Mr Danver

 

I hadn’t thought about it until last week, but it seems to have snowballed into something that’s gotten out of control.

I was looking through some photos while helping my mother move when I saw him for the first time in fifteen years. Dad had passed away a few months ago, and mom was just starting to clean out some of his things. The picture had been taken at a birthday party, my ninth birthday party, and it showed my friends and I standing in front of the house and smiling as my mom took the picture. There were about nine of us, all wearing party hats with ice cream mustaches under our noses, but the happy faces of my friends and I weren’t what had caught my eye.
 

It was the gaunt man standing in the window of the living room.
 

The one looking out at us with the empty black eyes and the sinister little smile.
 

A man who had haunted my childhood, though I had never quite believed in him after the age of twelve.
 

Mr. Danver, a specter that my late father had brought to life.
 

I remember the first time I ever heard of Mr. Danver, and the memory made my skin crawl. It wasn't scary because of what I had been told, but because of the unwilling way that my father had shared it. I was five and we were getting ready to go to preschool. I hadn't slept well the night before and I was cranky as I sat at the table and picked at my breakfast. I was wearing half my school clothes, one sock, no shoes, and I was so far from being ready that when my father saw me, you could just tell he knew we were going to be late.
 

“Come on, kiddo. We need to get a move on. Finish your breakfast, get your clothes on, find your shoes, and let's get on the road.”
 

I don't even remember what I said to him, something snarky and grumpy, and when he turned back to me, he spoke before he had quite made up his mind to.
 

“You better hurry and get ready before Mr. Danver comes to get you.”
 

The silence that hung after that statement was enough to make me turn my head to look at him, and that's why I saw him when he slowly put a hand over his mouth. He was looking at me like he'd just sworn and he was afraid I would start repeating it. He seemed terrified by the notion of what might suddenly come out of my mouth.
 

“Who's Mr. Danver?” I asked, and that seemed to seal the deal.
 

Dad went rigid, not all at once but slowly like something petrifying. His eyes stared out at nothing, his mouth opening a little bit as he gasped slightly. His body seemed to be trying to fight whatever was going on and failing, his mind railing against the inevitable. He looked like a landed fish, something struggling to breathe even as it struggled with the hook that had pulled it from the waters of life, and when I asked the question a second time, the hook seemed to find its anchor and he stopped fighting.
 

He comes for bad kids, naughty kids, and kid who don't listen.
He finds where they hide, and they go missen.
When Mr. Danver comes to town, you better beware.
When Mr. Danver comes to town, you better be scared.
He's tall and old, with skin so thin.
His hair is wisps, gray as tin.
His teeth are sharp, his eyes are black
He'll drag you off and you'll never come back.
When Mr. Danver comes to town, you better beware.
When Mr. Danver comes to town, you better be scared.
 

He delivered it all in the well trained cadence of an off Broadway actor at an audition. It sounded like something he had repeated a thousand times, and I realized even then that it was something I would never forget. The scariest part about it wasn't what he said, it was how he said it. The voice was so different from Dad's that it was like watching a ventriloquist talk through him. Suddenly, it felt like a stranger was in the house, and I shuddered as a cold chill ran through me.
 

I didn't say anything in the face of that silence, but when I lifted a hand to my eyes, I realized I was crying. Large, silent tears were sliding down my face, and as my Dad came out of his trance, he started crying too. He came to scoop me into his arms, and pressed me to his chest as he repeated the same thing again and again into my corn silk hair.
 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. God help me, I'm so sorry.”
 

When mom came home to find us both watching Disney movies on the couch, she asked why he had called out of work and not taken me to school?
 

When he explained the situation in soft tones as he pressed his mouth against her ear, she joined us on the couch and pulled me into her lap.
 

That was the first night I saw the old specter, but it wouldn't be the last.
 

I woke up with the most profound chill I'd ever felt. It ran up my cheek like mice feet, and my eye popped open as I lay in my bed. The room was dark, my toys casting shadows across the floor as the moon crept in through the window, but I knew those spooky shapes were not the source of my discomfort. I could almost imagine that I heard the song Dad had sang as it scampered in with the air conditioning in the vent. I could see the dust motes in the moon beam as they boogied to that haunting chorus, and as I stared at them, that's when I saw him.
 

He was hunkered in the corner, his knees against his chest and his arms resting on his knees. He was looking at me from the pit of shadows where he sat, and when he realized I was looking back at him, I saw a wide grin stretch across his face. His toothy mouth stretched ear to ear, and as he stood up, I could hear his joints popping like kindling wood. His hair sat neatly on his head, looking like the hair you saw on zombies in horror movies, and it brushed the ceiling as he stood. He rose until his head nestled in the corner of the ceiling, his frame all of eight feet tall. He had a hat in his hand, a round thing I would later learn was called a bowler hat, and his arms were covered by a rich black suit coat. He was wearing a suit beneath, but I was only vaguely aware of it.
 

