They Come When You Sleep: 16 Tales of Horror and the Supernatural (Stories for Late at Night), page 1
They Come When You Sleep
Jack Finn
Published by arrangement with the author.
Copyright © 2025 by Jack Finn.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
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Contents
They Come When You Sleep
The Feast of Angels
The Heart of the Island
The Tall Man’s Disciple
Bee is for Boy
Three Girls Swinging in a Tree
The Children of Cahokia
The Hunters
Among the Wolves
The Eater is Coming
No Man’s Land
The Last Reaping
The Vineyard
Their Roots Run Deep
Vesuvian’s Day
By the Light of Day
This Is Where We Beg You
Ready for Your Next Creepy Read?
They Come When You Sleep
Katerina turned her head to hide her tears in the straw-filled pillow as she clutched her favorite doll, Sarah, close to her chest. She always tried to be brave for her parents and older sister when they hid in the cellar. The cellar was cold and damp, and she missed her soft bed and warm blankets.
“Hey now, kitty Kat, what’s wrong?” Her father sat on the edge of the bed and ran a gentle hand over her hair.
“I’m fine.” Katerina sniffed, holding back the tears.
“Well, what about Sarah? Is she okay?” He poked softly at the small raggedy doll.
“Sarah is scared.” She rolled over to look at her father’s kind face. “She’s afraid the bad things are going to get her.”
“No, kitty Kat, we’re safe in the cellar. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“How long do we have to keep sleeping in the cellar?”
“Only until it is safe to sleep upstairs in our beds again. But tomorrow, we can go for a walk in the woods together.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair, a habit he had when he felt stressed or worried.
“What if they get into the house?” Her eyes were suddenly wide with fear.
“If they get into the house, Sergio and Andrew are upstairs; they won’t let anything hurt you.”
“But Sergio is just a gardener, and Andrew is an old man.”
“They are good men; they will protect us.” He smiled down at her reassuringly.
“Papa,” Katerina sat up with a concerned look, “I forgot my flower up in my bedroom.”
“It will be okay.” He gently eased her back onto the small bed. “When Sergio comes to check on us, I will ask him to bring it to you.”
“You won’t forget?”
“I won’t forget. I promise.”
“Oh, sweetie, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”
“Because they always come when you sleep, Papa.”
Elena sat on the stairs and watched her husband in the dim candlelight of the cellar as he tried to calm their youngest daughter. Viktor was a good man, a good husband, and a good father. She smiled as she watched him; he looked just as young and handsome as the day they had met so many years ago. A lifetime ago, it seemed, as they sat hiding amongst the shelves of winter preserves and trunks of old clothes in the manor house’s cellar.
Beside her sat her eldest daughter, Petia, staring gloomily at the earthen floor.
“What’s on your mind?” Elena nudged the brooding teen playfully with her elbow.
“I was just thinking about Tatiana.” Petia tried to give a weak smile, but her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, Petty, that won’t happen to you.” She ran a hand soothingly across the girl’s back.
“Mama, she was my best friend, and now she’s gone. She had so many hopes and dreams, and those monsters took her while she slept. No last words. No final thoughts. She went to sleep, and they ended all that she was. Do you remember when Papa brought down that deer last month, and we shared it with Tati’s family? How happy she was that night.”
“I remember. She was a wonderful girl.”
“It’s not fair what happened.” A tear ran down Petia’s cheek.
“No, dear, it’s not.”
“I want to sleep in my bed. I want to go to sleep and not worry that those monsters will take me while I sleep. Or someone that I love.” She ran her thumb over the carved wooden ring on her finger, turning it to see the etched rose in the candlelight.
“You’re worried about Tomas.” Elena smiled at her daughter and hugged her close.
“I just want a life with him, like you and Papa have.”
“You’ll have that, Petia. You and Tomas will have a long life together.”
“Why is the world like this? Why are there monsters like that?” Petia searched her mother’s dark eyes pleadingly.
“Just like we hunt the beasts in the woods, the monsters hunt us.”
“But we hunt the deer to eat; they hunt us for sport.”
“That is why they are monsters.”
“How is Katerina?” Elena looked searchingly into her husband’s eyes; the strength she found there always calmed her.
“She’s resting, but she refuses to go to sleep.” He wrapped his arms around Elena and hugged her.
“Do you blame her?” Elena pressed her head against his chest and held him close; he smelled like elderberry flowers.
“No, of course not. How is Petia holding up?”
“She’s still upset over Tatiana and worried about Tomas.”
“These are dark, sorrowful times.” Viktor kissed his beloved’s forehead. “So much death, so much loss. We need to bring the girls someplace beautiful and peaceful. Do you remember that lake in Iskar Gorge?”
“The one with the waterfall.” Despite all her worry, the memory made Elena smile against his firm chest, feeling safe in his arms. “How can I ever forget our time there?”
