The Midnight Men and Other Stories

Copyright © 2011 by Lee Moan

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These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Lee Moan.

Cover art copyright © 2011 by Lee Moan

The Robinsons were the first to go.

It was the all-pervading purr of a powerful motor engine which dragged me from a deep and blissful sleep. The LED display on my alarm clock said: 12:03. It wasn’t unusual to hear cars on our street at that time of night—people being dropped home after a night out; nightshift workers heading off—but something about the drone of that car whispered to my subconscious. Something was not quite right. I went to the bedroom window and looked down the moonlit street.

The Robinsons lived on the other side of Cedar Road, about four houses down. Sitting in the road outside their front gate was a huge black car, bigger than any car I’d ever seen, the make and model alien to me. The headlights were on full beam, sending twin shafts of white light down the street. A man dressed in a black hat and overcoat stood beside the car, staring up at the Robinson house. I watched the static figure for several minutes, wondering all the time if it was all just a very odd dream, until he reached in through the driver’s window and punched the horn.

“Ben, what is it?”

Sally was sat up in bed, her face washed in moonlight from the gap I’d made in the curtains.

“Dunno, sweetheart,” I said. “Something going on with the Robinsons.”

She came to the window, huddled close to me, the warmth of her body fighting the chill which had seeped into my bones.

Just then, Phil Robinson emerged from the front door of his house, his arms around the shoulders of his three daughters. Shortly after that, Lea Robinson came out, clutching herself, and even from this distance we could see she was crying.

“My God,” Sally said in a hoarse whisper. “Do you think they’re in trouble, Ben?”

“What, like running away from crime lords? That sort of trouble?”

“I can’t imagine any other reason why they’d be leaving in the middle of the night.” Sally chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Ben, I think you should go down and speak to them. Something’s very wrong.”

I was about to protest when we both sensed a presence in the room. It was Caleb, standing in the doorway with his eyes shut.

“Mum, I can’t sleep,” he said, pointing to the window. “Noisy car.”

Sally slipped her arm around his narrow shoulders, and then turned to me with that familiar look: the raised eyebrow, the cocked head.

“All right,” I said, grabbing my dressing gown. “I’m going.”

***

When I stepped out my front door, I found Jed Palmer standing on the porch next door. He was leaning on the rail and smoking one of his unfiltered cigarettes, observing the goings-on up the road with his usual weary expression.

“Hey there, Ben,” he said. “Some weird shit going on at the Robinsons.”

I nodded. “I was just going to go over and see what was up. Fancy the walk?”

Jed took a final drag on his cigarette and then tossed it into the rose bushes. “Let’s mosey,” he said.

We were both wearing our pyjamas, slippers and bathrobes, but found the evening surprisingly warm. The full moon, shining brilliantly in a cloudless sky, lit the street in an eerie silver glow. Despite the steady rumble of the huge car, no one else in the street seemed to be interested in the Robinson’s business. I wondered if we were sticking our oars in where they weren’t wanted.

As we approached down the middle of the road, Jed called out: “Hey, Phil. What’s the rumpus?”

Robinson seemed not to have heard, only turning in our direction when one of his daughters alerted him to our presence with a nudge. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, like he hadn’t slept in days. There was no response to Jed’s probe, not even a friendly acknowledgment.

“Phil,” I said, raising my voice. “Is everything all right, buddy?”

Again he didn’t respond, but his wife stepped up to the picket fence then, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“No, everything is not all right,” she said. She began to sob again, and I realised she wasn’t about to elaborate.

“Lea,” I said, “is there anything we can do to help?”

“No,” she told me, her eyes burning into the side of her husband’s head. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

The man in black opened the rear passenger door and stood back, hands clasped together in front of him like a funeral director, silently urging the Robinsons to climb in.

There was a long pause. None of the Robinsons moved. The youngest girl moaned loudly and hugged her father even tighter than before. Robinson threw a desolate look in his wife’s direction, then raised his chin and began to move towards the car, his daughters clinging to him like limpets.

“Phil!” I cried out. “What’s going on? You’re going to leave just like that?”

He stopped, and looked back.

Jed pointed at the Mercedes-Benz in the driveway of his immaculate house. “What about the Benz?”

Robinson’s eyes flicked over to the gleaming car. “Where we’re going we won’t need it.”

“But Phil,” I protested. “You can’t just up and leave—”

He looked me in the eye then. I’ll always remember that look. The look of a defeated man. “I have to,” he said. “I made the choice.” He kissed the top of his youngest daughter’s head. “For them.”

Before I could quiz him any further, he and his beautiful daughters had vanished into the back of the car. Lea Robinson waited a little longer before succumbing to the same fate. She looked over her shoulder at the house which they had occupied since the year their eldest daughter was born. Then she dropped her head, marched towards the car, and disappeared inside.

