When the Sundown is Green You Must Stay Unseen

In this story by Nosleep legend Travis Brown; a family in an idyllic farmhouse celebrates an old tradition together. 

Transcript

It was 3:15 AM when the sirens went off. Your husband tried to convince you to just sleep through them, but with enough poking and prodding you got him out of bed. Then it was time to wrangle the cats. One of them came willingly, the other had to be dragged, and you all made your way to the basement. You tried hard to cultivate an aura of cleanliness and coziness in your house, but there wasn’t much you could do for the basement. Really it was more of a glorified root cellar. The walls were old stone that let in too much water to even store much down there. It was perhaps the one part of your house that had remained relatively unchanged since it was built. The cats settled on mewling at the door, and your husband settled on napping on an old quilt he laid out on the damp floor. You settled on planning for the day. You really needed your sleep today, you hadn’t been getting much lately. But no matter how long the sirens went for you couldn’t call in sick, not this week. And then there was the grocery shopping, and the doctors appointment you’d been dreading looming over the weekend. The wind howling outside picked up and shook the cellar door, and you started to think that perhaps all your worrying didn’t matter. That soon you might have only one big worry; whether or not you would be able to crawl out of the rubble of your house. Then you start to think that perhaps one big worry sounded better than a bunch of little ones. You listen to the thunder and the wind and the cats, and you think about how much simpler life would be if you only had to worry about surviving. Then you decide you’ve had enough of those thoughts, and to pass the time, however much you have left, you throw on an episode of The Podcast Inside Your House. 

Written by: Travis Brown, or as you might know him on Reddit; Grand Theft Motto

There’s a saying I’ve heard a lot growing up on the shore: red at night, sailor’s delight, red sky morning, sailor’s warning. The gist being that red sunsets forecasted clear weather while red sunrises meant a storm. In my family, we have our own third verse.

When the sundown’s green, you must stay unseen.

The sky was never completely green. It was subtle, a little emerald at the edges of the horizon. In thirty-two years I’ve only seen it happen four times. According to my grandad, those “Green Nights” happen once or twice a decade and have stuck to that pattern going all the way back to when our family moved to the area. You probably haven’t ever seen something so weird or even heard of it. That’s understandable. As far as I can tell, the phenomenon is only observable within about a mile radius centered around our farm.

Rare as they were, my folks took emerald sundowns seriously when I was growing up. The second any of us saw the slightest jade tint at dusk, we moved fast. The farmhouse windows were locked and shuttered, doors bolted, and all lights extinguished. We would head to the basement and lock ourselves in for the night. Dad even hung a thick drape of padded cloth over the door to keep any sounds from leaking down.

There were no games for us kids, no lights, no conversation. Everyone went to bed and stayed in the basement until dawn. I was never told why we performed this, uh, ritual, I guess. No one told me what we were hiding from or why. All my grandma told me once was that “they” were outside but that we were safe as long as we didn’t invite them in. My dad always had that hard look when it happened so we all followed, we all listened. And after the farm became mine, I stuck to the tradition.

Eleven years passed between green sunsets. With the phenomenon so infrequent and hard to predict, I’ll admit that I let my guard down. In those eleven quiet years, I got married, brought Katie back to the farm, and we had a daughter, Olivia. They knew to keep an eye on the horizon in the evening but I don’t think I made it real enough. I don’t think I scared them the same way my dad scared me. Which means everything that happened a week ago is my fault.

I was driving home much later than usual. I’d been mending fences all day in the July heat, so I’d swung by town for a drink. The sun was already three-quarters drained into the ground by the time I made it back to the edge of our farm’s property line. I glanced at the horizon more out of habit than anything else. When I noticed the faint smear of green light on the low clouds, my stomach nearly exchanged places with my windpipe. I immediately floored it and pulled out my phone.

“Katie, are you and Olivia in the basement?”

“We’re watching Paw Patrol,” my wife replied. “Why would we be in the basement? Hey did you remember to-”

“Katie, Christ, look outside.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The sunset.”

I heard Katie moving, likely to the nearest window. There was a pause.

“Oh shit,” she said.

“Yeah. I’ll be there in three minutes. Turn all the lights off, lock everything, and head to the basement.”

Another pause from Katie. “Matt, are you sure? I know we’ve run the drill and it’s a family...tradition, but do we really need to drop everything and run to the basement?”

I turned down the dirt road that would take me to the farm so fast that I thought my truck tires might lift off.

“Katie, please. Trust me. Lock up, lights out, be quick.”

“Okay, see you in a few.”

I sped home, a wake of dirt and dust kicked up behind me in a rolling cloud. Ribbons of pale green stretched out across the dark sky. The wind was picking up, an odor like charcoal and moss on the breeze. I’d never been out at night during one of the “events.” By this point, the whole family should have been safe and tight in the basement. There was still a sliver of sun peeking above the horizon but it would be full night any minute. I parked the truck and got out at a sprint, almost tripping over the new WELCOME mat Katie had bought the week before when I reached the porch. Apparently, I was dragging mud through the house

“Shit,” I said at the front door.