“Let’s go back there. Take the children to swim in that lake under the moonlight.”
“We’ll have to wear clothes this time.” She pressed her face into his chest and squeezed him tightly.
A knock on the cellar door rang out, followed by another long knock and four in quick succession. Elena turned in alarm, and Petia stood up from her perch on the stairs and stared at the door.
“Papa?” Katerina sat up in alarm.
“It’s okay, everyone. Calm down. That is our knock code; it’s just Sergio.” Viktor looked at each of them assuredly. “Let me go see what he wants.”
Viktor climbed the aged stairs and unbolted the thick wooden door. He cracked it open and saw Sergio’s dark eyes and bearded face peering at him.
“Mr. Viktor, I’m sorry to disturb you.” His deep, Spanish-accented voice came across in a hushed tone. “Andrew has seen movement in the garden.”
“Thank you for informing me.” Viktor’s countenance visibly showed his worry.
“You have been very good to me and my family. If it’s them, we will do all we can to protect you.”
“I know you will.” A wordless exchange of respect passed between the two men.
“Good luck, Mr. Viktor. May God protect you.”
“I think I’ll leave God with you, Sergio. Take care of yourself and Andrew.” Viktor closed and bolted the door.
He tried to fix his face into a mask of calm as he walked down the stairs to his family.
“Viktor, what did he want?” Elena spoke the words that all of them were thinking.
“It’s fine; it was just Sergio wanting to…” The sounds of a loud crashing noise upstairs cut off his words.
They all stared at the ceiling as a cacophony of noise rang from the floor above them. Breaking glass and banging sounds, followed by a second loud crash.
“They’re through the outside door!” gasped Elena as gunshots echoed from the upstairs rooms.
“Girls, I need you to hide.” Viktor tried to keep the calm in his voice. “Kat, get behind the shelves; Petia hides in the herb storage under the bed.”
Katerina leaped out of bed and ran to the shelving holding the preserves. The space between the shelving and walls was narrow and dark; she hesitated momentarily, thinking of the spiders and creepy crawling things that could be hiding in a place like that. But a banging at the cellar door urged her forward. She wriggled her small body into the tight space until wholly concealed.
“It’s all going to be okay, kitty Kat. I need you to be brave and not make a sound, no matter what happens. Your mother and I love you very much,” Viktor reassured her as he leaned several old, dusty rugs against the side of the shelves to conceal the small opening.
Elena was helping Petia move the bed to access the trap door when the cellar do
“Mama,” Petia said softly and stood straight up, a wooden bolt protruding through her heart and chest.
Elena screamed as her daughter’s eyes rolled upward in her head, and she fell lifelessly onto the bed.
From her hiding place behind the shelves, Katerina peered through a crack and saw dark-cloaked men in hoods running down the stairs, followed by a wild-eyed priest holding a gleaming silver crucifix aloft. Spittle flew from the priest’s lips as he screamed verses in Latin she did not understand.
She watched as her father flew across the room and tackled a man struggling to reload a crossbow in the narrow space. Her father’s strong arms wrapped tight around the man as he sank his elongated canines into the man’s neck. The man screamed and kicked his legs as another hooded man plunged a wooden stake through her father’s back, and his body went limp.
Two men rushed toward her mother, but she quickly batted both men aside, and they landed in crumpled heaps on the floor. She snarled at the priest and flashed her two sharp fangs at him. The priest retreated in terror and raised the silver crucifix. Katerina saw her mother laugh and smack the silver cross from the priest’s outstretched hand. Crossbows releasing their bolts sounded from the top of the stairs, and two wooded shafts flew out of the darkness and embedded themselves in her mother’s chest. She reached one last time for the priest and then collapsed to the floor.
“Father Grigori, help me,” cried the man her father had bitten as he reached out toward the priest.
“He’s been bitten. Kill him,” the priest ordered dispassionately.
“No, please,” the man pleaded as one of the hooded figures stepped forward and thrust a wooden stake into the man’s chest, silencing him.
The priest surveyed the room as the hooded men carried their dead and wounded up the stairs. He kicked at her mother’s corpse and loudly proclaimed, “The Lord’s will has been done!”
Katerina shook with terror and held her mouth closed tight, fearing that she would make a sound and give herself away. She watched as the hooded men sank gleaming silver hooks into her family and dragged them up the stairs like pieces of meat. One of her father’s black shoes came loose and tumbled down the stairs to land on the floor.
She stayed hidden behind the shelves for a long time, trembling and crying. Only when she heard the hoot of a barn owl outside did she feel it was nighttime and safe to go out. Katerina pushed aside the rugs and wriggled out from behind the shelves. She was covered in dust and cobwebs but did not attempt to brush herself off.
Bending down, she picked up her father’s shoe and walked up the cellar stairs and through the shattered remnants of the door. Sergio lay dead in a pool of blood in the house’s foyer, his body riddled with bullet holes. His eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, and she knelt, gently ran her hand over his face, and closed them so he could rest peacefully.
