13 Night Terrors

by D A Roach et al.

  Corey slid to the floor and sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his back against Jonothan's bed. He rested his head against the side of the mattress and closed his eyes. For the first time in hours, his thoughts were not of masked intruders, rearranged snowmen, or mysterious notes. His thoughts were of his wedding day and the day his son was born. Two of the three happiest days of his life. The third being the day he came home from his deployment, the way his wife and son tackled him to the ground and wouldn't let go. That was what he was fighting for. That was what he was fighting for now.

  He drew his knees up to his chest and draped his right arm over them, resting his left arm on the carpeted floor. He slowly rubbed the carpet, caressing it in a circular motion. He didn't care about anything besides sitting by his boy's bed like a watchful protector. He sat this way until his legs went numb, then sat there even longer. Eventually, he fell asleep. He slept peacefully and dreamlessly through the night.

  The decision was made that Corey would drive them there. They came to this conclusion over a small breakfast of coffee and doughnuts for Corey and Sam and a bowl of Fruity Pebbles with a glass of milk for Jonothan. The conversation had been much more easygoing than the night before, but Corey could still feel some of Sam's anger and disappointment lying underneath her bubbly tone. Despite her anger, he knew how excited she was at the thought of getting to see her parents.

  The trip would take them forty-five minutes one way. All of their belongings were thrown into the trunk of the car the night before. Corey had done this as soon as Sam got home and was taking a shower. The trio was on the road by eight, wanting to get there early enough so that Corey could spend some time there before having to head back to go to work. He stopped only once at a gas station to top off the fuel tank halfway there, not that he needed to. He wanted to stretch his legs and let the cold air clear his mind. He bought some drinks and snacks, even grabbing Jonothan his favorite candy.

  When they arrived at Sam's childhood home, they were greeted by her parents and ushered into the warm home. They sat in the living room catching up for the better part of three hours. Time had yet again escaped Corey, and he was beginning to think about how easy it would be just to stay here. Maybe not even go back. There had been talk from time to time about the three of them renting her parents’ guest house. With Corey's promotions coming in at regular intervals, they had decided to shelve that idea for the time being in hopes of making a life there in Brookhaven. Maybe this was that future they were waiting for. If only he could explain everything to Sam. He couldn't, though. The last thing he needed was to have that conversation—about his lies, the notes, and ultimately his plan to send them away while he tried to deal with whatever the hell was coming his way.

  He ended up staying for lunch with the family. After they were done eating, Sam reminded him that he needed to get back on the road if he was going to make it to work on time. Corey bid his in-laws goodbye, thanking them for the food. He kissed his wife and son and headed out the door into what looked like the beginning of a snowstorm. He waved to them one last time as he pulled the sedan away from the front drive and headed back toward his home.

  Corey was indeed going to work; he just wasn't going to the community to pull his guard duty. The scheduling had worked out just like he told Sam it would. One of the new guys was slotted to be training with Steve for the next two days, and after that, the other new guy would be in. Corey didn't have to physically go into work for the next four days if he didn't want to. Instead of heading toward the community they guarded, Corey aimed the car toward the center of town.

  He pulled into the parking lot of Harold's Sports and Hunting and sat staring at the illuminated sign, watching the fluorescent lights flicker behind the lettering. He could see the store was fairly busy. He tossed his cigarette and rolled up the driver’s side window, then killed the engine. He climbed out of the car and was immediately assaulted by the harsh wind, pelted by the snow it kicked up. He lit another cigarette and walked up to the front door, smoking it in quick, sharp drags and then pitching it when he stepped onto the concrete walkway.

  He walked the aisles, looking at the various items stocked on the shelves. He passed tents, sleeping bags, and various forms of ready-to-eat pre-packaged meals. He kept walking, heading to the rear of the store. That was where they kept the ammunition, guns, and other various items for survival and hunting. Corey stepped into the first aisle of ammunition and searched out the caliber he wanted. He grabbed three of the boxes on the shelf that contained twenty rounds each. At the end of the aisle, there was a stack of shopping baskets. He picked one up and put the ammo in it.

  The next lane held accessories for firearms. He passed the rifle slings, the handgun holsters, and the gun cases, stopping in front of the section of the shelf showcasing handgun magazines. He found the correct ones he needed and grabbed two of them, tossed these on top of the ammo boxes, and continued walking through the store. He was aware that he may be going overboard, but he kept telling himself it was better to know he could handle the situation. He planned on keeping the receipt just in case this stuff wasn't needed. He could always return the two magazines. He had been wanting to buy a couple more anyway, but he had never found the chance until now.

  Corey didn't find anything else he could justifiably buy for home defense in the aisles. He walked further toward the back of the store where the glass gun cases sat gleaming. He looked at the various handguns but didn't feel the urge to handle any of them. He had his handgun at home, and if need be, he had some other items he could use, including a bat, golf clubs, an axe, and even a machete out in his work shed. He continued along the wall of rifles and shotguns, picking up a Mossberg twelve-gauge and enjoying the weight and length of the weapon. He had wanted to buy one of these for the last couple years, but they never had the extra money until recently. He shouldn't even be buying this stuff, but he had set aside some money to go toward buying a new car. He told himself again that he could always return it, and with that thought, he returned the shotgun to its spot on the wall.

