Changelings

A Story by AlphaGemini

A young boy discovers the people around him are not what they seem

Changelings

The sun was getting low in the sky. The heavens were stained a dull ochre shot with the final rays of gold as the molten ball laid down to rest. Toby looked back at the now shaded sandpit wistfully.

A great castle stood there, its mighty beige bulwark of crenelated towers standing vigil at its four corners, protecting the mighty pebble-armored keep within. All peaks flew the red leaf-flags of the kingdom, scavenged from the towering maple in the corner of the yard. Its branches near barren, colors of autumn laced the few leaves that remained, despite the warm weather.

The castle had taken his tiny hands all afternoon to construct, a feat he considered mighty in itself. And so with this, the closing of the day, he was remiss to leave the great work behind. Solemnly, he bid farewell to the imaginary knights of his realm, charging them to protect the keep and those within from the hordes of the night. Except the girls, they were yuck.

The sound of his mother's call through the cooling air snapped him out of his reverie. Toby’s short legs propelled him swiftly towards the house, tall and pale yellow painted with homely brown slates upon the roof. A lone breeze stirred the upper reaches of the maple tree, as if in farewell.

He made the stairs to the back porch quickly and thundered up in the stomping manner of children. He was quick for his age, a good runner. Even his dad said so.

The back screen door screeched on its hinges as he leapt through, clattering shut behind him as he hurried into the house.

“Shoes!” came a bark from his mother in the kitchen.

Toby sheepishly grimaced and hurriedly tip-toed back to the entranceway where he yanked off his sand-ridden shoes. Then vaulted down the hallway towards the kitchen.

His mother's long sandy curly hair bobbed atop the floral dress and apron she was wearing, back to the door. There was the distinctive thok-thok-thok of cutting carrots. Toby frowned.

“Muuuuum not carrots again! We had that laaaast niiiiight.”

His petulant whine sounded completely reasonable to his ears. But his mother tutted.

“Oh shush young man, we're having your favorite after all tonight. If you're good and finish up there'll be ice cream after. Now go wash up.”

His favorite, Shepard’s Pie! His spirit also lifted at the prospect of ice cream, but there was something wrong. Something different. A strange, husky rasping to her voice. Rougher than usual.

“You sound like you're getting sick, mum.” he piped.

The bobbing mass of curly hair shook.

“It's nothing, now hurry up and when you're back you can set the table. Quick! Dad will be home soon.”

Again the short legs blurred into motion and thundered down the carpeted white plastered and painted hallway. Back down from the kitchen towards the rear of the house, into the ajar door of the bathroom. The brilliant white light flashed on. Warming water was gushed from the hot tap in sputtering gout before being slammed off again. Toby scrubbed at his hands and dirty fingernails feverishly, though perhaps inadequately. He dried them on a lavender shaded hand towel before lurching through the hall once more and swinging into the linoleum floored kitchen. His mother's back was still to him.

“Clean!” he announced.

“Good boy, now take these and set the table.”

That roughness, like gravel in a concrete turner. It was much stronger now. Toby’s mother turned, hands laden with plates stacked with cutlery. The stainless steel of them glinted sharply in the lights from overhead.

In horror, Toby took a shaking step back.

His mother's eyes were sunken deep, tiny in the pits of sockets black. Where they lay in that pallid face they themselves seemed inhuman, liquid and shining, glossy like glass enamel. And the irises were palest white.

“Toby? What's wrong?”

The voice had lowered to a growl. It seemed hungry to his ears, bestial and menacing. But worse was the maw that birthed the words.

Her teeth. Those horrible teeth. Thin like needles and sharp, numbering more than was naturally possible, and stained a deep black like slivers of obsidian. They too glinted in the light, wetly.

Whatever this thing was, it was certainly not his mother. The hair, the clothing, even the red painted nails were the same and excruciatingly identical. All but for the terrifying face. And the voice. It took a step towards him.

Toby backed up fast, careening through the hallway door behind him. The wall on the far side thudded against his small frame as he ran out of space.

