“You’re finding an argument behind every word I say.” She moved closer long enough to give me a peck on the cheek. “Take a nice hot shower and try to get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit, OK?”
Before I could agree or disagree, go along or scream for help, she was gone.
I’d washed my face and thrown on jeans and a sweater but hadn’t bathed before I left to meet Rick and Donald, so the hot water pulsing from the showerhead felt great. Wrapped in curtains of steam, I threw back my head and let the water cascade across my face and shoulders, savoring the quiet time, the peace.
It was short-lived.
The nightmare was back, replaying in my mind, and this time I allowed it to come, lost in the hypnotic warmth and resonance of surging water.
The ticking of that damn clock is driving me insane. It’s one of those fancy desk clocks, the kind with a sketch of the double globes on it; you know the type. It’s at least ten feet from the bed but in the small room it overpowers everything else, even the faint traces of traffic in the streets below and the occasional sounds trickling in from beyond the confines of my bedroom. A headache has settled behind my eyes and is making me nauseous. That damn ticking only makes it worse, as if the clock is counting off the gongs throbbing through my temples. I move my arm from across my forehead, my eyes focus on the low ceiling overhead and a hint of him at the edge of my peripheral vision. Folding my arms over my chest like a corpse, I draw a deep breath and slide shut my eyes. Returning to the darkness is easier somehow. I hear the floor shift as he moves deeper into the room, hesitating just inside the doorway. He is looking at me now—I can feel it—waiting to be acknowledged. My mouth is bone dry and I know sitting up will only make my headache worse, but I do it anyway. With one quick heave I swing my feet around and settle into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. I rub my temples, look at him, then look away. He just stands there staring at me with those sad eyes. He looks… not sick exactly, but… he doesn’t look like himself. Pale. He looks pale and pasty, like he hasn’t slept in a very long time. I finally ask him what he’s doing there. He smiles, and it’s the saddest goddamn smile I’ve ever seen, and says he came to say goodbye, that they allowed him a few minutes to come and say goodbye. It’s only Bernard… why am I so frightened? Because he’s no longer alive, or because I sense he’s not alone? I clear my throat, reach for a small cup of water on the nightstand and take a quick sip. I nod to Bernard and tell him I’m sorry about what happened. I try to explain just how sorry I am but he smiles that sad smile again and holds up a hand like… like he’s telling me there’s no need for explanations.
I know the others are nearby, and just the thought of them stirs a terror in me the depth of which I have never before experienced. Tangible, choking fear, the kind I don’t want to explore because I know it is bigger and stronger and deadlier than I can ever be. Like some monster in a box. If I let it out, it’s over. I keep talking, babbling now in the hopes that maybe this will quell my terror. Again, Bernard holds up a hand, so this time I stop talking. I notice his hand is dirty, the nails a bit too long and caked with soil. He tells me he came to say goodbye and that he has to go. He kind of sighs and leans against the doorframe, like he might fall over if he doesn’t. I just stand there stupidly by the bed, watching him, not sure what to think. Then… they come. They just file into the room from behind him. My palms are sweating and my heart is thudding so hard I can hear it smashing against my chest. This is my bedroom and I don’t want them here, I don’t know any of them, they—they don’t look familiar to me at all. There are four of them; three men and one woman, and they all just walk in like they belong here.
Bernard tells me it’s OK but I’m so frightened. They scare me, these… people. They scare me because I know what they are. They never say a word, they just stand there staring at me with their black eyes, and Bernard never explains, but I know, I—I just know what they are and why they’re there. Bernard smiles again, but this time his lips crack and crumble like hardened clay, leaking blood and saliva and dirt in one hideous string of drool as his eyes turn cold like the others. I hear a scream but it dies quickly, strangled to silence before I realize it’s my own.
I turned the shower off and braced my hands against the porcelain, head bowed, body dripping as the drain gurgled and swallowed. My heart was racing but I felt that if I could just lie down for a while I’d sleep for days. As the last of the water and soapsuds vanished down the drain, I forced open my eyes and pulled back the curtain. The mirror was fogged over and sheets of heavy steam filled the bathroom. Rain hammered the lone window, shook the casing.
Through the mist the full-length mirror on the back of the door revealed my reflection. My hair seemed thinner every day. I needed a shave but liked the way my five o’clock shadow looked. It better defined my chin and brought out the light blue in my eyes. I continued to study myself as curls of steam rose gently toward the ceiling. Funny how age sneaks up on you, I thought. Gradually, softly—like any good seduction—it had a hold of you before you even realized it. I wasn’t yet forty—was three years away from it, in fact—but felt decidedly older most days. Somewhere within the reflection staring back was the man I’d once been, a man who’d never imagined he could be so tired, so worn down. Not at thirty-seven, anyway.
And yet sometimes it seemed like that man was a total stranger, a detached and isolated character in someone else’s story; someone I barely recognized.
I stood there dripping, until the mirror fogged completely over, then I stepped from the shower and snatched a towel from the counter. My headache had subsided but my muscles ached. I dried myself then tossed the towel over my shoulder, opened the door and stepped into the cool bedroom air. I rolled onto the bed, stretched out and nestled deeper against my pillow as my eyes slid shut. The nightmare had receded, and darkness took me quickly.
My eyes popped open. My back was tight and my stomach was in mid-growl. Had I fallen asleep? If I had, something had jolted me awake in a less than normal manner. I lay there a moment, listening, eyes staring at the faded ceiling and numerous hairline cracks traversing the plaster.
The weather had grown worse from the sounds. Wind whipped angrily outside, rattled the windows. My eyes immediately darted to the source of the sound, and although I recognized the cause it bothered me nonetheless.
Another sound crept in from the den, only this time I wasn’t certain wind had been the culprit. I remained perfectly still and strained to listen, but all I heard was the wind and rain. “Hello?”
I wondered if Toni had locked the door on her way out. She usually did, why would this time be any different? Yet something didn’t seem right. I didn’t feel alone. Slowly, I pushed myself up into a sitting position and slid down to the foot of the bed. “Toni?” I called. “Toni, are you home?”
I sat quietly for a few seconds. Although I heard no other noises, the relaxation portion of my day had clearly come and gone. I stood up; reached for the towel I’d brought with me and wrapped it around my waist. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, just enough to reveal a sliver of the den beyond, and as I moved silently across the carpeted floor, I suddenly realized what was wrong.
Due to the weather it was much darker than normal, and Toni had left lights on in the den and kitchen. Lights I didn’t remember shutting off before getting into the shower. “Hello?” A chill caused my body to visibly shudder.