  As Corey headed toward the front of the store to pay for his stuff, he saw out of the corner of his eye a taxidermized black bear. The bear had been stuffed and posed in a ferocious state. It looked like it was charging, one massive paw stretched out in front, preparing to slash its prey wide open and spilling its innards onto the ground in pile of steaming gore. The bear's face was pulled back in a terrifying snarl that made him look more like Cujo than a bear. Surrounding it were mannequins dressed in the newest hunter's garb with signs in front of them exclaiming that the clothes were on sale.

  Corey walked over and looked at the bear. It frightened him, yet also intrigued him. In a way, he identified with the bear on a very primal level.

  “You were probably just defending your home when you were taken down, big guy,” he said while slowly stroking the bear’s soft fur.

  Growing up in an area with a lot of bears, his father had told him at an early age that when he and his friends were out playing in the woods, they needed to make a lot of noise. The noise would alert the bears to them being there. His father had said that bears would mostly attack when they didn't know you were there, like they thought you were sneaking up on them to get their cubs. At first, Corey thought that was ridiculous, but looking at this bear and thinking about his own situation, his father's warning made perfect sense. Corey's heart went out to the bear and also to the family the hunter had left behind when they took this bear as a trophy. It sickened him.

  He noticed that the rear left paw on the bear was in a slightly distorted position, hidden behind some faux grass. The grass was high enough to cover most of the paw, but Corey could still see what looked like a tear in the bear’s skin. He knelt down next to the leg, moved the grass aside, and ran his finger through the fur, finding that there was indeed a tear. It was more like a huge gash then a tear, though. He pulled the fur away and tried to visually examine it but found the lighting in the store cast
too many shadows.

  “Please don't touch the trophies, sir,” a young sounding female voice spoke from his left side. Corey was so fixated on the bear and lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice her come. He stood, almost losing his balance. His legs had gone numb from crouching for so long. He looked at her, a pretty young girl with dark eyes and short brunette hair. She looked to be no older than fifteen.

  “Can you tell me what happened here?” Corey asked the young girl.

  “Yeah, my uncle trapped it on his last trip up north,” she said in an annoyed tone. The tone told him that she was tired of people asking about the stupid bear. “The guy who stuffed it couldn't cover up where the trap got it.”

  “The bear was trapped?”

  “Yeah. Now please don't touch it. I kind of need this job, and my uncle will fire me if he finds out someone was touching it and I didn't stop them.”

  “Your uncle is Harold?”

  “No, my uncle’s name is Dave. He runs this place for Mr. Banner.”

  “Oh,” Corey said, offering her a smile. “Okay. Do you guys sell these traps?”

  Thirty minutes later, he was loading the ammo, magazines, as well as two bear traps into the trunk of his sedan. He stared down into the trunk and felt an odd rush of tranquility flow through him. He slammed the trunk closed and walked around to the front of the car. As he left the parking lot, he didn't notice there was a cop sitting across the street when he ran the stop sign posted at the exit of the sporting goods store.

  “Shit,” Corey muttered when he saw the flashing red and blues in his rear view, lighting up a surprisingly large area in a strangely distorted way. He pulled the car to the side of the road and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, digging out his license. Before he could put his wallet in the center console, there was a tapping on the window. Corey rolled the window down. “Good evening, officer,” he said.

  “Good evening. You know why I stopped you?” the officer said in a practiced tone, standing slightly bent forward at the waist, his right hand on the butt of his duty pistol.

  “Um, no sir.”

  “You just came from Harold's, right?”

  Corey looked at him, a bit confused. “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you know that there is a stop sign there where you leave the lot?”

  “Fuck me. No, officer, I didn't notice it. I'm sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. It happens there quite often. It is, in fact, why I was parked across the street. May I see your license and registration, please?”

  Corey handed him the license and reached over and opened the glove box, pulling out an envelope. A bright yellow-colored slip of paper fell out of the glove box. Corey had a quick moment of absolute terror when he recognized the all too familiar block lettering.

  TWO DAYS.

  Son of a bitch. He stared at the yellow paper. Okay, deal with the officer and then you can freak out.

  He looked back out the window toward the officer and offered him a weak smile. He stuck his hand out, his registration jutting out from between his first and second fingers as if he were offering a playing card. Unlike the cool, collected demeanor of the casino dealer though, Corey's hand was trembling.

  “Are you okay, sir?” the officer asked, leaning further toward Corey. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  “I'm fine. Can I just have my ticket, please? I need to pick my son up from school.” Corey forced his hands to stop shaking.

  The officer looked at him a little longer and surprised Corey by saying, “You’re just going to get a warning this time. It looks as though you’ve been having a bad day, so I’m going to cut you a break.”

  Corey let out a sigh of relief and retrieved his license and registration from the officer. He continued down the road as the officer was climbing back into his squad car.

