Sleep Savannah Sleep

by Alistair Cross

  Jason stepped back. “Not real. You’re not real.” His voice was hollow to his ears, an echo on its third repetition.

  Savannah’s eyes flashed.

  Time went on overdrive now - she blinked rapidly and then, like a jerky undead pinball, she was at the window, both hands planted on the glass, her furious face just inches from his. She opened her mouth and shrieked, the force of it seeming to break things apart in Jason’s mind. Her lips split apart like a gash, releasing a horde of beetles and centipedes that spilled and crawled and writhed. Her skin turned the color of a pale dead fish, eroding on fast-forward, the flesh stripped down until skull showed.

  Jason lurched back with a scream of his own.

  “Dad?”

  Jason spun.

  Brent stood in the kitchen doorway wearing sweats and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair corkscrewed by sleep. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

  Jason glanced back at the window - she was gone.

  “Are you okay?” Brent took a cautious step closer.

  “F- fine. I’m fine.” Sweat rolled down the sides of Jason’s face.

  “You don’t look fine, Dad.”

  “You just scared me is all.” Jason’s voice rattled and cracked.

  “Are you … are you sure?”

  “God damn it, Brent, I said I’m fine!”

  His son stepped back in surprise. “I was just coming to get some milk and …”

  Jason looked at his son, hating what he saw in his eyes: fear. And worse, pity. Jason tried to smile. “I’m sorry. I … I was just going to bed. There’s plenty of milk in the fridge.” Humiliated, he straightened and brushed past his son. “Turn the light off when you leave. Goodnight.”

  “‘Night, Dad.”

  Jason felt Brent’s eyes on his back as he disappeared from the room. My mind is splintering - and the cracks are starting to show.

  He’d foregone the coffee the next morning for fear of increasing his anxiety. He’d hardly slept and when he did, his dreams were obscure phantasms of blood, screams, and violence. The states of sleeping and waking had blurred together now, and regardless of which he existed in, his mind was a toxic garden of horrors. Even now, as he took the kids to school, he drove in jaw-clenched silence, his hands white fists on the wheel, his eyes darting nervously, wondering if and when he might cross that boundary without knowing it and slip into that other world. He wondered how much more he could endure, how many more nightmares and waking terrors until these lapses of his blurred so seamlessly together that he permanently slipped into oblivion, never to return. It might, he thought, be more merciful that way.

  He was short with Brent and Amber, snapping at them for the slightest noise, and answering questions in terse one-syllable replies. Eventually, they simply stopped talking - which brought another unwelcome visitor: guilt. He thought he’d be relieved when the kids were out of his hair, but there was no relief.

  The house was too big, too lonesome, too quiet, and that was somehow worse than the noise. He hadn’t eaten, shaved, or showered. Brushing his teeth had been a half-assed function he’d performed out of habit rather than care. He had a client scheduled this afternoon, which he cancelled, preferring to sit in his chair, curtains drawn, while he tapped his finger to the tempo of the ticking grandfather clock, waiting for the next horrific delusion - an axe-wielding madman? A blood-covered prom queen? A pumpkin-hurling headless horseman, perhaps? He didn’t know, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than the screaming, bloody face of Savannah Sturgess in the kitchen window last night.

  I have to get my affairs in order. Start making plans. It was apparent that his disorder - whatever it was - was getting worse, not better. He needed to start thinking about what came next. Specifically, what to do about his kids. Clearly, he couldn’t raise them from a mental institution. Or the grave if it’s something fatal.

  He didn’t know how much longer he sat there staring and tapping and thinking before his exhaustion won out and he crawled onto the couch, lay down, and feel asleep.

  Hours later, his phone jarred him awake. He fumbled for it and answered in a cracked voice. “Hello?”

  “Dad?” It was Brent. “Where are you?”

  Confused, Jason looked at his watch. School let out ten minutes ago. “Crap! I’m on my way!” He ended the call and rushed out the door, got to the car, and realized he’d forgotten the keys. After returning for them, he pulled out of the drive, pushing the speed limit the whole way. It occurred to him he hadn’t had any nightmares - at least none that he could remember. Either way, he took it as a good sign.

