Vignette: From the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal. 1896

Fred Banbery from "Alfred Hitchcock's Haunted Houseful."

“…These Berbalangs are ghouls and must eat human flesh occasionally or they would die. You can always tell them, because the pupils of their eyes are not round, but just narrow slits like those of a cat. They dig open the graves and eat the entrails of the corpses; but in Cagayan the supply is limited, so when they feel the craving for a feed of human flesh they go away into the grass, and, having carefully hidden their bodies, hold their breath and fall into a trance. Their astral bodies are then liberated.... They fly away, and entering a house they enter into the body of one of the occupants and feed on their entrails..... The Berbalangs may be heard coming, as they make a moaning noise which is loud at a distance and dies away to a feeble moan as they approach. When they are near you the sound of their wings may be heard and the flashing lights of their eyes can be seen like dancing fire-flies in the dark…”

The Tracks, 1966, pt. 1

VIA Train by Kermit Geary Jr.

I was warned not to play on the train tracks, so, naturally, I was there all the time. It was a great place to explore alone and I was always alone.

The best spot along the tracks was the black, wrought-iron bridge for the signal lights, which arched over both the eastbound and westbound lanes. It had a metal ladder along one side, which I was able to climb, and, lying flat-out on the catwalk, I had a birds-eye view in all directions. I tried to find courage to lie there when a train passed below, but I would always chicken out as soon as I saw the flash of a headlight on the horizon.

I was always alone, so there was no one around to laugh at me, so I didn’t care.

I also liked to walk the tracks, heading west towards the Fourth Line, out past the factories, where the farmer’s fields were. Nobody was around, nobody could see me, and so nobody was going to bug me.

One day I found a dead dog lying beside the tracks; its head had been ripped off and the brown fir was covered with hordes of flies (I could actually hear them buzzing before I saw them, saw the body). I didn’t cry – it wasn’t my dog – and I wasn’t afraid either, I just looked.

But one time I saw something else. I had to take a piss, so I went down the embankment, into the tall grass where I was invisible. I had just got out of sight of the tracks when I saw her.

She was lying on her back, like she was dead or something, but what really shocked me was the gaping hole at the end of her neck, where the head should have been; she was headless, like the dead dog I had seen that time. Her skin was snow white too, like she’d lost all her blood.

Yet she was still living. I couldn’t see her chest moving up and down, so she didn’t appear to be breathing, but, I knew she wasn’t dead – I was pretty sure I knew what she was.

I did know what she was.

I thought I’d better get the heck out of there, but then I saw the purse.

I knew I shouldn’t do it, that it was wrong to steal, but since the old man died I didn’t get an allowance or anything like that and there it was and I opened it. I took $11 in bills (one five, two twos, two ones) and $1.40 in change, closed it and put it down where I found it. There was stuff in there with her name on it; Kathleen, but with an Italian last name.

I peeled away from there pretty fast and I didn’t look back.

When I got back to the plaza, I thought about going to the Variety store and using my loot to buy some comics or a Monster Mag, but how would I explain them at home? We only had a small apartment, so Mom was bound to find them and then start asking questions

So I settled instead for some Bar-B-Q chips and some Sweet Tarts. I hid the rest of the money in the hidey hole at the bottom of the stairwell.

Nobody knew what I did, but I still didn’t feel good about it.

The Tracks, 1966, pt. 2

The bowling alley was in the Plaza across the street from our apartment building – and right next to the train tracks. Mom was on a team that bowled every Tuesday night at eight and, as I was a big boy now, she thought it was okay to leave me home alone, with strict instructions to be in bed with the lights out at 8:30.

But Mom was never home much before half-past nine, so...

Not that I did anything too bad; I was just a kid. But I liked to read (my favorite were animal books) so I’d lie on my bed in my pjs. (my Star Trek ones) and read with the bedside lamp on, rather than hiding under the blanket with a flashlight.

But this particular Tuesday was the day I’d stol…found the money and I didn’t feel like reading; all I felt like doing was going to sleep, but I was afraid to turn the light off and be lying there, thinking about what I had done. I was glad, at least, that the bedroom drapes were shut tight.

In the end, I decided to go to bed, but leave the light on. I knew Mom would be angry when she came home and found the lamp still burning, but I figured my being asleep would curb her wrath (or so I hoped).

So I lay there, waiting for sleep to come – and it wouldn’t. All I could think of was the lady’s headless body and the money, safely tucked away in the hidey hole.

I had been lying there for a short time when I thought I heard something bump against the window.

“Must be the wind,” I told myself.

But I don’t think I really believed it.

A few moments later, I heard something bump the window again, followed very shortly by a gentle sound, which reminded me of the slight noise made by a hand when touching the glass. I heard nothing more but I had the sense something – or someone – was pressing against the pane.

Now I was really glad the drapes were shut and that I had resisted any temptation to open them.

I got out of bed very slowly, trying to keep the bed from creaking and, stepping softly across the hardwood floor in my bare feet, moved over the curtains and listened.

Something was out there, I was sure of it, up close to the window and trying to see in – and get into – the room. I listened intently, trying to hear over the thundering of my heart and the hissing of the traffic on Kerr Street; I thought I could hear something, like a soft voice whispering or murmuring in sleep, but I couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t even tell if they were in English.

For a wild moment, I thought about tearing open the curtains, to see what, if anything was out there…but in the end, I decided I really didn’t want to know.

Instead I crept back into bed and turned off the bedside lamp and lay still in the dark, as still as I could be.

When I woke up, it was to find someone – Mom when she came back from bowling—had pulled back the bedroom curtains…but hadn’t opened the window to let in a breath of air.

Luckily for me.

The woman had a small head, a slim face with a pointed nose and long, stringy black hair; her skin was pale, almost ghostly. But her eyes are what captivated me as I lay frozen in my bed; wide, almost bulging and glowing a pronounced red. Her lips were a thin slash and they appeared to be moving, so maybe she really was speaking, really was cursing me out. I quickly shut my eyes and lay as still as I could, pretending to sleep and hoping she would just go away.

I heard quick, light steps outside my bedroom door and then Mom was in the room in her nightie, bending over me and softly asking “Are you asleep.”

I lay there deathly quiet, so quiet I almost forgot to breathe. Mom just stood there looking down at me and, after about a minute, she left the room.

I half-opened my eyes and looked at the window – nothing there. As quickly and as noiselessly as I could, I got out of bed and went and closed the drapes.

I was soon back to sleep but in the end wished I had somehow managed to stay awake.