  When he pulled into the driveway, more snow began slowly drifting down, blanketing the freshly shoveled sidewalks and driveways. Corey brought his stuff inside and set it on the floor of the living room. He slumped into the recliner and closed his eyes, trying to relax, and found himself beginning to doze off. He immediately stood up.

  Wake up, goddamn it, he chastised himself. You have shit you need to do!

  He walked into the kitchen and started brewing a pot of coffee and took a long pull straight from the bottle of rum he retrieved from on top of the fridge.

  Corey pulled the black gun case down from the shelf in the closet and brought it into the living room with the rest of the stuff. He pulled out the new magazines, removing each one from its packaging. He removed the weapon from the case, along with the two loaded magazines, and inspected the rounds inside. The rounds currently in the magazines were intended for target practice at a range. They could certainly do some damage, though. The ammunition Corey had purchased was jacketed hollow points. These would cause more damage while using less ammo. He unloaded the two magazines, setting the rounds he removed inside the gun case.

  Each magazine could hold fourteen rounds. He loaded all four with the hollow points. After he did this, he still had four of the hollow points and the other rounds he had tossed into the case. He loaded one of the magazines into the handgun and chambered a round. He then dropped the magazine and added one more round to replace the one in the chamber. He was beginning to feel better already.

  Corey stashed the gun case back in the hall closet. Grabbing the other three magazines, he placed one in the kitchen and one on the dining room table. He pocketed the last one, then tucked the gun into his waistband in the small of his back. He pulled out the bear traps and read the instructions for their set up. Within the next hour, Corey had finished the pot of coffee and was well on his way to drunkenness. He now knew how to operate the traps properly. He put them on the floor in front of the couch for the time being. He would set them up later. Corey decided now would be a decent time to get a couple hours of sleep. He looked at the clock and saw that it was just past nine.

  He awoke to his cell phone ringing, a shrill scream that sent shivers down his spine. He blindly reached for it where he had placed it on the nightstand next to his bed. His fingers hunted for it, knocking over his tumbler of rum and finally finding his phone. Just as his fingers wrapped themselves around it, a huge weight landed on his back, pinning him to the bed. A sharp, hot pain exploded through his right hand, and when he tried to pull away from the source, he found it had been staked by a large kitchen knife to the nightstand. He screamed in agony as the weight pinning him down shifted, laughing at his pain.

  He felt another explosion of pain, this time in his ribs, as the blade of another knife was inserted. Corey felt the tip of the blade scraping the bone, and then it was twisted. His abdomen soaked with blood, his shirt sticking to his skin.

  The stranger leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “TOMORROW.”

  Corey came flying out of the recliner with the handgun raised, his finger wrapped around the trigger. He sat there, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in deep, ragged gasps that began to sound more like sighs of relief when he realized he had just woken from a nightmare. Corey looked at the clock and saw that it was nine in the morning. He had slept for just under twelve hours.

  Was I really that tired?

  He looked around the living room and could see it was completely undisturbed. No sign that anyone had broken into the house while he slept. Still, he felt the compulsion to search the entire house room by room. He found nothing. No one hiding in a closet, no broken windows, no kicked-in doors. He was completely alone, and he was satisfied with that.

  He kept his mind busy by cleaning. Corey usually didn't have to do much of it. With Sam being a stay-at-home mom, she naturally kept everything tidy. She could be a bit picky when it came to cleanliness. If it were up to Corey, the occasional cup left out would be just fine. Sam, on the other hand, could not stand a mess. It worked out for them. He wasn't cleaning to please her, though; he was trying to keep his mind clear and away from the notes and the d
reams.

  The notes. The goddamn notes!

  The thought flashed in Corey's mind as it had multiple times in the last two days. He continued wiping the kitchen counter down with a sponge that was now dry and ineffective. It didn't matter, though; he kept wiping, trying to put his mind at ease.

  It wasn't only the notes that poisoned his train of thought; his nightmares were there, too. Distant, but there nonetheless. The thought had occurred to him that maybe his dreams might actually be a premonition of sorts. The idea of a group of masked thugs entering his home and binding his wife and son was painful. No matter how hard he scrubbed, that thought remained, frozen somewhere in the back of his mind. It wasn't always at the front of his thoughts, but it was there. Sometimes as a subtle whisper, and other times the thought roared at him like a bear charging at its prey.

  The bear!

  Corey threw the sponge into the sink and set out for the living room. The two traps were still where he left them.

  Why wouldn't they be?

  He scolded himself silently as he pulled the first one out and set it down between the TV and the couch, almost dead center of the living room. The other he set up in the hallway in front of the master bedroom where the hallway made a right turn. With the traps set, he felt much better.

  He felt like he was ready for anything that could come.

  Nothing. Just the still, dead silence broken intermittently by the sound of a passing car. Corey sat stoically in his living room, the .40mm loaded on the end table to his right. His hand rested on it, his index finger dipped into the trigger well, slightly caressing the trigger while he waited for something to happen. The day had been long, but the early evening had been progressing even slower. The house was completely darkened. He had loosened the bulbs from the hallway and living room lamps to provide cover for himself.