I’d left my keys in the truck and Katie should have locked the door. I tried it anyway. The knob turned. Olivia was still seated on the couch watching TV. The lights were off but not all of the windows were shuttered. I heard Katie moving around upstairs. For a moment, I was angry, bordering on furious. Then I reminded myself that this was my fault. I think a part of me hoped that now that it was my farm, with my family, whatever old curse or shadow came with the green sky might simply move on.

It was my fault I didn’t prepare. I didn’t really know what to prepare for. But I could imagine my dad’s eyes, that hard look he got, and I knew he’d be disappointed...maybe even scared.

“Katie,” I called up the stairs, “we gotta head down. We gotta go now.”

I scooped up Olivia and turned off the TV. Katie’s light steps echoed down the stairs.

She looked annoyed, then saw the expression on my face; her eyes went a little wide.

“Matt?” she asked “What’s going on? Is it a storm?”

All I could do was shake my head. I carried Olivia down to the basement with Katie on our heels. Once I put my daughter on the old futon in the corner, I went back to check that the door was locked and bolted. I rolled down the heavy fabric that was tied above the doorway then went back to my family.

“I’m not sure I got to everything,” Katie whispered. “Oh, shit, and we forgot Olivia’s snacks and her bear. You know she can’t sleep without the bear. I’ll just run back-”

“NO.”

Katie stared at me, delicate mouth hanging open. I’d never yelled at her before.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for all of this. It’s been so long...we’re down here for the night.” I walked to the switch and turned off the main light. We kept a battery-powered camping lantern in the basement. I dug that out and set it on the covered pool table. “I’ll pull out the futon for you two. Try to get some sleep. Remember- no lights except this little one. No conversation if you can help it. And if you have to use the bathroom, don’t flush.”

Olivia was watching me as I darted around the small room. It was cluttered and needed a good dusting. We didn’t use the basement much. Olivia had big blue eyes and ink-black hair, just like her mom. In that moment, my daughter’s eyes were fixated on me and wet with undropped tears.

“You’re scaring her,” Katie whispered, walking next to me as paced around the room. “Jesus, Matt, you’re scaring me, too. What are you so-”

Something shattered upstairs. I waited, unable to breathe. Carefully, I inched over to the table and turned off the lantern. Katie and I stood in the darkness listening.

“Someone is in our house,” she whispered, voice so quiet I had to lean towards her to understand.

I reached towards her blindly, felt her shoulder, and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I think it was just a window,” I whispered. “They...nothing can get in here unless it’s invited. So as long as we wait it out, we’re safe.”

“Jesus, Matt, what is happening?”

I started to say, I have no genuine idea, but before I could respond, someone knocked on the other side of the basement door.

Katie screamed. I would have if I was able to find the air.

A long pause. The knock came again.

Katie had found my forearm in the dark and was squeezing it. Hard. It didn’t make sense. We were supposed to be safe as long as we didn’t invite-

The new Welcome mat. It clicked just as the third knock came. Was the mat an invitation?

Olivia, polite little Olivia, must have been scared and confused in the dark. But we’d taught her to always mind her manners, so when the fourth knock came with no answer, Olivia spoke up.

“Come in,” she called out.

“NO,” I yelled.

I heard the basement break open, running feet--as if from an entire crowd--crash down the stairs. I tried to go to Olivia but fell over a chair in the pitch dark. People were laughing, screaming, pressing all around me. And then, nothing. Everyone was gone, no sound in the room other than Katie yelling for our daughter. My hand brushed against the lantern. I turned it on and saw a frantic Katie fumbling towards the couch.

“Matt, she’s gone!”

I was already moving, taking the stairs two at a time. The sky had fading lines of that same sick green light fading when I ran out on the porch. Stars were thick in the sky and a full moon was rising; plenty of light for me to see my daughter being led by two figures towards the treeline. The creatures were old. They had bloated human bodies, pale wrinkled skin and both were stark naked.

One an ancient man, the other, a withered woman. Instead of a face, the man had the head of a ram with black, spiral horns. From the neck-up, the woman was a wild boar with gray hair and stained tusks. Olivia saw me and smiled. I ran as fast as I could, but all three had disappeared into the forest before I could catch up.

I looked everywhere for a sign. Nothing. Katie called the police and they found me out there, stumbling in the dark. We searched all night. Our neighbors came to help; the whole town. It was Olivia’s third-grade teacher who found her body just after daybreak.

Mangled. Chewed on. Missing so many...my little girl.

The only comfort was that Katie wasn’t the one to find Olivia. Some comfort.

Right now, the official report is that Olivia ran off and got lost then animals got to her. The natural resource police are still out there a week later looking for wolves or maybe coyotes.

I know that whatever killed my daughter won’t be found or caught, not until the next green sundown, at least. Katie wants us to move. Too many bad memories. But I need to stick around. There will be another evening when the sun tints the horizon with jade and emerald light. It might be five years from now, or ten; no more than fifteen. And when that night arrives, whatever comes out of that forest, I’m going to invite them in and I’m going to make them suffer.

Until next time; Take a moment to appreciate what you have, you never know when the forces of the natural world, or the unnatural world might come for you and everything you hold dear.