Jed and me stood in the street on that balmy evening, and watched the giant car thunder away down Cedar Road. A hundred questions were rolling around in my head, but when I looked at Jed to start voicing them, I realised it was pointless--he had no answers. He was as confused as I was. Without another word between us, we shook our heads and wandered back home to the warmth and safety of our respective beds.

***

By noon the following day, I had almost forgotten the midnight departure of the Robinsons as the chaos of the emergency ward engulfed me. As a triage doctor, the day begins at screaming pitch and escalates from there.

Around noon, I was examining a young man with suspected appendicitis when the curtain of my cubicle was wrenched apart and I found Sally standing in the opening, breathless, trembling, her face drained of colour.

“Sally? What’s up?” I said.

“It’s Caleb,” she explained, her eyes filling with tears. “He’s been stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” At the sound of that word, an icy claw closed around my heart. “Jesus, is he okay?” I was out of the cubicle before the young patient could protest. We hurried down the emergency ward, Sally sobbing uncontrollably, unable to speak. When we reached my son’s cubicle, I had to pause. The fear in my heart at what I might find when I pulled back that curtain was overwhelming. I drew in a deep lungful of air, and went in.

Caleb was lying unconscious on his back, his face as white as bone, his forehead slick with sweat; large swatches of blood dappled his crisp white school shirt. On a daily basis, I see every possible type of mortal wound, every facet of human suffering, and yet the sight of just a few drops of blood on my son’s clothing almost tipped me over the edge.

Nurse Andrews was at his side, and she must have seen the naked terror in my eyes because she put a reassuring arm on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Ben,” she whispered. “It looks worse than it is. I’ve dressed the wounds. They’re only surface scratches, really. He was lucky.”

Still numb with shock, I stared down at my son.

“Thanks, Kathy,” I said. “I’ll take over. There’s a guy in cubicle four who might need some assistance.”

Nurse Andrews nodded and slipped away.

Sally appeared on the other side of the bed, Caleb’s hand clasped tight within her own.

“What happened?” I asked.

Sally palmed the tears from her face and sighed. “Apparently, Darren Hawkins went on a robbing spree at school--money, cell phones, iPods. Caleb refused to hand over his phone and Hawkins pulled a knife on him.”

“Little bastard,” I whispered. “Where’s Hawkins now?”

“They arrested him after he attacked Caleb. Principal Tolkan suspected he was high on something.” She shook her head in despair. “Can you believe it, Ben? Kids robbing kids, kids on drugs, kids carrying knives in the schoolyard. This is junior high, for Christ’s sake.”

Caleb stirred at the sound of his mother’s raised voice. After studying our faces through bleary eyes, he managed a weak smile.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered. “How’re you feeling?”

His brave smile disappeared and tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes. “Hurts,” he said.

I lifted his shirt and carefully unpeeled the dressing Nurse Andrews had placed over his torso. Two long gashes ran across his lower abdomen, both still oozing blood. But on close inspection I decided the nurse was right--they would heal in no time.

“You’ll be okay,” I told him. “I think we can save the six-pack.”

He managed a smile.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said. “I bet you think I’m a wimp.”

“A wimp?” I said. “Why would I think that? I’m proud of you for standing up to that guy. So proud.”

“Me, too,” Sally added.

“Where were your friends in all this?” I asked. “Weren’t the Paisley twins with you?”

Caleb looked up at me with his big brown eyes. “They’ve left.”

“Left? What do you mean?”

“They weren’t at school yesterday. And I heard that their house is empty. It’s really weird, Dad. No one knows where the Paisleys have gone.”

I thought of the Robinsons then, and a cold finger ran down my spine.

***

Two nights later, I was jostled from sleep by a hand on my shoulder. When my eyes unglued themselves, I found Caleb’s worried face inches from my own.

“Dad,” he whispered, “the car’s back again,”

I listened for a few moments, and sure enough, I heard the strange alien purr of its engine on the street outside— sounding much closer than before. Heart in my throat, I clambered over to the window. It was on our side of the street, outside Ted’s house. That solitary dark figure was looking up at my best friend’s bedroom window.

I had to get down there.

I checked the alarm clock. 12:03. Sally had pulled a double-shift at the hospital and was still deep in sleep. I shook her roughly as I pulled on my bathrobe.

“Sally, look after Caleb. I’ve got to go outside.”

When I burst out of my front door, I found Ted and his wife Alice walking down their garden path. Ted was dressed, and had a bundle of spare clothes under one arm. Alice, however, was still in her nightdress, and she was pulling at her husband, trying to make him stop.

“Ted!” I called. “Where are you going?”

He stopped halfway down the path and looked at me. His cool grey eyes— always so bright, so fearless— now seemed shadowed, and he could barely meet my gaze. The last time I’d spoken to him was the previous evening. He’d seemed fine, his usual jocular self. What had happened since then?