  The rest of the day was spent in the same daze. It was as if he were experiencing everything from behind a pane of thick glass. He was elsewhere; twice removed. His body was weak and tired but his mind spun furiously, gnawing on possible new horrors, wearing down the old ones, and altogether grinding like ungreased gears until his mind felt stripped and numb. He couldn’t quit seeing Savannah’s face. He couldn’t quit thinking about the dreams. Or the test results. Or what was going to happen to his children. He hadn’t experienced such raw terror since Julia had gotten sick. The what ifs. The repetitive thoughts and worst-case scenarios. The ocean of questions - and the dried-up well of answers. He was sick. Sick and possibly dying.

  Jason skipped dinner and went to bed early. Despite his six-hour nap, he had no trouble falling asleep.

  At first his dreams were pleasant. He and Julia were at an amusement park, on the skyride - high in the air where he was most comfortable - overlooking the revelry. Her hand rested over his and she was telling him about a cake she’d made. That was a bit strange - Julia didn’t bake - but the sound of her voice was soothing, healing; she could have been reading a German dictionary for all he cared. He couldn’t take his eyes off her - the dark hair and bright blue eyes, the way her small upturned nose crinkled when she smiled. It was like she’d never died - like she’d been sitting here beside him all along.

  Then, her eyes went dark, her expression serious. “You aren’t going crazy, Jason.”

  “What?” He stared at her, confused.

  “The dreams. The things you’re seeing.” She shook her head. “You’re not crazy.”

  “Then … then what the hell is going on?”

  “Just listen closely. And look closely.”

  His mind reeled. “Listen to what? Look at what? Tell me what I’m supposed to do!”

  “I can’t do that, but you must prepare yourself, Jason.”

  He was flustered, teetering on the verge of anger. “Prepare for what?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “The worst.” Then her face began to change, her features shifting.

  “No! Wait! Don’t go, not yet!”

  But it was too late. With a very different face, and in a very different voice, she said, “Help me.”

  It was no longer Julia who stared back at him - it was Savannah.

  A bloodstain began spreading through her blond hair then dripped down her face … the scenery changed behind her, the blue sky turned black … and Jason’s feet were on the ground. In Shadow Springs Cemetery. In front of Tabitha Cooper’s grave. The earth was swaddled in fog so thick he doubted any amount of sun could ever burn it off.

  And now Savannah was gone as well. Jason was alone.

  “You fucking tease.” The whisper came from behind him.

  Jason whirled but no one was there.

  “You fucking tease.”

  Pain shot through Jason’s face, rocking him back hard enough that he hit the ground. Another invisible slap knocked his head to the side. He scrambled to get away but hands were on him, pinning him. They pulled his hair, reached between his legs, pried his knees apart. A scream rent the air. Another scream, then hot, blinding pain exploded in his skull, collapsing him. He couldn’t move. He felt the blood dripping down his forehead, into his eye, painting the night red. He stared at the name on the tombstone before him: Tabitha Cooper.

  It’s right here, he thought. It�
�s right here … but even as the certainty took root, he had no clue what it meant. A white owl landed on the headstone. From its perch, it swiveled its head and blinked. ‘Who?’ It was a human sound - a question.

  Slowly, the pain began to numb and his vision darkened. Jason let go of himself, surrendering his broken body and slipping into the darkness.

  BONG-DONG-DING-BONG!

  He shot awake, drenched in cold, sour sweat, uncertain whether or not this was an extension of the dream.

  Then it came again: BONG-DONG-DING-BONG! - and it was real.

  The doorbell! He threw the covers off and raced out of the room, down the hall.

  BONG-DONG-DING-BONG!

  He trotted down the stairs to the foyer and threw the front door open.

  The night was thick and silent … and empty.

