Long After Dark

by Greg F. Gifune

  Harry expected her to react, but Officer Guy nonchalantly returned to her car, quickly surveyed the area, then slipped behind the wheel.

  She can’t see them.

  The cruiser made a U-turn and pulled away, driving right by them.

  From behind the initial two, came others. Clad in black, they moved like shadows, barely discernable in the darkness.

  My God…how many are you?

  Whispers emanated from them like blasphemous prayers as together they walked in an uneven line, moving closer, their wide stares piercing Harry’s logical mind and laying waste to whatever semblance of reality remained. He wanted to run, to scream, but stood cemented in place, mouth agape as their bright wet eyes cut the darkness, embers burning white-hot against the backdrop of night and traces of moonlight.

  “No,” he said, as if this might somehow stop what was happening. “No.”

  A strange buzzing sound cut the night just before the streetlight burst, showering the road with a fine misty spray of glass that caught the moonlight and fell to the ground like diamond dust. And then darkness crashed down like a sudden and violent explosion, rolling over everything and anything in its path, pulling it all down into the blackest, impenetrable depths of night.

  Even as Harry slammed the door and locked it behind him, he could hear footfalls rushing toward the house in a single frenzied wave.

  But as he backed away from the door, certain his mind had irrevocably shattered, the only sound that remained was the dragging of a small lame stump of a leg as it slowly scraped pavement…again…and again.

  9

  Harry stood by the recliner, poised to strike, baseball bat clutched in his hands. He’d switched the lights off again, submerging the house into darkness and immediately giving him a clearer view through the bay window. But now there was nothing to see but night, the road, trees and Rose’s house sitting dark and empty across the street. Though he was lightheaded and his heart was beating at a frightening rate, he did his best not to breathe too deeply for fear he might cough. He needed to be quiet and still. The sounds of footfalls had ceased, as had the horrible dragging sound, and just when he was certain the strangers would converge on the house, bursting through the windows and kicking in the front door, the night fell silent. He waited awhile longer but the assault never came.

  He moved farther back into the room, to the deeper darkness in the corner, the bat still held high and his eyes wide as he imagined them all huddled around the house, surrounding it like an army of shadows.

  And that bandaged thing, where the hell had that gone?

  If you just go to sleep, this will stop.

  Was it listening just outside the door?

  If you’ve had enough, sleep.

  A series of savage pains suddenly tore through his temple, causing him to lower the bat and bring a hand to the side of his head. As the pain worsened he felt sick to his stomach, and everything went blurry, drifting past his field of vision at rolling angles.

  Just sleep. That’s all you have to do.

  Somewhere far off he heard the baseball bat hit the floor, and his skull felt like it had shattered from a sudden and violent impact. He staggered and nearly fell, hands gripping either side of his head as if to prevent it from bursting apart.

  Dark and unfamiliar corridors from his nightmares blinked before him.

  The pain stopped. Quickly, like it appeared. A mild tingling behind his eyes was all that remained.

  Breathless, Harry collapsed onto the couch. Eventually the room stopped moving and his vision cleared. The fear remained. “If I go to sleep,” he said quietly, voice slurred, “they—this—won’t really be gone. Not while I sleep, not when I wake up, I—I just won’t be able to see any of it.”

  None of us can control whatever microscopic organisms exist in nature all around and within us…

  “You’ll still be here,” more forcefully now, certain they could hear him. “Like those disgusting bugs and whatever else the human eye can’t see. None of this ever goes away. It’s always here. You’re always here, moving around, watching, crawling all over us. We just can’t see you. Sleep changes nothing.”

  Harry made his way to the bay window and peeked out.

  The strangers were gone.

  “Of course they are,” he said, laughing like the lunatic he was certain he’d become. “They—of course—you’re just fucking with me now, right? It’s all a game isn’t it? You’re trying to drive me crazy, to scare me to death to—”

  The cordless began to ring. He stared at it, knowing he had to answer. I’m even afraid of the phone now. They’re trying to frighten me into complete emotional and physical paralysis. And they’re succeeding.

  He crossed to the command center, scooped up the handset and hit the button. Rather than say hello he waited, listening to the static on the other end of the line.

  “Mr. Fremont?” asked a male voice he didn’t recognize.

  Sounds like an older man.

  “Mr. Fremont?” the voice asked again.

  Under normal circumstances the voice probably would’ve been comforting, but on this night the tranquil tone and reserved delivery struck him as decidedly creepy instead.

