THE BLAJINI NEXT-DOOR
by Dempsey Wilson
Several days had gone by since Horton last caught his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw this morning gave him pause. As he raised his head from the bathroom sink, he came face to face with his own sickly visage. His long, tangled black hair was twisted up in a series of rats-nests, framing his gaunt, pale face. His once sparkling blue eyes were now dull and sunken—scared-looking. He knew he was sick, but his illness wasn’t the cause of his trepidation. After all, he had recently figured out that a Blajini lived next door.
His mother, Rona, thought her son was simply overreacting. She insisted that the neighbors, Petru and Mircea cel Rau, along with their teenage son, Stefan, were completely normal people. She explained that they just seemed a bit odd, because they were foreign immigrants from Romania.
Rona Louderfink had quickly made friends with Mrs. cel Rau shortly after they moved in next-door several months back. She noticed their son was very small for his age and had red, patchy skin. He often wore a terry-cloth robe around the house, with the hood pulled over his head, and he almost never went outside.
The one time Mrs. Louderfink saw Stefan’s face, she recoiled in revulsion. The young boy’s face was wrinkled and covered with angry red boils. His eyes were a milky-white, due to the juvenile cataracts. His teeth looked rotten and twisted, as did his fingernails. After apologizing all over herself for no less than thirty minutes, Rona embarrassedly exited the cel Rau home.
Several days later, when Rona had mustered sufficient courage to return to her neighbor’s home, Mircea cel Rau was kind enough to explain her son’s condition. She called it Rothmund Thomson Syndrome, and said her son was born with the affliction. The disorder caused his skin condition, the cataracts, his deformed teeth and fingernails, as well as the skeletal dysplasias, which kept him very small and frail. She also explained that the disease made her son very susceptible to harm from exposure to sunlight, which is why he rarely went outdoors.
It was on one of those rare occasions that Horton Louderfink happened to catch a glimpse of Stefan, while in the back yard with his mother. To Horton, the sickly boy looked like a dwarf. The too-large terry-cloth robe he wore drug on the ground behind him as he shambled across the yard. The hood was pulled up over Stefan’s head, so Horton could not see his face. Though he knew that staring was rude, Horton couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from his diseased neighbor.
After fifteen minutes or so, Mrs. cel Rau beckoned her son to come back inside. Horton watched intently as the teen made his way to the back porch, which was covered by a brightly colored awning. When Stefan reached the covered porch, he removed the hood and looked over at Horton.
Squinting and using one hand as a sun-shield, Horton strained his eyes to see the boy’s face. The porch was well shaded, but a clear silhouette could be seen. Horton gasped and took several clumsy steps backward, almost tripping over one of his mom’s potted plants.
“What the hell?” Horton said aloud, but to himself. “Can’t be.”
His eyes had clearly seen the outline of a rat’s head: the ears, the whiskers--no mistaking it. When the kid turned and went into his house, Horton saw his profile, which revealed an elongated nose and jaw line.
Horton walked back inside the house, trying to decide if he’d hallucinated, or actually seen what he thought he had. The confused look caught his mother’s attention as she passed by on her way to the kitchen.
“What’s the matter, Horton?” she asked. Her heavily made-up face cracking with concern. Horton sometimes suffered episodes related to his mental illness, so she kept a close eye on his disposition.
Horton snapped out of his reverie and looked at his mother. “Nothin’ ma, it’s just bright outside...and then coming back inside, it...” He made a show of rubbing his eyes, and then blinked several times.
Rona’s concerned expression slackened in relief. “I understand, dear,” she said, and then scurried of to the kitchen.
Horton considered telling his mother about the neighbor kid, but decided against it. She would only think he was having an episode, as she put it, and would likely make him go to the shrink twice a week, instead of just once. He hated his therapy sessions with Dr. Prouse, and never felt comfortable around the man. He had diagnosed Horton as being paranoid schizophrenic. Not dangerous, but sometimes delusional.
