GENTLE WHISPERS IN THE MOONLIGHT

By Larry Stanley

Prologue

When I was a small child, my father took me out to a cemetery. I was not sure why.

As far as I knew, no one from my circle of family or friends had ever died.

At the time, I was around nine years old. It was the summer, and I remember that it

was hot. The air-conditioner in the car was out, and we were both sweating up a

storm.

Even with all the windows down, the air did little more than dry the sweat on us.

Summers were always hot in Eastern Arkansas. Outside the car, I would catch sight

once in a while at the field hands working. I waved to a few of them that I knew

from church, and they waved back. They knew us. They knew daddy real well.

Three times a week he preached the fear of God to them at the small church where he

was pastor. He had been preaching as far back as I could ever remember. I could not

even begin to count the times when I would go to bed and hear him and momma singing

hymns in our big dining room with some of the people from the congregation.

I don't have any idea how many of the people in our community he had baptized, or

prayed over, or had laid hands on.

Yes, our family was known. Like the time when I was real small, and a winter storm knocked out everything for miles around, but daddy went out to

pray over an old lady from the church who had a heart attack, and when he returned

home, he held momma, and they both cried because she had died.

Then a few day's later, just before Christmas, we opened our door, and someone

during the night had left packages of food and gifts on the porch for us.

We were poor, but that never stopped momma and daddy from trying to do their best.

And because of that, they were known and loved.

On the way out, we stopped for sodas at a small store, and as we rode, we drank. And

my father spoke.

I didn't mind. If there was anything in the world I liked it was listening to my

father talk.

During that ride, he told stories, and jokes. He made up songs, and we would sing

them. But when we got to the gate, he stopped talking.

Just inside, he pulled the car to a stop, and stepped out. He motioned me out on his

side, and as I slid across the seat, I saw a look in his eye that I never saw

before.

For a long time, he just held my hand, and we walked. I lost track of how long we

were out there, but I noticed it was getting dark when he set down on a bench and

pulled me down next to him.

I didn't like cemeteries, no matter what was going on, and I suppose it must have

shown.

Daddy put his hand on my head, and asked if I was afraid?

"Yes sir," I replied.

"You don't need to be," he told me."All that's around us is ground with dead bodies

in them."

"I know that daddy," I said."You always said that once we die, we go to heaven or

hell, and our body becomes dust."

He smiled, and said, "That's good. But now is the time for you to know the truth. I

am not a preacher. When I was in the war, I started to read the Bible. When I came

home, I couldn't find a job, so I started to preach in different towns. Atlanta,

Memphis, New Orleans, wherever I was. And it is time now for you to know that I did

it because it was a lot easier than working in the fields, or pumping gas.

"There is no God son. No Jesus to take our sins. No Holy Ghost to help us through

trouble. What's out there is all that man comes to."

"Daddy, I don't understand. What are you saying?"

"This is it," he said as he waved his hand around us. "This is all there is. Paul,

you have to enjoy what is here, because when you die, you die. And you needed to

know the truth. I say what I do to these people because it feeds us, and gives us

some money. That's all there is."

I was taken aback, but I kept on listening to him. He told me how he had never seen

anything to prove to him that God was there, or that there was any after life. He

told me how he and momma had decided that I was old enough to know.

On the way home, I didn't say much. Even when daddy stopped and bought me a Clark

bar and said, "Don't tell your momma about

that, or she would skin me alive."

I just nodded my head and looked out the window.

Momma met us at the door, and looked at me, then asked daddy if he had told me. He

nodded, and they held each other while I went back to my room.

For the rest of the night, I laid in bed, thinking. I wondered how a good man like

my father could lie the way he did. I wondered how come no one had ever found out

before. I prayed, and looked at my Bible, but I found no answer. No comfort.

For weeks after that, all I thought about was what he said. I didn't want to accept

what he said, but at the same time, he was my father, and I wanted to trust him.

At night, I was unable to eat or talk with my parents. I would go up to my room when

I got home and do my homework, and then start reading my Bible.

When my light went off, I spent the night crying, and begging God to talk to me, so

that I could tell my father.