She found kind, old Andrew hanging from the staircase, his hands bound behind his back and a tight noose around his neck. Katerina tried not to look up at his face, choosing instead to remember him as she saw him every evening when she awoke with his wide grin and boisterous laugh.
The house felt strange to her, lacking in the warmth and laughter that used to fill its halls. She walked to her room and retrieved the small flower pot from the window. It was a night-blooming cereus, and its white flower reflected the bright moonlight. She smiled down at the little flower, remembering the day her father had given it to her. With a sad sigh, she placed the little flower pot in the opening of her father’s shoe. She cradled it in her arm and left her room and all its happy memories for the last time.
The night air was cool upon her face as she walked outside. A burned smell filled her nostrils, and she looked sadly at the three scorch marks on the lawn where the sun had turned her family’s bodies to ash. The very place they had all laughed and danced together under the moonlight only a week before. Then her back went rigid, and a shiver of fear ran down her spine as she realized she was not alone in the front yard.
A dark figure stood by the scorch marks with his back to her; the shadows cast by the moonlight had hidden him from sight until her eyes adjusted to the night. Katerina watched as the figure stooped down and laid a single red rose on one of the darkened patches of grass. He cocked his head to the side, sticking his fingers into the scorched grass. Then the figure stood up and stared down into his hand.
Katerina walked silently up behind him and saw that he held a small wooden ring, a rose finely etched on its surface. He sensed her presence and turned, his handsome face a mask of alarm that quickly gave way to relief.
“Katerina, you’re alive.” The man breathed deeply as if he had been holding his breath. “I feared the worst.”
“Tomas.” The little girl collapsed into the man, finally letting herself give in to her grief. “I hid when the monsters came.”
“You’re safe now; I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I’m sorry about Petia.” Her chest heaved with great sobs, the tears streaming down her face. “She loved you so much.”
“I loved her, too. She was my little rose petal.” He looked down at the wooden ring in his palm as a tear slowly escaped his eye.
“I am going to miss them so much.”
“I am, too. Every moment of every day.”
“Will the monsters find us?” She looked up into his face, the streaks of tears on her cheeks glittering in the moonlight.
“No, Katerina, the monsters won’t find us.” He looked down at her and then over at the three scorched patches of grass. “Because we are going to find them first.”
The Feast of Angels
Eleko sat cross-legged on the earthen floor; he held the one-foot-length chain by its middle link and swung it gently over the large square of dark cloth lying flat on the ground. The thin chain consisted of four concave nuts from an Opele tree linked at equidistant intervals down each side. As the village’s Babalawo, their shaman, the divination chain was Eleko’s means of channeling Orunmila, the Yoruba god of wisdom and knowledge.
Across from him, Adagba, the leader of the village’s hunter’s guild, the Egbe Ode, sat cross-legged, watching the chain pendulum over the cloth. Sweat beaded along the forehead of the man’s midnight-black skin, and his dark eyes gazed intermittently from the chain to Eleko, who chanted the sacred Odu of Ifa.
With a flick of his wrist, Eleko cast the string of nuts onto the cloth; it landed in a twisted, snake-like pattern as if a great serpent writhed on the floor. Both men leaned forward and peered intently at the configuration of the chain.
“What does the Opele tell you, Eleko?” The broad, muscular shoulders of the hunter visibly knotted with tension.
Eleko stared at the divination chain; his lips pursed as he studied every twist and turn. The Babalawo blew out a deep breath and sat back, his eyes filled with regret when he finally looked up at the hunter. Adagba met his gaze, searching his face for meaning, his shoulders slumping in resignation.
“It is bad, then.” Adagba got slowly to his feet.
“Yes, it is bad.” Eleko nodded as he looked at the larger man. “Orunmila sees that these Christians will bring grief upon us.”
“Then we must fight.” Adagba slammed his fist into his open palm as he began to pace the floor of Eleko’s simple home.
“Adagba,” Eleko spoke softly. “More villagers join the Christians on their hill outside the village daily. They are abandoning the ways of our ancestors by the lure of this nailed god.”
“Have you seen the market?” Adagba pointed toward the front door, but Eleko knew he meant the village market beyond. “No one sells carvings of the gods anymore. There are no more charms or amulets. Just wooden crosses.”
“All we can do is adhere to the old ways, be there for our people who still believe.” Eleko forced a smile. “This will pass in time. These English holy men will tire of our little village and leave. Our people will return to the gods.”
“No.” Adagba’s eyes blazed with defiance. “I will re-form the Egbe Aro, and we will fight these Christians just like we fought the Oyos in my great-grandfather’s time. I will take the head of the Englishman and place it upon a spike alongside the heads of that traitor Ajayi and the twinnings, Yemisi and Bola.”