  “Mr. Fremont, can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Harry replied, voice gruff and strained. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Doctor Bonnet.”

  “I don’t…” He swallowed, nearly coughed. “I don’t know any Dr. Bonnet.”

  “I’m your doctor.”

  “My doctor’s name is Poole. Tim Poole.”

  “I’m caring for you now.”

  “Where’s Doctor Poole?”

  “He has other patients to tend to. How do you feel?”

  “I…I don’t…” He ran his free hand across his forehead and through his perspiration-soaked hair. “Not very well, I…I’m so tired and...”

  “Try to sleep. It’s all right to sleep.”

  Harry felt his body tremble again, but differently this time, as if in response to hundreds of tiny insects scurrying across his skin, along his arms and legs, up his neck, across his face, everywhere. “Are you one of them?”

  “One of them?”

  He cradled the phone with his chin and scratched at his flesh with both hands, but the sensation kept moving, spreading across his body and running from his touch like a mass of cockroaches escaping to darkness. “You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

  “You need to stay calm and rest.”

  Harry backed into the corner of the room, his scalp itching now, the insides of his ears—were they crawling around in there too?—even his mouth felt like there were hordes of tiny creatures swimming in it, which of course there were, their legs tickling the insides of his cheeks and scuttling over his tongue, along the gums between his teeth…nesting there…burrowing deep into the tissue... climbing slowly up behind his eyes, tentacle-like antenna scraping the sensitive underside of his eyelids. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Doctor Bonnet.”

  It’s all in my mind. I don’t really feel them—they—they are there but I don’t feel them, it’s—that’s not possible. “I already talked to Doctor Poole earlier and I—I didn’t call you.” Harry scratched manically at his head. “I know every doctor in Tim Poole’s practice, there’s no Doctor Bonnet.”

  “It’s all right, we can talk later. You need to sleep.”

  “Tell me who you are!”

  “It’s important that you remain calm, Mr. Fremont.”

  “Then answer me.”

  “My name is Bonnet. I’m a doctor. I’m here to help you.”

  “No you’re not.”

  Static suddenly filled the line. Loud at first, it gradually lessened until the line went quiet. Harry defiantly remained on the phone, but several seconds came and went and the man said nothing more. “What do you want with me?” he asked. “Why are you doing this? Can you…can you make this stop?”

  No answer came, but the person on the other e
nd had not hung up.

  Harry hit disconnect and threw the phone at the recliner. It bounced off the back cushion and came to rest on the seat as he frantically ran his hands from his head down the length of his body, clawing and swatting the unseen bugs from his flesh.

  They’re everywhere, they—Jesus Christ—they’re all over me!

  Spinning about in a crazed pirouette he lost his balance, toppled over and slammed the floor. The den shook as he flopped onto his back. He lay there a moment staring at the white ceiling. Strange swirls seemed to appear from deep within the paint and primer beneath, moving in odd patterns and directions, gliding and slithering before his eyes like tadpoles crazily skimming the surface of a pond.

  Wait…

  He squinted, straining to see more clearly.

  They’re not on the ceiling…

  He scrambled to his feet, pitched forward and nearly fell again.

  They’re in my eyes!

  Harry clenched his fists and ground them into his eye sockets, teetering and stumbling about the den like a crazed marionette. Despite the horror and adrenaline rush, the exhaustion was overwhelming. The room tilted and spun, his temples pounded and he was suddenly short of breath and seconds from unconsciousness.

  He dropped to his knees. The carpet moved before him and it took every ounce of energy and control he had left not to completely shatter and break apart. “I just—I—I have to sleep,” he blubbered, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m so exhausted, I can’t, I—I can’t think, I—I have to sleep, I need to sleep, I…”

  His eyelids dropped like black curtains.

  Fight—don’t lie down, don’t—you—you have to fight this you—get on your feet you sonofabitch—get up.

  “No,” he mumbled, eyes mere slits now, the world around him hazy and dim. The skin-crawling sensation weakened…receded…left him. He remained there a moment, soaked in perspiration and thoroughly drained. “I need to sleep. I need…”

  In the distance he heard a strange sound. The cordless was ringing again. He crawled to the recliner, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then struggled up into the chair and collapsed onto his back, out of breath and still horribly lightheaded. “Tell me who you are you sonofabitch.”

  “Harry?” Kelly’s voice, tight and worried. “Is that you?”