But there was nothing.

What daddy said was true. There was no one else. There was nothing else to live for

after you were dead. You were just dead.

I shut myself off to God, and in part to what my family would say. But, as is the

way of children, I would sometimes forget, and call out to God.

I never got an answer; not then. On Sunday, at church, I watched momma and daddy,

and I joined right in with them.

Time passed, and I grew older. I got taller, a little, and bigger around. My friends

became books and food, and I began to keep to myself, at home and at school.

When I was eleven I told daddy I wanted to be baptized. He asked me why.

"Because when you get baptized, all the kids throw you a party," was my answer.

"You’re learning," was his reply.

In high school, I went out for football, and wrestling. Before every game or match,

I would pray with some of the other guys, but I did it just because they did.

I knew.

Daddy had told me the truth. When you are dead, you are dead.

When I was eighteen, I went away to Memphis State University. Daddy gave me this

beautiful antique silver knife with a heavy silver chain as a going away present.

For me, college was wonderful. For the first time in my life, I had no one to answer

to, no one to report back to anyone from the church about what I did.

Instead of living in a dorm, I got a small room in an old house several blocks from

campus. I never found out who owned it, not in four years of living there.

Twelve or thirteen of us lived there, with the number varying from time to time.

I found a job part time cooking and washing dishes in a small restaurant in the

downtown area, and while it didn't pay much, it did get me most of my meals free.

As I liked to eat, that came in very handy.

Around a week after getting settled in, I came home from work, tired, and very

worried about whether or not what I was doing was right.

Leaving home, working, the same things all eighteen year olds think about. I

stripped off my clothes, grabbed my robe and went to the bathroom.

It was a community bath. We all kept it clean, and left it ready for the next person

when we left. Fine. Someone forgot to fix the lock on the door.

I had my robe off, and was reaching into the shower before I saw her sitting on the

commode.

For a few seconds we just looked at each other. I know I was embarrassed. I like to

think she was.

After what seemed like an hour, I finally spoke. I also closed my eyes, and looked

into the shower. In my most gentlemanly, suave, manner I said, "Uh, I uh um, sorry."

Or something equally charming. I tried to find my robe, and she just sat there,

saying nothing. I opened one eye so I could find my robe, and noticed her smiling.

My robe was on the floor. I had to bend over to get it. I did not want to bend over.

When I realized she was trying not to laugh, I began to try not togrin myself.

"I didn't know the door didn't work," she said. I glanced over and saw that she was

pulling a towel over her, so I quickly reached over and grabbed my robe.

Of course, I was standing on it, and when I pulled it, I almost fell over.

Fortunately, I was able to pull myself up with a minimum of added humiliation.

She stood up, and I could not stop looking at her. She was tall, almost six foot,

with light blonde hair, and hazel eyes. I still don't think she saw me watching.

When she turned her back, my eyes took in her back, down her spine, past her

buttocks, and her long beautiful legs.

She pulled her own robe on, and spoke in a soft, almost musical voice. "If your name

is Paul, I live across the hall from you. I'm Sarah."

I just stood there looking at her, enraptured. I finally stammered out that I was

Paul, and that I was so sorry I walked in on her.

Then, I saw her eyes move down mine, from my face to my chest, to my groin and on to

my feet. Then back up to my groin.

"Too bad you're sorry. You look impressed."

I wanted to die.

As she went out the door, she turned back and looked at me funny.

"You know, you'd look damn good if you lost some weight."

When she left, I sat down. After going from so high, to such a quick low, I really

thought I was going to hurt myself.

After a few minutes, I opened the door, and crept back down to my room. I left the

light off, and pulled my clothes back on.

Then I left the house.

I went to a bar not far away, and for the first time in my life, I tasted liquor.

And I got drunk.

I woke up in the bar’s toilet a few hours later. After I got sick, I worked up the

nerve to try and leave.

I know I got home, but I don't know how. So, in one night, I had seen my first naked

woman, and had my first drunk.

Maybe it's true. Women can drive you to drink.