Determined to find out if he was, indeed, hallucinating, Horton retrieved his binoculars from his bedroom closet and set up a surveillance post at the window in his room. His curtains were very thin, almost transparent, but would still hide his presence from those looking in from the outside. He sat motionless for four hours, waiting for the neighbor kid to come back outside. He didn’t.
Eventually, his mother called him down for dinner, forcing him from his vantage point. The meal was silent and awkward, with Horton playing with his food more than eating it.
After shoveling enough down to satisfy his mother, Horton returned to his room and resumed his investigation. He sat there for several more hours, before turning to his computer. He knew his neighbors were Romanians, and so he could do a little research to help quench his curiosity...
It wasn’t long before he came across precisely what he was looking for. He had typed “Romanian Mythology” into his computer’s search engine, which quickly brought him to a very interesting page. He read greedily, trying to stifle the occasional “ah ha!” as he found pertinent information. Now he was convinced. Now he knew for sure that his next-door neighbor was a creature known as a Blajini. He may even have enough to convince his mother of the truth, but not yet. Perhaps he could get some photos of the creature first, and then let his mom in on it. With photographic proof, she could not deny it.
For the next week, Horton stayed close to his bedroom window, camera in hand. His efforts were fruitless, as the neighbor kid did not come back outside. His mother became more and more suspicious of his activities, asking him many times why he suddenly wanted to be in his room all day and night? Horton pacified her each time, assuring her that he was just busy doing research on the computer, and would be done soon enough.
At the end of the third day of surveillance, Horton decided to do a little more digging, so he logged onto the internet and began researching his neighbor’s last name: cel Rau. This only urged him to delve deeper into his delusion, as he discovered the name, cel Rau, meant The Evil.
“That’s it!” Horton exclaimed. “It all makes sense, doesn’t it!”
He spent the rest of that week preparing the evidence to present to his mother. She would have no choice but to believe him. With all of this evidence, the truth could not be denied.
On the morning of the seventh day, after being surprised by his own gaunt visage in the bathroom mirror, Horton began presenting his findings to his mother at breakfast.
Immediately, Rona paled under her make-up and tried to dissuade her son, telling him he just had an overactive imagination. That such things did not exist, and that he should be ashamed of himself for even thinking such silly thoughts.
Horton protested vehemently, “It’s true, mom! Look at this paper I printed out! It says right here that the ancient Romanians believed the world to be disc-like, and that a race of beings, the Blajini, lived on the opposite side.”
Rona shook her head, a look of disbelief on her face. "Horton, the world is round--"
Horton continued, “The Romanians said they thought the Blajini were good. The name, in fact, means The Kindly Ones, but they are also said to be evil.”
Still pallid, Rona just stared at her son, unsure what to say.
“They are described as being anthropomorphic,” he went on, “very short, and sometimes have the head of a rat or other animal.” A sinister scowl appeared on Horton’s face. “The kid next door...has the head of a rat, I saw it for myself! I tried to get pictures, but he never came back outside. I think they know I saw him, though...in his true form, so I have to watch out.”
“I think we need to go and see Dr. Prouse,” said Rona. “You have been taking your medication, right?”
Horton threw his arms up in disapproval. “Of course I have, mom.” Point of fact, he hadn’t been. He didn’t like the way the drugs made him feel, so he'd simply stopped taking them. “I’m not crazy! There’s even a biblical reference to these creatures!”
That got Rona’s attention. “What biblical reference?”
Horton slid another piece of paper across the table, holding his index finger on one particular paragraph. “It says right there that Moses saw the Blajini, who lived alongside humans, as being oppressive to his people. He saw them for what they truly are: pure evil! He parted the waters, and after getting his people to safety, he let the waters fall back down upon the Blajini, sending them to their current abode.”
Rona gazed at her son for several long moments, almost seeming to entertain the idea for a brief time. Then she shook her head and tried once again to assure Horton he was imagining things. “Let it go, Horton,” she had said. But he could not do that. He was fairly sure the neighbors knew he was onto them, and would likely come after him. Come after him to shut him up, to keep their secret safe.
Not if I get to them first, he thought. They’re evil, and evil must be destroyed!
