Little Men

What is real, and what isn’t? This is a question that I’ve had to ask myself more and more recently. My entire life seems to have become a horror story. As I type this, rain taps the windows, the house moans against the wind, and something scratches from behind the walls.

I may be going crazy.

Who is to say what is real? I mean, molecules and microbes make up the air we breathe every day, and we take for granted that they are real. But have you ever seen one? No? Well, that doesn’t mean they don’t exist, right?

Millions of people believe in a God which they trust exists only through faith. Could all these millions of people be written off as insane because they believe in something that cannot be proved?

Then there’s the small matter of quantum physics. One of our favorite topics. We’ve talked about this before. A field of science so unbelievable that no one seems able to explain how it works. A field of science that may one day prove that there are other dimensions beyond those that man lives.

So what is real?

Let me start from the beginning. It started with the noises. Scratching. Scurrying. I figured we had a rat problem. Rats in the walls. It reminds me of a story I read once, but that’s what we figured. An infestation. Sounds dirty, doesn’t it? The mere word gives me the creepy crawlies: INFESTATION. Whether rats or roaches, it’s never a good word.

The kids started up with stories about little men. Kenny even said he saw one. Kathy heard them whispering under her bed. You know, typical kid stuff. They didn’t say if the little men were elves or leprechauns or gnomes or fairies or what. They just called them “little men.”

“I heard the little men last night.”

“Little men were singing in the wall.”

“I saw a little man in my closet.”

Kids will be kids. You know how they are. They have no grasp of what is real and what isn’t. Remember when you were little and when you went to bed you used to worry about a hand reaching up and grabbing your arm in the dark? You didn’t want to risk looking into the closet because you thought the Boogeyman might be looking back at you, licking his lips in hunger? Silly stuff like that.

But now, I wonder. Maybe they know something we don’t.

I found a boot. One night, I heard something in the hall, scurrying across the hardwood floor. I switched on the hall light, and there it was, sitting in the middle of the hall. A tiny, perfect boot. At first, I figured it came from one of Kenny’s action figures. But it was so detailed, so precise. I couldn’t imagine a toy manufacturer taking so much time to make such a perfect miniature boot. What would be the point? But I just tossed it in Kenny’s toy box and forgot about it.

“Do they want to hurt us, daddy? The little men?” Kenny asked me one day. I just laughed.

This morning, Skip trotted up to me, carrying something in her mouth. I couldn’t tell what she had, so I squatted down, you know, for a closer look. I saw an arm. A tiny arm and hand dangling from Skip’s mouth. A rag doll, I told myself. Then the hand moved. I swear to God, it moved.

I buried it. What the hell else was I supposed to do?

Time to move, I figure. Before things get out of hand. I called pest control today. They’ll be here tomorrow.

Just one problem. The baby is missing. We put him down in the crib this afternoon, and then he wasn’t there. Where could he have gone? Who could have taken him? Wendy and I were here all day.

I sent Wendy and the kids to her sister’s. The police have come and gone. Questions have been asked, and they’ll get back to us if anything turns up. But nothing will. You know how I know? I heard them in the air vent today. The little men.

Alone in the house now, I think I hear a baby crying. My baby. I’ve got an ax, and I’m going to start looking in the walls.

I can’t tell exactly where the crying is coming from, but I will tear down every wall and rip out every floorboard. I am going to get my boy back. No telling how many... hold on...

I hear them whispering now.

Lots of them.