The rest of my college life was fairly normal. I made a few friends, and some

enemies. I scored fairly well on most of my studies, and began to look forward to

getting out into the "real world".

I saw my family seldom. During holidays, and school breaks, I would stay and study,

or work. For me that was fine.

My mother died just after Christmas break. I stayed in school. I was certain my

father was fine. He had his friends.

During Easter Holiday, I met a girl named Jean. She had started school on a transfer

from Texas. She was attractive, in a demure sort of way.

Long black hair, blue eyes, and a beautiful laugh. That was what caught my interest

first.

We met in a book-store, and wound up arguing over a first edition Heinlein book.

I told her if she would have dinner with me, I would give up the book.

I wanted that book. It was "Glory Road".

She refused, and she laughed. It wasn't a hurtful laugh. It was more playful, and

challenging.

She offered to take me to a movie if I would give up.

It was a James Bond film.

About a week later, I ran into Sarah in the kitchen. I was on my way out to pick up

Jean, but I still walked over to her.

"Hello Sarah", I said.

"Paul! How are you? Long time no see," she said with a smile.

I smiled back, and said, "Listen. I've been thinking a lot about what you said

before; about looking good if I lost weight. Remember?"

She nodded, and said, "I still mean it."

I shook my head and said, "It doesn't matter. See, what you don't understand is that

even if I lost weight, I would still be the same inside. Good or bad. And that is

what is most important, what's inside of us all. That's something for you to think

about."

Sarah looked at me.

"You know, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.

Physically. You are most of the fantasies of men on this campus. On the outside. But

inside, I think you are scared, and hurt. Because if you weren't, that night a long

time ago, I would have looked damn good to you then.

"Sarah," I told her. "You blew it, big time. Cause I am too good for you. It just

took me this long to find out."

I left before she had a chance to reply. I was glad. I don't think I had any courage

left.

Jean and I moved in together about two weeks later. When I was putting my stuff in

the car, I happened to glance up at Sarah's window. She waved good-bye.

So did I.

Five years later, I had a beautiful wife, a wonderful daughter, and a job as an

accountant with one of the bigger firms in Little Rock, Arkansas.

I never went to church anymore. Most of the people who knew us blamed it on the fact

that I had gone away to that "Liberal School" in Memphis. But daddy knew why, and

even though we still had to be the perfect little family in public, we knew. When

you are dead, you are dead.

I was given a chance to take a job with a College in a place called Turlock,

California. It was half way between Sacramento and Fresno.

We found a house in Vanell, about twenty miles north of the school.

Jean and I thought it would be a perfect place to raise our family. Jerri was only

two years old then.

So, I had the American Dream.

I love my father, and my mother. But I was always my father’s son. He always said if

he found evidence of an afterlife, he would start having faith.

And I knew that daddy was right. And there would never be any proof.

My daddy was all I ever had faith in.

I'm sorry I never ate that damn candy bar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Rest of the Story

In the winter, it doesn't snow in the San Joaquin Valley. What we get is fog. Thick

fog, the kind that San Francisco is famous for, but that we get.

Sometimes it is so bad, you can't see more than a few feet past your headlights.

That was the one thing I could never get used to.

My wife loved it. She never drove in it.

I was driving on a two lane road on my way to our house in a small town called

Vanell, just south of Stockton. We had lived here for almost six years, since

leaving Arkansas.

I was born there and so was my daughter, Jerri. My wife was born in Texas, and we

met in school. There are still times I wonder how I got talked into taking a job out

here.

I am not a California guy, and I never liked the Beach Boys, so I have never found

out what was so great here.

The road in front of me was covered in fog. You could hardly see anything. If I

hadn't glanced down at the dash board clock, I don't think I would have noticed the

car off the road.

If I had not seen it, I wonder how things would have turned out.

I pulled off the road as far as I could, and climbed out of the car. When I stepped

in front of my car, I thought I heard someone speaking to me.

Turning up my collar, I tried to see the car that was setting just a few feet off

the road. I went to the passengers side, and opened the door, reached inside the

glove box and pulled out a flashlight.

It didn't help much, but it got me to the side of the car without breaking my neck.