That night, Horton began to make his plan. He would have to act soon, convinced the neighbors knew that he was privy to their secret.
Though he researched the topic for six hours straight, he couldn’t seem to find any proven methods of killing a Blajini. Moses had gotten rid of them, but he was touched with the power of God. Horton was only touched by insanity. He began to feel powerless.
By noon the next day, Horton realized he must take care of the threat the old fashioned way. He would wait until late that night, creep into the cel Rau home, and kill the abomination. His only weapon was an old army-issue bayonet that once belonged to his father, who had survived two tours of duty in the second Iraqi war, only to die by his own hand a month after returning home. That was five years ago, when Horton was just thirteen. The event traumatized young Horton beyond repair, claimed Dr. Prouse, triggering his current psychosis.
If not me, then who? Horton reasoned to himself, If not now, when?
He retrieved his father’s bayonet from its hiding spot, atop the highest shelf in his closet. He had to keep it where his mother could not find it. If she knew Horton had the sizable blade, she would no doubt freak out and take it away.
First, he sat on the edge of his bed, going over the plan in his head. Unconsciously, he tapped the formidable blade on the palm of his hand, rhythmically. Soon he was up and pacing the length of his room, still tapping the blade against his palm.
“I have to do something about this,” he said, pacing faster with each step. “Dad would want me to. He wouldn’t just let an evil creature live next-door, he’d do something about it...” He cut himself off, noticing how loud he was talking. If his mother heard him jabbering away up there, she would surely come and investigate. She was bound to walk in at any time, so Horton hid the knife beneath his pillow and returned to his chair by the window.
The afternoon gave way to evening, as the sun retreated behind the western mountains. Twilight’s shadow fell across the small town bit by bit, until it swallowed it entirely. Horton sat in his chair, unmoving and completely focused, watching the darkness overtake the world. Though he didn’t feel it, a darkness was creeping into him, too; sealing his soul, covering his heart in a blackened, emotionless shroud.
Darkness was never one of Horton’s favorite things in life. He was deathly scared of it as a child, and had never completely gotten over that irrational fear. This time, however, the darkness would be his friend. It would cover his advance as he closed the gap between his house and the cel Rau’s. No one would see him coming or going.
Unable to coax Horton downstairs to eat dinner, his mother brought a plate of food up to his room. He took it, smiling as he did so. It was important to keep up appearances. He couldn’t risk her finding out what he was up to. She wouldn’t understand. He set the plate of food on his dresser, and that’s where it stayed.
Ten o’ clock rolled around, and Horton distinctly heard his mother’s bedroom door shut. Ever the early-riser, she was always up at the crack of dawn, and fast asleep shortly after ten, just like clockwork, every day.
He waited patiently until two am, and then crept out of his room and down the stairs, bayonet in hand. The soft light in the foyer glinted off the faded, somewhat rusty blade, casting a weak reflection on Horton’s pale cheek.
With great care, he opened the foyer closet and retrieved a pair of his mother’s gardening gloves. He mustn’t leave fingerprints, or any other kinds of evidence behind, nothing that would lead back to him. This had to be done right. In and out, quick and silent, just like his dad would do.
Quietly, he unlocked and opened the front door, stepped out onto the porch, and closed the door behind him. His heart pounded in his chest like a thunderous metronome. He gripped the handle of the bayonet and crossed his yard into the cel Rau’s.
With cat-like stealth, Horton crept up to the large window on the front of the modest home and peeked in. It was very dark inside, but he could make out the silhouette of a couch and two recliners, all backlit by a weak light coming from the adjacent hallway. Nothing stirred.
Horton slunk around the side of the house, peeking in windows as he went. He wasn’t sure which window was the kid’s, so he had to check each one. When he reached the back end of the cel Rau home, he noticed a soft glow coming from one of the three windows. Ducking down, Horton low-crawled his way up to the window, slowly raising his head to peer through.
Lying in separate beds, both sound asleep, Petru and Mircea cel Rau rested peacefully. Their bedroom door stood ajar, letting in the hall light.
