They Come by Night by Tinnean Page A

turned fourteen! I’ll hunt down every monster I can find, including the thing that destroyed our family!” They didn’t need to know that as of yet he’d been unsuccessful. Grandfather had been furious that no matter how close they’d come, they had all been unsuccessful. And then one by one their uncles had died, and now Grandfather….
    “Matthew.” Bethany rested her palm on his shoulder. Her eyes—the dark gray similar to their mother’s and yet so unlike it—stared into his, but didn’t seem to see him. He wanted to shrug off her touch, but something held him still. “Our youngest brother is not the fiend you think him. If you try to hurt him, it won’t go well with you.”
    “What, are you the Oracle now?” he scoffed, finally freeing himself. “Go back to your life and leave me to mine.”
    “And what is that, Matthew?” Sarah asked softly.
    He glared at her. “I’ll follow in the path Grandfather showed me.”
    “Matt—”
    “ Go , I said! You’re no longer my brother or sisters!”
    The three of them faced him, their expressions filled with regret. “Remember, we love you.”
    “I….” What could he say? I don’t care? I love you too? In the end he said nothing.
    They turned and left the reposing room, and Matthew stared after them, his fists clenched so tightly it became painful. He opened his hands and stared down at the half-moon marks left in his palms.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Crist.”
    He drew in a breath and let it out slowly before turning to face the mortician. “Yes?”
    “It’s time to close the casket.”
    “Do it.”
     
     
    M ATTHEW WAS the only one at the gravesite. Not even the cousins Grandfather had chosen for Sarah and Bethany had come. Had they abandoned Grandfather’s beliefs, or had they met a more dire fate?
    He looked around and shivered. The sky was beginning to darken, although it wasn’t that late, and the air had grown chilly.
    There was nothing for him to do but go home, but he couldn’t. To that spare, empty house, made even emptier now Grandfather was gone?
    No. He’d stop at Donnelly’s and have a drink or two, in memory of his beloved grandfather.
    Tomorrow would be soon enough to begin planning to find that monster.
    And when he did, he’d destroy it so horrifically it would wish it had never been born.
     
     
    II
     
    I T WAS Halloween.
    Larry Donnelly, owner and night bartender of Donnelly’s Pub, was a big fan of the holiday. He had a humongous rubber ghoul hanging from the ceiling, the cutout of a witch on the door to the ladies’ room and a warlock on the men’s room door, a string of pumpkin lights outlining the mirror behind the bar, and orange and black napkins. His black cat, Submarine, wore a tiny pirate hat and was given free access to the establishment on that day.
    Larry himself was outfitted in his standard pirate costume, with a patch over one eye, a glove with a plastic hook for his left hand—which he had to remove whenever he had to mix drinks—thigh-high boots, and a gaudy shirt unbuttoned to reveal a buff, hairy chest, which, unfortunately, was part of the shirt.
    And he always loved it when customers came to his bar in costume also, especially when the straight guys came in dressed as gals. They’d be wearing sweaters over their sisters’ prom dresses or their wives’ bridesmaid’s gowns because they were too brawny through the shoulders to do up the back. Everyone got a good laugh out of it, and the straight guys got to feel daring.
    Now Larry looked up as the door to his bar opened. “Ahoy, matey!” A ready smile was on his face.
    It dimmed perceptibly when he realized who his latest patron was.
    Matt Crist was an okay enough guy, but he was a maudlin drunk who had a tendency to go on and on about how miserable his family life was, all due to the brother who caused the family to break apart.
    Larry didn’t understand it—hell, he didn’t have to understand it; listening was part of his job—but he was getting