As he rose, the moon casting his features in contrast, I was mesmerized by his eyes.
 

They were dark pits of shadow that looked at me with mirthful knowledge.
 

“Sorry to wake you,” he said, his voice sounding like someone who’s lost their breath to excitement, “I just wanted a peek. I'm sure I'll get a closer look sometime. Too da loo.”
 

I started screaming then, and when Dad came in and turned the light on, there was nothing in the corner but the star stickers that stuck to the ceiling above the spot.
 

Those stickers never glowed again, and I took them down when I noticed and threw them away.
 

I was afraid he had gotten his taint on them.
 

Dad pulled me into a hug, mom beside him and hugging me too in an instant, and both of them held me until the shaking stopped.
 

After that, I saw him anytime I did something disobedient.
 

Sometimes I would see him lurking in the corner of my vision if I said something smart to my mom or dad. Sometimes I would feel those black eyes watching me if I didn't do my chores on time. There were a few times when I heard him laughing after I'd gotten angry at my mom, and I was always quick to apologize and make things right.
 

Mr. Danver made me conscious of my actions in a way that I had never been before, and I was a better person because of it. I never saw him when I was rude to my friends, but just the knowledge that he might be watching made me forgive more often and I was less likely to be cruel to others. Sometimes when I thought about cheating on a test or taking something from a store, I would imagine him just waiting to get me, and think better of it.
 

It all culminated when I was twelve, on the day I ran away from home.
 

I had been looking forward to a sleepover at my friends house that weekend, an event that was highly anticipated. Matt had one of these for his birthday every year, and a bunch of us would go to his house and eat junk food and watch movies and tell scary stories and just have the time of our lives. I had been looking forward to it for weeks, and I knew that if Mom found the math test at the bottom of my bag, the one with the big red F on it, I could hang it up. I had buried it deep in my backpack, but not deep enough, apparently. She had found it before I could make my escape to the party, and we got into a screaming match over it. It was unfair, I told her. I had looked forward to this party for so long, and it wasn't fair that now I didn't get to go. She said that was too bad, and that if parties were more important than my school work, then I needed to get my priorities in order.
 

I was so mad, so furious with my mom, that I did the unthinkable before I could remember the specter of Mr. Danver.
 

I told her I was going whether she gave me permission or not, and walked out the door before she could stop me.
 

I ran up the street, heading for Matt's house, listening to my Mom call from behind me. I expected her to be angry. I expected her to be upset. Instead, she just sounded scared. She told me to come back, that we could talk about this, but I was in no mood to listen. I was going to the party, whether she liked it or not, and nothing was going to stop me from getting there.
 

It wasn't until I saw him standing under a burnt out street lamp that I remembered the looming threat of Mr. Danver.
 

When it began to flicker, I realized it had a little more juice in it.
 

In the flickering light, I could see the tall thin frame as he grinned at me, his translucent skin clinging to his face like a mask. He had his hat in his hand again, his immaculate suit still looking pristine in the flickering light, and his eyes reflected that flicker like a stuffed animals. He looked unreal standing in the everyday world, like a piece of Halloween decor that's a little too well made. He was utterly still, his head brushing the bottom of the lamp, but his fingers gave away his excitement. They drummed on the brim of the hat and it made him look like a dog preparing to yank his lead and give chase.
 

We stood looking at each other for a count of five before I turned and shot off towards home.
 

Mr. Danver was coming after me just as fast, but his lack of foot falls made me panic all the more.
 

I turned to look and saw the too-tall thing eating up the ground. His long legs moved like a spider’s, and he ran like a cartoon character in big exaggerated galumphs. He was gaining on me with every step, his strides twice my own, and I screamed in frustration and terror as I put on an extra burst of speed. To think that a moment of frustration was going to seal my fate forever. I had been hyper fixated on my behavior for so long and now a sudden lapse in judgment was going to kill me.
 

When Mr. Danver comes to town, you better beware.
 

The wind seemed to bring the hateful words to my mind as it rushed past my ears.
 

When Mr. Danver comes to town, you better be scared.
 

I was scared, I was terrified, and when my house came into view, I was afraid that I would get snatched within view of the front door. Mr. Danver would reach out with one long arm and pull me into the darkness and I would be gone forever. It would happen just that quick, and no one would know what had gotten me. Correction, my parents would know. They would know, but how could they tell anyone? To admit to such would make them sound nuts, and probably make people think they had been responsible for my disappearance.
 

