer if we had been tied together, he was terrified. Grandma, I said, trying to muster a courage that wouldn't come. This felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. As I stepped slowly into her room, I saw that a small lamp was flicked on near her bedside. The bed was empty. Grandma, I called out again, this time with even less courage. I somehow knew she was gone. I could feel it. She's not here, I said, looking down at Ewan. Come on. We knocked on the door to Uncle Carl's room, which was a short ways down the hallway. Uncle Carl? I called out through the door. Nothing. Opening the door quietly, I saw that his bed was empty as well. Where is everyone? Ewan asked, looking up at me. I don't know. The noise that came next almost brought on a heart attack, even though I was only 18. I could feel my heart tense and then my breathing stopped. A great howling boomed against the walls around us. But this time it wasn't coming from outside. The thick brick walls of the house acting as a barrier between us. It was coming from inside the house. It was even louder the next time and it held a power within it. With each howl, items in the house around us would shake and then fall weakly under the floor below. First, a mirror shattered far too close to Ewan. Somehow he was unharmed. Then the old grandfather clock that stood at the end of the hallway began to shake violently before crumbling like an old statue. We have to go. I whispered, holding my nephew's hand more tightly and rushing towards the back stairway on the second floor and away from the cries of the monster. At least I thought it was away. While the howling did fill up the entire house, it had seemed stronger at the front of it near the kitchen. We rushed down the stairway trying to stay as silent as possible. When we reached the bottom, I headed for the door and felt Ewan's hand slip out of mine. No, it didn't slip. He pulled away. Ewan, what are you… Looking back, I saw it a moment later than he had. On the other side of the back room stood a dark figure. The room was unlit, but judging from the height of its eyes, it seemed to stand nine feet tall or higher. Its eyes, its yellow eyes that seem to call out to you seem to beckon for you. Ewan was lost inside of them, and so was I. The thing floated closer slowly, and the two of us were helpless to move. Maybe we didn't want to. I'm not sure what would have happened next. If not for the strong hand that clasped onto my shoulder and the bright light that seemed to blind the monster for a moment. It howled wickedly as if wounded, and its eyes looked away. When it did, the spell was broken, and the two of us could move again. We looked up into the eyes of our great-grandfather Isaac. He was alive. Boys, what do you say we get the hell out of here? He said, pulling the two of us through the doorway and into the cold air of the night. The thing recovered and howled once more as it made its way towards us, but Isaac shut the door quickly and braced his back against it. His eyes were wide as he called out, the vile. And suddenly I realized that there was a small container of liquid lying on the ground in front of us. The door seemed to crack and bend as the thing slammed into it again and again, desperate to reach us. Get the vile. He screamed out again, his eyes even more desperate. An unexpected feeling of understanding came over me then, and I knew what to do. Picking up the vile, I opened it and dipped my index finger inside. As it touched my skin, there was a cooling feeling that came over my entire body. Maybe it was courage, I thought, as a determined look passed across my face, and I reached out for the door. I drew the symbol just as my grandmother had, and it glowed back brightly as if pleased. Then the slamming stopped, and the howling started up again. It was even worse than before, I realized. Watching as Isaac's back slid down the doorway and he sat on the ground. He hadn't been injured, but looked as if he'd been in a brawl. His thick muscles seemed worn and tired, but he stood up anyway. I realized then what the light that had blinded the monster had been. The light on his old coal mining helmet. It's trapped in there, he said, but it won't hold for long. His hands reached out as he placed them firmly on our shoulders and stared down at us. We have to go now. Not another word was said, as the three of us ran towards the thick forest behind our home. Each step we took away from the how seemed to enrage the thing farther, and its screams followed us far into the darkness. Well, I'm 28 years old now. I was born in 84, and I've been free as I can be, and I won't ask for any more. Turnpike troubadours. We entered the cover of the forest at a full on run. Grandpa Isaac's headlamp lit the path through a distance of