  “Hello?” His hands began to tremble. His knees turned to rubber. Another hallucination. “What’s happening to me?” he whispered.

  “Daddy?”

  Jason jumped.

  Amber began down the stairs. “Who is it?”

  “What?”

  “I heard the doorbell.” She rubbed her eyes.

  He closed the door and faced her, flipping on a lamp. “You … you heard it?” An absurd relief blossomed in his gut. “Are you sure?”

  She stared at him. “Of course I’m sure. Didn’t you hear it, too?”

  “I did.” He breathed the words.

  Amber frowned. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

  “Nothing. I just ... how many times did it ring, sweetie?”

  She looked perplexed. “Two. No, three, I think.”

  She heard it too! Relief turned to confusion. But what does that mean? It meant someone had come to the door at - he glanced at the clock - three in morning. It didn’t make sense. He stared at his daughter. She looked unsettled. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “I was dreaming about Savannah,” said Amber. “She was looking for you.”

  An icy chill settled into his bones. “What?”

  “Savannah.” Amber rubbed her eyes and yawned.

  “Why was she looking for me?”

  She frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  “Amber.” Jason crouched, took his daughter’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Try to remember, sweetie? Can you try?”

  She smiled. “She’s so pretty, don’t you think? And her name is pretty, too. Daddy, do you think her name is prettier than mine?”

  Her name. Her name. Jason’s mind grappled for something just out of reach. Her name. Something about her name!

  “Do you, Daddy?”

  And then it hit him. Her name! “Amber. When Savannah was here the first time … do you remember when you asked her what her middle name was?”

  She nodded.

  “And what did she say, sweetie?”

  Amber considered. “It was Olivia! I’m going to name my next doll Olivia! I’ll name her after Savannah because she’s so pretty and because she’s missing and maybe …”

  But Jason wasn’t listening.

  Savannah Olivia Sturgess. Of course ...

  S.O.S.

  S.O.S.!

  Finally, something that made sense! I’m not going crazy! I’m not!

  But the reprieve was a temporary one.

  If he wasn’t crazy then it meant Savannah had been trying to communicate with him. And if that were the case, then it meant something even worse …

  Jason was on his way to the police station the next morning when Dr. Harvey called him. Anxious, he pulled over and answered.

  As he listened, his anxiety turned into relief - then gratitude.

  The tests were clear. No brain or spinal cord tumors, no sign of brain trauma, no nothing.

  When Dr. Harvey said, “possibly psychosomatic,” and recommended a psychiatrist, Jason couldn’t have been happier. He was giddy in fact, and told Harvey he’d find a shrink, then thanked him and ended the call.

  But he wouldn’t go to a shrink. He didn’t need to. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t crazy at all. He knew exactly what was wrong with him - and far-fetched though it was, he knew it was the truth. He pulled back onto the road and continued toward the police station. He didn’t know what he’d say to Sheriff Redding - but he’d figure that out when he got there.

  “And then, in my dream, I saw Tabitha Cooper’s grave. More than once. At first I wasn’t sure what it meant - I still don’t, but I know it has something to do with Savannah Sturgess and I think we can find something there.” He’d been talking for several minutes straight, telling the sheriff everything he’d experienced the past days. “And while she was alive, I think Tabitha was trying to warn me. She knows something - or at least, she did know something - and she was trying to tell me.”

  Sheriff Redding sat behind a huge desk in his tiny lemon Pledge-scented office, hands clasped in front of him, his brows drawn low over slightly narrowed eyes. He appeared very confused. “Mr. Crandall, what are you saying, exactly?”

  Jason took a breath. “I think Savannah Sturgess is dead, Sheriff.”

  The words hung in the air. The wall clock ticked.

  Redding’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something you want to tell me, Mr. Crandall?”

  “What do you mean? I just did. I’m telling you now.”

  “I meant about this case, Mr. Crandall.”

  “No. I just thought I should tell you about the dreams.”

  Redding watched him closely. “So, you think Savannah Sturgess is dead … because you had a dream?”