I turned suddenly, going through the gate and running up the walk, and I felt the icy chill of Mr. Danver's hand as it passed inches from me.
 

I took the steps two at a time, praying the door would be unlocked, and when Mom threw it open, I leaped into her arms.
 

“I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Please, please don't let him take me!”
 

I pressed my face against her, not daring to look back out into the yard.
 

Mom whispered that she forgave me, but when she talked to Mr. Danver, her voice was a mixture of rage and old fear.
 

“Get out of here. All is forgiven, there is no misdeed. You cannot take him.”
 

I kept my face pressed against my mom, but I still heard Mr. Danver's spidery voice when he answered her.
 

“Another time then.” and when I peeked back, he was gone.
 

Dad came home an hour later, getting off early after mom called him, but I was still shaking and sobbing on the couch.
 

“Why?” I asked him when he came to join me, “Why did you ever tell me about Mr. Danver?”
 

My Dad was quiet for a moment, thinking about his answer, before sighing and saying, “Because it's not something I meant to do. It happens, and someday it will happen to you, as well.”
 

“Never,” I whispered, “I would never do that to my child.”
 

I shuddered as he wrapped me in a hug, but I didn't pull away.
 

“Sweetie, you won't have a choice. I didn't have a choice, my father didn't have a choice, no one has a choice. Once you know about him, the knowledge demands to be shared. His name is dark knowledge, a secret shared by many, and it must be served.”
 

Thats was when he told me how he had come to know about Mr. Danver from his father.
 

“I was playing with something on the couch when Dad told me to clean my room. I ignored him, wanting to finish my game, and when he said that if I didn't go do it now, he would call Mr. Danver. I looked up when he said it, and the look on his face was confused and afraid. Dad, your grandpa, wasn't always the nice guy that you know. He joined AA when I was in high school, but before that he was drunk. He could be a mean drunk too, and I should have known better than to hesitate when he asked me to do something. Instead, I asked who Mr. Danver was, and when he sang me the little song, it was the soberest I had seen him until that point. The words were forced out of him like vomit, and when he finished, he threw his arms around me and told me how sorry he was.”
 

Dad looked at me then and his eyes were hollow pits.
 

“I saw him in my room that night, and it wasn't the last time, either.”
 

He told me that when he'd told the story to mom, the one about his father telling him about Mr. Danver, she had cried and said she had seen him too.
 

“Her dad told her, too, and one day, you'll tell your kid. You won't want to, but you won't have a choice. The song is an inevitable as Mr. Danver.”
 

“Whatcha got there?”
 

I jumped as mom came in and found me looking at the picture. I put it in my pocket, not wanting to remind her about Mr. Danver if I could help it. I moved on to another box, Mom taking the box of photos I'd been looking through, and I tried to put the name out of my mind. It was easy to do as I worked, but as I sat at home later, still sore from a day of moving furniture and sorting boxes, I started thinking more about it.
 

If my parents and I knew about Mr. Danver, did anyone else?
 

I pulled up Reddit and made the post before I could think better of it.
 

I didn't know if you could transfer the knowledge like this, but I wanted to know bad enough to find out.
 

“Hey guys, just remembered something from when I was a kid, and I wanted to know if anyone had ever heard of it? My dad told me a spooky story about Mr. Danver when I was a kid, saying he would come get me. My mom knew about it too, but I was wondering if it was something anyone else had heard of or if it was something he made up?”
 

It had barely sat for five minutes before I got a response.
 

It wasn't the last either.
 

“Yeah, my Dad told me about him when I was little. Seems like I must have had nightmares about it, cause I can remember dreaming he was in the corner of my room sometimes.”
 

“OMG, so weird. That was exactly what my Mom called it too. It was weird when she told me too. I thought she was having a seizure.”
 

“My Uncle used to tell me that he would come get me if I was bad.”
 

“Wasn't there a song or a poem that went along with it too?”
 

“Yeah, it was pretty catchy, but I can't remember all the words.”
 

On and on and on. The thread had around a hundred comments, and not all of them were from Americans either. Mr. Danver seemed to be something that lived in the consciousness of most English speaking people, and even if it had a different name, the descriptions they gave were exactly the same. Tall, suited, pale, wispy hair, sharp teeth, black eyes. The description was universal, and the idea that I wasn't alone didn't make me feel any better.
 

If you too have experienced Mr. Danver, it's already too late.
 

One day you will tell your children.
 

One day they will have the knowledge.
 

One day, if they are lucky enough to avoid the icy grip of Mr. Danver, they too will pass it on.
 

The cycle always continues, whether you want it to or not.
 

One day I too will infect my child with the looming specter of Mr. Danver.

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