about 15 feet. Everything outside of that thin beam of light was blanketed in pure inky blackness. What's the plan? I shouted. Get as far away from that thing as we can before it breaks free, my grandfather said back. As if on cue, we heard the sound of splintering wood coming from the house. A thundering howl echoed through the night air. It got out. Grandpa said, perhaps more to himself as he slowed to a fast walk. We need to be quiet now. We need to hide. And with that, he motioned towards a small clearing, one side overgrown with huge brambles of wild blackberries. He switched off the headlamp and we made our way silently into the heavy underbrush. We paid no notice to the sharp thorns catching on our clothes and bare skin. Listening intently, we heard it crash through the trees and onto the trail behind the house. My grandfather was right next to me, but it was too dark to see his face. I heard him turn toward us and whisper, Don't move now. Quiet your breathing and try to keep perfectly still. We could hear the thing move clumsily through the forest, fallen branches cracking under its weight. It stopped at a fork in the path, and I swear I heard it sniff the air. Then silence. I held my breath for what seemed like an eternity, craning my head forward to listen. Seconds tick by, and then I felt a small current of air move across the back of my neck. A dawning dread flooded over me. Turning to warn him, I heard a startled surprise as talons sunk into both of his shoulders and Isaac was lifted straight up off the ground. He fought hard, and he must have done some damage because it dropped him from about 20 feet. He landed flush on his back, and I could see he was in a great deal of pain. By the time he was able to speak, you and I were by his side. Take vile, he said weakly, placing it into the palm of my hand. As I closed my fingers around the small glass bottle, the creature hit me full force in the chest, and I was thrown back onto the forest floor. It stood staring intently at me, and then it screamed. The sound was so loud that it shook the ground around us. Bits of leaves and branches flew past my head, and I felt as though I was in the eye of a hurricane. It looked to be over 8 feet tall with huge leathery wings and the face of something out of a nightmare. Then it screamed again, and turned back to my grandfather. Picking him up by the throat, it pulled him close until its face was only inches away from his. Their eyes locked, and with what appeared to be anticipation, a kind of savoring, the creature opened its maw and slowly inhaled the life force of my grandfather. His cheerful blue eyes dimmed, his skin became pale, and then turned in ashen gray. I watched helplessly as grandpa Isaac began to disintegrate in front of my eyes. Starting with the tips of his fingers, then moving up his arms and legs until there was nothing but a small heap of ashes on the ground. The creature took great pleasure in using its talons to mix the ashes with dirt. Scratching wildly, it scattered the remains in all directions. The sound of Ewan softly crying forced me back into reality. Struggling to stand, I could feel the cool glass vial still clutched in my right hand. Ewan ran to me, locking his arms around my waist. I gently unwrapped them. We don't have much time, but kneeling down, I uncapped the vial and tipped it to my finger. Nothing. Desperately holding the bottle upside down, I felt one single drop of liquid touch my skin. Trying to remember what my grandmother had written over the doors and windows, I traced the symbols and letters onto Ewan's forehead. I hoped it would be enough. The creature paused for a moment and then screamed at the sight. Pushing Ewan behind me, I picked up a sturdy branch and broke the tip off at a sharp angle. Coming straight forward, it closed the distance between us in a millisecond, using the branch to stab for an eye. I missed, but tore a hole in one of its leathery wings. It screeched more in outrage than pain, then it snapped my weapon in two, grabbed me by the throat, and lifted me from the ground. Eye to eye, it widened its maw and began to extract my life. But it didn't work. Surprise then enraged, it raised one razor sharp talon and tore deep into my chest. My body dropped to the ground. The world began to fade. It's hard to describe the feeling that followed. I must have looked dead to Ewan, but somehow I was still in my body, and I was still aware. But I couldn't speak or move, and worse, I couldn't help him. Ewan screamed my name. It cocked its head, perhaps just now remembering that Ewan had been its primary target. As the thing lumbered towards him, the symbols on Ewan's forehead began to glow brighter and brighter until the creature was forced to stop in its tracks. They seemed to create some type of barrier now that even it couldn't cross. It screamed and flew into a rage, flinging branches and ripping small trees right out of the ground, but it couldn't touch him. Finally, barely opening its wings, it shot straight upward like a missile and disappeared into the night sky. Ewan ran crying and fell on the ground next to my body. I couldn't comfort him, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of sadness. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep, tightly grasping my hand. As dawn broke, he was startled awake by the sound of someone calling his name. It was great grandma Hester, and Ewan ran to her crying. Grandpa Isaac and Steven are dead. It killed them. Holding the boy tightly, Hester looked over at where I lie on the ground, and then she glanced upward to the sky. It took a while to calm him, but eventually she settled Ewan under the shade of an oak tree and set about tending to my body. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a thick glass bottle, brimming with a colorful swirling liquid. Carefully tipping it to her finger, she gently drew symbols on my forehead. The two of them made their way back to the house in silence. Once they arrived, she sent him upstairs to clean up while grandma Hester prepared a quick supper. There was too much empty space, a reminder of their loss at the long oak table in the kitchen. They decided to carry their plates to a small round table on the front porch. Why did we have to leave Steven out there? Ewan asked sadly. Because that's the way it's done, she replied. You must lie where you fall. Will everyone come back again? Like before, Ewan said hopefully. She looked down at him sadly. No, my dearest. Not this time. Grandma forced a smile. There is more, I will tell you. For this next part, you must be very brave. Still, let's leave the world laughing when our eulogies are red. May we all get to heaven, for the devil knows we're dead. Ewan watched his grandmother intently. She paused for a moment and then continued. This is the story of your great-grandpa Isaac. He grew up here in this very house, with his mother and father, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Just like us, they did not worry about death. Isaac had three brothers and a sister. He didn't know that, did he? He didn't much like to talk about them. The time before. When he was nine years old, his own great-grandfather disappeared and the family knew that death had found them. So they painted symbols over the doors and windows, sealed up the house, and waited. Hours passed and boredom must have gotten the better of Isaac. He went up to his room just like you, and just like you, he forgot to be afraid. Isaac peeked out of his own window that night. There was something out there, and it stared right back. The next morning when Isaac woke up, everyone was gone. He was alone. What did he do? Ewan asked breathlessly. What could he do? She replied. He was just a little boy, all alone and terrified. He moved some pillows in a blanket into the little pantry off the kitchen, and that's where he slept. Crying himself to sleep most nights. He blamed himself, and he missed his family terribly. Ewan sat deep and thawed. It's hard to imagine Grandpa Isaac crying. He's never been afraid of anything. That made Hester smile, but pain came with remembering as well. For a moment, she thought of her husband and the life they had shared together. Pushing her own sadness aside, she continued, hoping he hadn't noticed the tears beginning to form. Ewan needed to be strong now. Well, she said, how do you think he got to be so brave? The strongest steel is forged from the hottest fire. Those hardest of times, that's what made him so strong. Climbing onto his grandma's lap, Ewan said, I'm so glad you're here with me. She looked sadly into his eyes. Well, that's the hardest thing, my dearest. I won't be able to stay. Just this night to get you settled. I'll be gone by first light. What? Ewan panicked. No, you can't go. Please, I don't want to be alone. I'm afraid I have no choice, my love. She said, holding him close as time passed and quietly humming a song that she used to sing to him as a baby. Ewan didn't understand why she had to go. I suppose no little boy can really be prepared for something like that. His grandma was here now, but by the morning she would be gone. She took his chin into her hand and smiled once more. Now I'm going to dish us out two big bowls of ice cream, but after we finish we've got some work to do. They ate the Rocky Road ice cream while Grandma Hester shared stories from her childhood. She even got a couple of smiles out of Ewan. When they finished, the great tour of the house began. First, they visited the little nail in the closet where she kept the key to the old trunk