Ducking down again, Horton made his way to the next window. The door to this room was closed almost all the way, so he couldn’t see well enough to know if it was the kid/creature’s room or not. He turned away from the window and crouched down, thinking hard.
After a few moments of deep thought, he realized he would have to just go into the home and find the monster by process of elimination. Of course, he would have to kill the parents, too, but he wanted to destroy the Blajini first.
Noiselessly, Horton stole onto the back porch, where he’d seen the kid for what he really was, and turned the knob on the door. It was unlocked. It was meant to be, thought Horton. This door was unlocked for a reason.
Which meant that this was real, and not a delusion...
Horton released a wavering sigh that, until now, he hadn't realized he was holding.
He stepped into the darkened home, closing the door behind him, but not all the way. Soundlessly, he crossed the kitchen into the living room. To his right was a hallway. He paused momentarily, and then began moving down the hall. The first door on his left stood wide open, so he knew that was the parent’s bedroom. He pressed himself up against the wall and slowly poked his head into the room. Mr. And Mrs. cel Rau lay unmoving, deeply asleep. Horton grinned sycophantically.
He continued down the hall. The next door was on his right and was closed completely. Probably the bathroom, thought Horton, moving past it. At the end of the hallway, a door on the left side barely stood open crack. Must be it, he thought.
Up until now, Horton had been holding the bayonet so the blade pointed upward. Now he turned the handle over in his hand, making the large blade point straight down for maximum stabbing power. He slid up to the door and put his free hand on it.
Gently, he pushed the door open, allowing the light from the hallway to spill into the room. There sat Stefan on his bed, as if waiting for Horton to come in. His robe was pulled tight around him, with the hood covering his entire head. Horton took two steps toward him, but stopped cold when Stefan suddenly jumped down from his bed--and quite fast for a child so ill.
“I know what you are,” said Horton, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.
“What am I, Horton?” came an inhuman voice from beneath the hood.
“A Blajini...you’re a Blajini! I did my research...I know what you really are!” The hand holding the bayonet began to shake uncontrollably. “Evil is what you are,” continued Horton, his voice getting louder and louder. “And I’m here to kill you--you and your evil parents.”
With blurring speed, Stefan reached up and removed his hood. His furry ears stood straight up, and his whiskers twitched with anticipation. He grinned wide, displaying several rows of jagged, razor-like teeth.
Horton reflexively drew back, holding the large blade to his chest. Right before his eyes, Stefan’s head metamorphosed from a rat’s to the arrow-shaped head of a giant serpent. Its forked tongue flicked about, tasting the air; tasting Horton’s scent. Just as quickly, the serpent head morphed into that of a jaguar. Its emerald eyes bore down on Horton’s. He couldn’t move. He felt rooted to the spot. Unreasoning fear had now overtaken his mind completely.
Unable to acknowledge anything, save for the horror standing before him, Horton did not notice the figure move in behind him, casting a shadow on the floor next to his. Suddenly, he felt a jolt to the back of his head, saw a bright light in front of his eyes, felt a warm blurt of liquid streaming down the back of his neck. A second later, he flopped to the floor. His arms and legs drummed spasmodically on the polished wood floor, as his blood made an ever-expanding pool around him.
Petru cel Rau rushed into the room and knelt beside Stefan. “Are you harmed, master?”
Once again, Stefan’s face twisted into the sharp features of a rat’s, and he said, “No harm has come to me, child. Dispose of the interloper and clean its blood from the floor. Do it now.”
As you wish, oh wise master.” Petru gave a curt bow, removed the hatchet from the back of Horton’s head, and then immediately began dragging his lifeless corpse out of the room and down the hall.
A moment later, Mircea appeared in the doorway. She looked confused and upset. “How did he know about you, master?”
Stefan merely shrugged, and then returned to his bed.
“We will have to move again. You do realize that, don’t you?”
Stefan nodded. “I do, child, but it is of no consequence. There is nothing more for us here. Now go help Petru. It will be daylight soon.”
Mircea nodded, bowed to her master, and then hurried out of the room to help her brother dispose of Horton’s body.
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