  Jason sighed. “No. Well, yes … but it’s not just the dreams. It’s also the …”

  “Visions.”

  Heat crept into Jason’s cheeks. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call them that, but … the, uh, episodes, yes.”

  “Episodes.”

  Jason shifted. “Well, they’re more like hauntings, actually. I think Savannah is … well, I think she’s trying to tell me something.”

  “Hauntings.”

  Jason really wished he’d stop repeating his words; it made him sound crazy and stupid. “Look, I know how it sounds, but-”

  “Do you?” Redding tipped his head, his dark eyes betraying irritation. “Because what it sounds like is nonsense. What it sounds like is one more false lead that we really don’t need.” For a moment, he was angry, but then his expression softened. “We can’t do an investigation based on someone’s dreams, Mr. Crandall. Or their hauntings.”

  “I get it. I do. But you’ve got to hear me out.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I know she’s trying to tell me something. I can feel it.”

  Redding coughed into his fist. After a few long seconds ticked by, he said, “Why you?”

  “What?”

  Redding shrugged. “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you’re being haunted by the ghost of Savannah Sturgess. Why you? Why wouldn’t she haunt her mother, or her younger brother, or her father?” He had the calculated tones of a well-trained physician. “Don’t you think that if ghosts existed and could communicate with the living, they might want to let their families know they’re okay instead of inflicting nightmares on virtual strangers?”

  “But she’s not okay, that’s the thing!”

  The sheriff was getting annoyed again. “All right. She’s not okay. So, again, why you?”

  Jason’s cheeks burned furiously. He was stumped. “I don’t know. I keep wondering that myself.”

  Redding nodded and sighed. “I’m going to do two things for you, Mr. Crandall. First, I’m going to give you one more opportunity to tell me what you know about this woman’s disappearance. Then I’m going to send you home to get some rest. Get something to eat, take a shower, and a long nap. To be frank, you look awful and I get the feeling you’re a little out of sorts right now.”

  Take a nap? Anger needled into Jason’s gut. He leaned forward, clasping his hands to mirror the sheriff. “As I’ve told you a dozen times, I barely knew Savannah Sturgess and if you don’t b
elieve me I wish you the best of luck trying to prove otherwise. I don’t know anything about her disappearance except what I’ve just told you and that’s a fact. And secondly, I don’t need a goddamned nap. I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me and at least try to understand what I’m saying!”

  Redding’s jaw flexed. “Listen to me, Mr. Crandall-”

  “It’s easy to write me off as a whack-job when it isn’t you who can’t get any sleep! It isn’t you who’s seeing things that aren’t there!”

  The silence stretched on and finally, Redding leaned back, his black hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights. “Let’s say I believe you.” He shrugged. “Savannah Sturgess is haunting you. So what? This is a police station, not Ghostbusters’ headquarters. What could I possibly do to help you get rid of a ghost?”

  Jason hesitated. “I want you to exhume Tabitha Cooper.”

  Redding’s eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

  “I think you heard me, Sheriff.”

  Redding searched Jason’s face, probably for signs that he was joking. When he found none, he said, “Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m-”

  “I know she’s connected to Savannah’s disappearance! I don’t know how it’s connected, but I know it is. I can feel it.”

  “I can’t dig up a body based on your feelings, Mr. Crandall.”

  “But it’s more than just a feeling. In my dreams, I keep seeing the grave. And what about the S.O.S. Ms. Cooper drew on the window, and-”

  Redding shook his head. “Nope. It’s not an option. Absolutely not.”

  Jason’s frustration buzzed through his veins, giving him a headache. He knew he was right - he knew it. And he also knew he’d have no peace - and neither would Savannah - until he convinced the sheriff to exhume Tabitha Cooper. There was only one option left - consequences be damned - he had no other choice. He glanced at the red heart tattoo, visible now on the inside of the sheriff’s forearm. “Can I ask you something, Sheriff?”

  Redding, clearly at the end of his rope, sighed and shrugged. “Can I stop you?”