in the attic. The books and drawings were inside, explaining how to make the markings over every door and window. The fresh vial of thick glass was carefully filled to the brim with swirling liquid, wrapped and tucked into a pocket of the trunk. Also included were the hand-written instructions on how to make more. She even gave him a business card for the family accountant. He pays all the bills every month. No questions asked. Once a month he leaves an envelope with a little cash in the mailbox. If you need anything, if any problems arise, call him. Lastly, they walked into great Grandpa Isaac's room. Grandma Hester went to the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out something wrapped in old newspaper. It was a journal Grandpa Isaac had written as a boy to help get through the solitude and loneliness. It also detailed some of the fixes to ordinary problems around the house. By the time they were finished going over things, it was nearing three o'clock in the morning. Despite his worry, Ewan's eyes began to drift closed and his head began to nod gently. It's time for you to get some sleep. Grandma said warmly, walking with Ewan up to his room and pulling a rocking chair to the very edge of his bed. He drifted slowly off, as Grandma sang him to sleep from her rocker, watching over him and holding his hand for the last time. Some time passed, and Ewan's eyes opened quickly at the sound of rapid knocking on his bedroom window. Dread fell over him like a wet blanket, wrapping his entire body with a sense of inevitability. The rocking chair next to the bed still swayed gently back and forth, but Grandma Hester wasn't there anymore. The room was empty now, and darkness hung much heavier than before. Three more knocks. Ewan didn't want to get up. He wanted to hide underneath the thick wool blankets and wait for it all to be over, but he found himself standing and walking slowly towards the window anyway. With each step towards the foggy glass, his mind desperately tried to turn away to run back to safety. Three knocks, louder than before. Hungrier than before. Ewan watched his own hand disobey and reach out slowly to open the window. He wanted to scream, but his body wouldn't listen. Then the nightmare ended, for now at least. He woke to heavy rays of sunlight pouring in through the bedroom window. As reality dawned, he bolted straight up and flung his head to the right and reached towards the rocker. But it was empty. The thought of this big abandoned house gripped his chest like a huge weight pressing down on him. Laying his head back down on the pillow, he stared up at the ceiling and tried not to cry. Minutes passed, and suddenly Ewan started to imagine the smell of bacon frying. It seemed almost as real as the nightmare had been. Then he heard a sound, clear as a bell and coming from downstairs. It was whistling. Ewan jumped up and ran down the back stairway to the kitchen. He took the last four steps at a leap and landed squarely on the black and white tiles of the kitchen floor. Stephen, he shouted. I turned away from the stove, just in time to catch my nephew mid-leap. He was laughing through his tears when suddenly he paused and pulled back to look me in the eyes. Will you stay? he asked. You can't get rid of me that easily. I answered. But how? he asked bewildered. It was great grandma Hester. I said. She didn't tell you because she wasn't sure it would work. Setting Ewan down, I grabbed two plates from the cupboard and filled them with bacon and scoops of scrambled eggs. Placing them down on the huge oak table, their solitude made the loss of our family feel almost palpable. Suddenly I thought better of it and we took our plates out to the front porch. Talking as we ate, I told Ewan that things would be different for a while but we would adjust. Eventually one or both of us would marry and have kids. Someday maybe even grandkids. Perhaps one day the house would be filled once again with laughter and family. For now though, it was just the two of us. I asked him if that was okay. He smiled back. Two is so much better than one. Still, I knew how empty the house was going to feel with the loss of our family. I had an idea that I'd like to run past you. I said. Last week before all this started, I noticed a sign three streets over. It said they were giving away free puppies to a good home. I think they were a mix of, for real? Ewan interrupted. I smiled and finished. A mix of Labrador and Golden Retriever. We can really get a dog. He said again with a funny amount of disbelief for a boy that had seen what he had. Well, Grandma Hester did leave you in charge. It's really up to you. Yes, Ewan shouted happily. And with that we finished our breakfast talking together about the past, but hopeful as well for the future.