Die Donkerman | The Dark Man

Vir my liefste Gr. 8’s en 9’s

Hierdie storie het ek geskryf toe ek Gr. 10 was. Dit is gebasseer op een van Laurika Rauch se liedjies en die legende van Antjie Somers wat vir jare die hoofrol in vele kinders se nagmerries was…

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Vir drie maande is hulle onbewus dat hy in die solderkamer skuil, op hulle spioeneer, na elke gesprek luister…die gedaante wat jou ruggraat laat kielie as sy voetstappe kennis maak met die solder se houtplanke. Die sluiper wat die hoofrol in elke kind se bangmaakstorie vertolk…

Dis ‘n mooi huis. As jy verby dit ry sal jy dit begeer. Dit lyk soos ‘n woning wat uit ‘n tydskrif se leefstylafdeling ontsnap het. Baie prominent verleen dit ‘n tikkie verbeelding aan die omgewing, maar soos elke huis het selfs hierdie pragtige konstruksie, met die groot glasvensters en geelhoutdeur, sy donkerkant. Hoe sê die ou mense altyd: “Elke huis het sy kruis.” Daardie geheim, skande of tragedie wat deur vorige eienaars in die mure of vertrekke ingegraveer is. As mure kon praat sou hierdie huis nogal ‘n storie gehad het om te vertel. Dis nou al twee maande sedert daar ‘n tragiese toneel in hierdie, op die oog af, onskuldige huis afgespeel het. Een van daardie gebeurtenisse wat eiendomsagente eers noem nadat jy, met pen, die kontrak geteken het.

Die vorige eienaars was die Combrinks. ‘n Respektabele gesin. Mnr. Combrink was ‘n prokureur en Mev. Combrink ‘n voltydse ma. Hulle het twee kinders gehad. ‘n Agtjarige dogtertjie, Melissa, en ‘n vyfjarige seuntjie, Maurits. Hulle het so vyf maande gelede in die pragtige huis ingetrek, want Mev. Combrink het gedink dis die perfekte omgewing om haar kinders met genoeg liefde groot te maak en die belangrikste van alles: Om hulle veilig te hou.

Soos alle kinders is Melissa en Maurits mal oor stories. Elke aand wanneer hulle klaar gebad is, hul tande geborsel het en knus onder hulle duvets sit, sal Mnr. Combrink kom en vir hulle ‘n slaaptydstorie vertel. Heeltemal normaal en onskuldig, ek weet, maar dis nie sommer enige slaaptydstorie nie…Melissa en Maurits se voorkeur is ‘n bangmaakstorie. Mnr. Combrink vertel hulle dan van die Donkerman. ‘n Sluiper met ‘n groot swartsak wat hy oor sy skouer dra. Hy het ‘n horrelpoot wat sleep. Deur die dag kruip hy weg, maar in die aand as kinders reeds sag slaap en soete drome droom, sluip hy rond en gooi stout kinders in ‘n sak en dra hulle weg.

Dit is die draad van die storie en elke aand is daar ‘n ekstra paar ore wat luister, ‘n ekstra paar oë wat glinster van genot as hy saggies kruip tot by die kraak in die plafon om te luister na die stem wat sy biografie met soveel entoesiasme vertel. Sy mondhoeke krul dan op sodra Mnr. Combrink afsluit met ‘n nagsoen en ‘n “Toemaar, slaap nou.”

Die klok slaan twaalfuur. Die Combrinks se huis is stil, behalwe vir die sleep geluide wat saggies en amper onhoorbaar van die solder afbeweeg na elke slaapkamer in die huis. Buiten die skuifeling is al teken van lewe ‘n sagte fluister wat sê: “Toemaar, slaap nou.” En dan is dit stil, doodstil.

Vir drie maande was hulle onbewus dat hy in hul solderkamer geskuil het, op hulle spioeneer het, na elke storie geluister het…die gedaante wat hulle vermoor het en in ‘n swartsak toegedraai het. Die sluiper wat by hulle verbeelding begin het en by hulle dood geeïndig het…

Toemaar, die Donkerman.

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To my dear Gr 8s and 9s

I wrote this story in Gr. 10. It is based on one of Laurika Rauch's songs and the legend of Antjie Somers who, for many years, played the lead role in many children's nightmares…

For three months they are unaware that he is hiding in the attic room, spying on them, listening to every conversation ... the shadow that makes the hair on your arm rise when his footsteps get acquainted with the attic's wooden boards. The silent stalker that plays the lead role in every child's ghost story…

It's a nice house. If you drive past it, you will certainly desire it. It looks like a home from a magazine's lifestyle division. Very prominent, it gives a touch of imagination to the environment, but like every home, even this beautiful construction, with its large glass windows and yellowwood door, has its dark side. How does the saying go: “All that glitters are not gold”? Appearances can be deceiving, and every house has that secret, shame or tragedy engraved in the walls and rooms by previous owners. If walls could speak this house would have a story to tell. It's been two months since the last tragic scene played off in this, seeming innocent, house. One of those events that estate agents first mention after you signed the contract with pen.

The previous owners were the Combrinks. A respectable family. Mr. Combrink was a lawyer and Mrs. Combrink a full-time mother. They had two children. An eight-year-old girl, Melissa, and a five-year-old boy, Maurits. They moved into the beautiful home five months ago because Mrs. Combrink thought it was the perfect environment to raise her children with enough love and most importantly, to keep them safe.

Like all kids, Melissa and Maurits love stories. Every night when they are finished bathing, brushing their teeth and are all snuggled up under their comforters, Mr. Combrink comes and tells them a bedtime story. Totally normal and innocent, I know, but it's not just any bedtime story ... Maurits and Melissa’s preference is ghost stories. Mr. Combrink then tells them about the Dark Man. A scary man with a big black bag he carries over his shoulder. He has a bad leg that drags behind him. Throughout the day he hides away, but in the evening when children are already sleeping and dreaming sweet dreams, he crawls out of hiding and throws naughty children in a bag and carries them away.

That is the thread of the story and every night there is an extra pair of ears listening, an extra pair of eyes that lights up with pleasure as he gently crawls up to the crack in the ceiling to listen to the voice sharing his biography with so much enthusiasm. His mouth curls up into a smirk when Mr. Combrink concludes with a "hush, sleep now."

The clock strikes midnight. The Combrinks’ house is quiet except for the drag sounds that moves gently and almost inaudibly from the attic to every bedroom in the house. Apart from the shuffle, the only sign of life is a gentle whisper that says, "hush, sleep now." And then there is silence…a deathly silence.

For three months they were unaware that he was hiding in their attic, spying on them, listening to every story ... the shadow who killed them and wrapped them in black bags. The stalker that started in their imagination and ended in their death ...

Hush, the Dark Man.