There was no damage to the car. It looked like it had just been parked there, and

left. Then I saw the windshield.

It was shattered. It looked like someone had hit a tree at a hundred miles an hour

and been thrown free of the car.

I moved my light over the ground in front of the car, not wanting to find what I

knew had to be there, but at the same time, drawn by an urge to see it.

When my light hit it, I threw up. It was a man, not much more than a boy. What was

left was lying just in front of the car.

From the waist down, he was naked, and his body was ripped to pieces.

His eyes were open, but I knew he was dead. His head was twisted around to the

point where he was looking at me over the back of

his coat.

I wanted to go to him, but I was froze to the spot. I had no idea what to do.

"It's horrible isn't it?" a voice behind me said. I dropped the flash when I tried

to spin around like Chuck Norris, then I fumbled around like one of the Three

Stooges trying to catch it.

When I calmed down, I was able to get a good look at her. It was just a girl, with

blond hair. She was wearing some sort of light dress. I remember thinking that she

must be freezing.

"We were out for a drive," she told me,"when he slammed on the brakes. I don't know

why he did it. He went through the windshield. I don't know what happened. I just

waited here. I was sure someone would come by. You will help me, won't you?"

For a few seconds, all I saw was her. Not the fog, or the dead guy, nothing.

And she scared me. Which was silly. I am a pretty big guy, and I can look sort of

scary in my own way. But there was a feeling around her, like she was having fun. I

wanted to run, get in my car and drive like hell. I looked at her, and I was scared

half to death, and I watched the rise and fall of her breasts under the fabric of

her dress, and the fog moving around her, and I wanted to touch her.

And I knew that I would do anything she asked me too.

"Why don't we take my car, and go get some help?" I said.

She smiled, and that was when I wanted to pee. "Do you really think we can help

him," and she nodded toward the body.

I didn't want her near me, or in my car, but I couldn't stop myself from opening the

door, and helping her in.

When I got behind the wheel, she laid her left hand on my right thigh, and said,

"I'm so scared. You will help me, won't you Paul?"

"How do you know my name?" I asked her.

She just laughed that laugh again.

I wanted to pull her into my arms, and kiss her. But I also wanted to shove her out

of the car, and get away from her.

But all I could do was drive while she massaged my leg, her hand moving up, closer

to my crotch every moment. I felt like I was on fire.

"What are you doing to me?" I asked her.

"I'm going to show you something you have never seen before. I want you to pull off

the road."

I started watching for a side road, or a wide space, anything she wanted. I could

feel her hand on my fly, pulling it down, and then I felt her pull my shorts aside.

When she leaned over my lap, and closed her mouth around me, I thought I was going

to explode right then. I barely got the car off the road, and into an orchard.

I could feel myself nearing a climax. I wanted to stop myself, but I felt like I did

not have the strength. In my head, I saw light flashing, and heard sounds. I think

they were screams. I think they came from me.

That was when I began to try to get out of the car. I had the door open, but I could

not get her loose from me. I could hear her laugh, and feel it in her throat.

Then she bit me. I screamed again, and this time, she set up. I could see blood on

her lips, and I had to reach down to see if I had been castrated.

She began laughing louder, and saying something to me. I don't know what it was, I

was trying to get out of the seat.

She let me get out of the car, and then she was beside me, holding my wrist.

"You can run, but it won't help. I've tasted your blood. I can find you anywhere.

Then she threw me into a tree. I felt something in my side snap, but I didn't know

what it was. I tried to get up and move, but I couldn't stand.

She was next to me again, and this time she kicked me in the side that was hurting.

"The chase is the fun part," she said, "run. Like the other one. I had just fed on

him when I saw your lights. I threw him through the windshield of the car, and

waited for you. I'm glad. You taste good. I want you to last."

She grabbed me again, and pulled me to my feet. I could see her open mouth coming

towards me, then I felt it clamp into my shoulder, biting through the material of my

clothing.

I screamed again, and hit the side of her head. That was a mistake, since it caused

her to tear a hunk out of me.I stumbled a few feet and looked back at her.