Further down the hallway, the frosted glass paneled front door opened. The form of his father stepped into the entranceway where rows of shoes sat neatly. He unlimbered a hefty looking satchel bag from one shoulder, suited in grey and wearing the rocketship tie Toby had picked out for him on father's day just last week.

His father looked up and down the hall. His mouth split in a wide, inhuman smile displaying rows of glistening, needle-like black teeth.

“Hey champ! Dinner ready? I'm starved.”

The sunken beady eyes in its face were alive with vicious intent. Toby balked, shrinking back and away down the hall. The thing that was not his father frowned.

“Tobes? Come give your old man a hug.”

Toby turned and ran.

They weren't his parents.

It seemed as if his feet never touched the carpeted floor by the time he reached the back door. He flung it wide, not even bothering with his shoes, and was outside in an instant.

The rear porch was shadowy and growing darker in the waning light of the day. Toby darted left, along the rear of the house, heart thudding along with his frantic footfalls upon the wooden boards of the decking. He rounded the corner and vaulted down onto the ground from the wooden platform, socked feet slapping onto the cold concrete tiles that led the way to the front lawn.

Night had already fallen here. The weather boarded side of his home towered upwards on his left, the plain grey paneling of the neighbors building rising just a scant meter away, forming a narrow alley between the two. The height of the buildings cut off all natural light, and the fleeing boy made his way gingerly yet frantically forward through the gloom. There was only one thing he knew to do. Find help.

Emerging out onto the lawn, he stopped momentarily and listened over his thundering heart. There were no noises of pursuit so far.

Toby bent down and tugged off his socks, beginning to become damp in the grass about his feet. They would only slow him down.

Barefoot he rounded the dividing fence of corrugated iron between the two houses and lurched up the neighbor’s lawn, panting. Their front door was starkly white and looked heavy, with a large silver door handle. Toby mashed the doorbell several times until the door burst open. The relief that washed over him was temporary.

Mrs. Palmer opened the door, their motherly neighbor, kindly and well into her fifties. Her children had long since left and grown, her husband divorcing her later. She lived alone, and sometimes babysat Toby when his parents went out at night.

The door swung outward. She was wearing a wolf-grey shawl over her ample frame, burnished silver hair carefully clasped high upon her head. To either side of her long bony nose, in the middle of her grandmotherly features, her eyes glinted, steely in pits of black. It wasn't Mrs. Palmer.

“Toby?” she crooned. “What's the matter?”

The knifing teeth flashed as she hissed the words hoarsely. Toby backed off fast and spun, blinking tears. They'd got her too. By the time she’d called his name a second time he was pounding down the pavement of the suburb and away.

His legs grew tired but he daren’t stop. He had to find someone, anyone. His shadow grew long and distorted in front of his running form as the sun set. He looked up and around, halting, hands on knees to catch his breath. He'd already ran farther and faster than he ever had.

A little girl in a nearby living room window watched him almost solemnly. The back pits of her eyes were so deep he couldn't make out the flinty specks within.

A car revved into the street, a shiny new model ochre red SUV. It turned sharply and parked in a nearby driveway. A tall man in a suit, not unlike his father's got out and went to the front door, slamming closed the vehicle behind as he went. The last rays of the sun caught his needle-teeth, glinting murderously in the ruddy light.

Ahead of the panting boy, a black and white police cruiser rounded the corner and halted just shy of the curb, idling side-on to him.

Toby lurched towards it. A cop. They'd know what was going on. They'd know where to find his parents. Desperate and despite his protesting legs, he sprinted up to it, hammering on the side of the shiny door where the large shield was painted on, silvery. The tinted window rolled down and a middle-aged portly police officer leaned out of the window.

“Hey! What's the matter kid?” he drawled through a fanged maw. His eyes were different. Larger in their sunken pits. Flecked with a sickly, venomous yellow.

Staggering backwards, Toby sat down hard on the grassy curb. Then he began to cry.

© 2018 AlphaGemini

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Delmar Cooper

At any point in the writing did you consider ending the tale with a look in a mirror? Just wondering. Simple elegant story that conveyed the weight of childhood helplesness into the adult reader's mind.