The midnight hour swallows the noises of the day. A cool stale breeze stirs. A few wobbles of a ceiling fan. A distance car drives down a suburban street. The moon is taking the night off. Stillness waits to be broken.
Granny pushes the closet door open. Her long bony fingers emerge from the darkness. A small nightlight catches their tips. The creaking of a door sneaking into the room. The six year old is awake, barely. His eyes respond to the sound. The shocks are gone. His darkly visitor returns.
Her gaunt figure cloaked in faded black night gown-esque material, coarse by today’s world. Her pale greenish skin glows faintly. Her sharp feature catch shadows. The shadows deepen the time worn mask she looks out of. The smile she holds is most definitely real. In her hand, a special present for her Bobby.
“Boy, you get up now! We got somethings to do here. I ain’t got all night. Get yourself up.” She regards Bobby. Her eyes fixed until she sees his body sitting upright.
Granny has a circle in her right hand. She releases it into the air. Hovering and spinning about fifteen inches across. Bits of metal slowly flash as it spins. In her other hand appears darts. She releases them to float to Bobby.
Bobby rubs at his sleepy eyes. The darts linger at arms reach. He sees a disk but the room doesn’t offer much detail.
“I can’t see what it is Granny. I need some light.” Bobby adds a little plea to his voice.
“Hush child! You throw them darts. You ain’t supposed to use your eyes. Feel it Bobby! Don’t you feel it! Come on boy! You can do this……Granny needs you to.” Her rough voice starts cold and softens as only a Grandmothers can.
Bobby reaches back and fires a dart. It thumps into an unseen board. Followed by another…and another. The night light flashes into nothingness.
“So what did you hit, boy?!” Granny adds a hiss to the boy .
“But it’s dark!” Bobby protests.
“If I wanted you to use your eyes, it would be daylight! This ain’t no game. What did you hit!” Granny snipers her query.
“Nineteen…..five and…. the black piece in the middle.” A flat little voice complies.
“Now try this.” She snaps
Granny’s sleeve produces a blade. A dark well worn knife. The Hickory handle sanded to the brass rivets by coarse hands. The spine, a black line pointing to its end. It’s 2 inch thick blade has a stabline. Used once or twice. It’s iron core feels cold in a young hand for good reason.
More pieces to Granny
Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 lay below.