She spit out the cloth, and smiled at me. I watched her pull my flesh from her mouth

with her hand. Through the pain, I wondered how she got those teeth in that small

mouth.

"I hate synthetic fibers", she said. Then she put her hand to her mouth and

swallowed. "But I love a man with meat on his bones."

I tried to run, and stumbled against my car. I could hear her coming up behind me. I

broke off the radio antenna, and turned toward her, slicing the metal through the

air. It was the best I could do. It stunk.

I watched the metal slash into her face, and open it. Then I saw it close, and leave

no mark.

She shook her head. "That didn't hurt. How about this?"

She backhanded me across the hood of my car. My back hit the ground about six or

seven feet the other side. She was waiting for me when I landed.

Her mouth opened and covered mine. I felt her tongue moving in my mouth, and tasted

something vile. I started to gag, and she jerked away just as I vomited. I rolled

over and tried to crawl away, and she yelled at me to run.

I reached my car, and tried to climb behind the wheel. I felt her grab me, and she

was laughing, and shaking her head.

"You can't leave now. I haven't eaten yet."

That was when I saw my brief case lying open in the floor on the passengers side. It

was just lying there. With my letter opener lying there on top of some papers.

I used my father’s knife as a letter opener. What else would I use it for?

She watched me lean over, and she cackled; like an old hen on a farm. I think she

thought I was trying to hide. I think a part of her was right. I wanted to crawl

under the seat, but I couldn't fit, and I don't think it would help.

When I sat up, the light from the dome flashed against the blade, and I saw her

stop.

"What have you got? A knife? Ass. A knife can't hurt me." Then she smiled at me once

more. But this time, it was the smile of the young girl I had first seen.

There were no teeth, no blood. For a second, I set there trying to understand why I

had a knife in my hand, wanting to kill this child in front of me.

"You don't want to hurt me, do you? You don't need to," she said. She raised her

skirt up slowly, moving closer to me.

"You don't need to hurt me. I will do anything you want. I can make your dreams come

true. Come with me Paul."

She was right in front of me, with her hands on my chest, rubbing up against me. She

lifted her face up to mine, and I looked into her eyes, and I screamed.

To this day I don't know what I saw, but it jolted me into action. I shoved my right

hand forward, and felt the blade of my knife enter her chest.

This time, she screamed. As she moved back, I followed. I stumbled along after her,

and sliced at her back as she moved.

Every time I caught flesh, smoke came from that spot. "What's wrong?" I yelled. "I

didn't think I could hurt you, you bitch?"

Suddenly, she stopped, and I was certain it had been a game, that now she would turn

and kill me.

I decided to make the next couple count. I stabbed at her face, and felt the jolt of

contact, and heard her scream of pain. I watched as this time, my weapon opened her

face, and it did not close.

I saw blood and mucus come from the wound. Once more I felt bile rising in my

stomach; but I stabbed again, this time into her chest.

I wanted to cut out her heart, but she raised her arm, so I missed. But I felt the

blade break off in her forearm.

She hit me again, but not as hard. I fell to the ground, watching her running in

circles, holding her arm. Then she stopped beside a tree.

I watched her look at me. I felt her hate, and then she spoke.

"Human bastard. You have done what no one in centuries has been able to do. You have

hurt me. No enemy has cut me, or made me bleed since Napoleon lost at Waterloo. You

have cost me. It will cost you more. I leave this for you."

She grasped her injured hand at the wrist, and bent the elbow back. I heard a dry

crack, the saw her twist the arm.

She threw it at my feet. "I can regrow this. Can you grow back what you will lose?"

Then she looked at the night sky, and was gone.

For a few minutes, I lay on the ground. Then I started laughing.

Whatever she was, I had beaten her. I had driven her away.

I felt like the guy in the movie "Evil Dead". I had beaten the evil, and was safe.

I wondered what she was?

I wondered where she was from, and where she went?

I wondered how she ....knew my name.

My wife.

I was crying as I crawled to my car. Once I pulled my body into the seat, I thought

I was going to pass out. I might have, once. All I could think of were her last

words, and the fact that she knew my name.

I spent a few moments trying to figure out why the door wouldn't close, before I

looked down and saw her arm hanging onto my pants leg.

By this time I was past shock; I just reached down, and pulled it away. Part of my

pants went with it, and I tossed it away from the car.

It took me forty minutes to drive to my house. I was still doing over ninety anyway.

I know I almost caused a wreck in Escalon.

When I got to Venell, I didn't slow down until I was almost home. From two streets

away, I could see the flashing light of the emergency vehicles, and I knew I was too

late.

The house was gone. There was nothing but smoldering ash. Not even the supporting

beams had survived. Our other car in the garage was not even recognizable.

The fire department report said that they had no idea what could have caused that

much heat.

I tried to tell the police about the woman, and the dead man, but I think I passed

out.

I woke up in Stockton, two or three days later. At first I was worried because there

were bars on the windows. I found out later that there were some questions about

everything that had happened.

It took a few days, but the police decided that I had found the body of the dead man, and had a normal reaction, shock. That I had tried to find help, and lost control of my car, which was what caused my injuries.

The dead man was named Manuel, and he had no injuries outside of the broken neck and lacerations to his face when he went through the windshield. They also found lacerations on his groin, but they gave no reason for them.

I thought he was hurt worse than that, but since the body had disappeared, I never got to see it.

They still could not explain what happened at my house.

They went through gas main explosions, drug labs, even the possibility of a meteor. A neighbor out walking a dog swore she saw a ball of fire come out of the sky.

Nor could they explain why I had what appeared to be bite marks on my shoulders, and groin.

Last night, I got out of bed. All I wanted to do was walk around a little bit. Before I opened my door, I could smell the guard outside.

I stood by my door, wanting him to leave or go to sleep, anything. A few moments later, I pulled the door open a crack, and glanced out.

The guard was sitting on the floor, asleep. I went into the hall. I don't like hospitals. Even when Jean had our baby, I tried not to be there a lot.

Now, it was like I could feel everything around me. I could smell medicine, sickness, and most of all, a metallic odor that it took me a few days to figure out.

I made my way through the hallways, and finally got to the main entrance. I guess I was lucky that no one had seen me. I was in enough trouble.

The ground outside was damp, and I could smell the fresh, clean smell of rain. I was having a great time.

Right up until I turned around and Manuel was standing there.

For just a few seconds, we looked at each other. He was smiling. I was shocked. Then I decided I was dreaming.

Manuel said, "Feels wild, huh?"

I shook my head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Come on man," he said, "can't you feel it? Your senses work better. You can feel strength in your arms. You can smell their emotions. Ain’t it great?"

"You’re dead," I told him.

"I know. I just wanted to come and tell you that there was nothing you ever could have done. I found the bitch in a bar, and she turnedme. Never screw around on your old lady, man. You may think AIDS is the worse thing that can happen, then some shit like this hits."

"My wife is dead," I said ,"my little girl".

He nodded his head. "I know man. The bitch wanted you, and you hurt her. She hurt you some more. Let it go, brother. Now, you are part of the family."

"What family," I said, "What are you talking about?"

"Look man. She don't even remember me. It is you she hates. Just go on. Feed, and move around. We all got a lot of time now. You can have more women."

"She murdered my family."

Manuel shook his head, and said, "She didn't murder them. She destroyed them. Just be glad you are still walking."

"I am going to kill her."

He laughed, and it was terrible. "Good luck. But let me ask you a question. How do you kill a Goddess? That bitch has been around for a hell of a long time. You can't kill her. The most you can do is stay away from her."

"Why did you come here?"

"I came by every night since I came back, waiting for you. I wanted to warn you. I guess I have not lost all of my humanity yet. But it won't be long. I like to eat."

For a few seconds, we just stood there. Then he turned and started to move off. "Manuel. If you see her, ask her how that knife felt?"

I heard him laughing as he left.

The next day, I decided I must be dreaming.

But what scares me most of all, and what I haven't talked to anyone about yet, is why the sunlight hurts my eyes. And this morning, I cut myself shaving.

I didn't bleed.