  Pain and disgust overpowered the initial relief he’d felt upon hearing the sound of her voice. He needed so desperately for Kelly to comfort and save him, to do what she had done so many times over the years, to let him know she was there and she loved him and everything would be all right. But it all felt so empty now, a useless fabrication they’d told themselves and each other for years finally revealed for the lie it was. Was Kelly truly the person he’d believed her to be, or just a myth, a creation of his own need designed to deflect the truth and convince him she was exactly who he wanted and needed her to be?

  “Harry?”

  “Of course it’s me,” he said.

  “Why did you answer the phone like that?”

  “I’m sick, remember?” He planted his feet deeper into the carpet and pushed until his body slid up into a seated position. “I’m a sick, sick man.”

  Kelly sighed. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in bed? It’s late, you should be asleep. And what’s with that message you left? You scared the hell out of me. Is everything else all right?”

  “No,” he said, gripping the arm of the chair to steady himself, eyes fixed on the bay window and ocean of night beyond. “As a matter of fact everything else is not all right. Everything is decidedly fucked up.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Look, I’m working. Tell me what’s going on. I don’t have time for drama.”

  “Sorry to bother you with trivial matters like our marriage and my sanity.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re clever, figure it out.”

  “This is a very important trip,” she said, sighing again. He could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes like she so often did when frustrated. “If I can nail this account it’ll mean a lot of money for the company and one hell of a bonus for me. I can’t have these distractions, OK? I’m sorry you’re not feeling well and I’m not there to help, but you’re acting like a child. Take your medicine, go to bed and get some sleep, what’s the problem?”

  He’d never felt quite so alone. There, inside a cocoon surrounded by night and those that moved within its darkness.

  But I’m not alone…I know you’re there…

  “I’ll be home on Monday,” Kelly said when he gave no answer. “If you’re still not feeling well I’ll make you chicken soup and fluff your pillows and all that good stuff. I’ll make it all better when I get home, I promise. Until then, handle it. You’re a grown man. It’d be nice if you’d start behaving like one.”

  “Are you really in San Diego, Kel?”

  “Of course, I—why—where do you think I am?”

  Maybe she’s just lost her way…

  Visions of his wife came to him again, wrapped in memories good and bad, all of them smashed together into a hellish mosaic clouding the boundaries of pleasure and pain. He could hear sounds behind her but they became muffled by a series of exaggerated exhales. Rather than answer her question he asked another of his own. “Guess who came to see me today?”

  He heard a quiet scratching noise, slow and steady along the outside of the front door, like a long jagged fingernail scraping the fiberglass.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart, who?”

  They’re listening…

  “Searcy’s wife stopped by.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” The bat was still on the floor where he’d dropped it.

  “Gloria came to the house? Why?”

  He reached down for the bat, picked it up and leaned it against his leg. “She wanted to talk to me about you and her husband.”

  “Here we go.” Kelly laughed but it was laced with irritation. “Let me guess, she thinks we’re having an affair, right?”

  “Yes, she does.” His fingers curled tighter around the bat.

  “And you’re actually entertaining what that loon said? Are you kidding me? Harry, Gloria’s certifiable.”

  “Maybe so, but that doesn’t make her a liar does it.”

  “She has a severe drinking problem. She was smashed when she came to see you, am I right? The point is the woman’s a walking disaster. She has serious mental health and emotional issues. She thinks Aaron cheats with every woman he knows. She accuses him of this kind of thing all the time, and lately she’s been on this kick about Aaron and me. She’s beyond paranoid. Frankly I don’t know how Aaron puts up with it. Like they say, love is blind.”

  Yes, that is what they say.

  He pictured her walking down a city street in San Diego. He couldn’t help but wonder if Searcy was there too, walking right beside her. “Are you having an affair, Kelly?”

  “You better be kidding.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “I shouldn’t have to.”

  “Answer me.”

  “Go to bed, Harry. Hopefully when you wake up you won’t be such an asshole.” The only response she received was silence. “What is the matter with you? Why would you ask me that?”

  The old black tape along the baseball bat grip stuck to his fingers. He tightened his fist around it. “Answer the question.”

  “No, I don’t think I will. It’s a ridiculous question and an insulting question and a mean and nasty and hurtful question that should never be asked by someone who allegedly loves me.”

  “Amazing,” Harry said, struggling to his feet, leaving the bat behind but keeping an eye on the door. “You’re the one screwing me over and you’ve somehow managed to make me the bad guy.”

  “Nah, you’re doing a fine job of it all by your lonesome. This is the second time you’ve come at me with this accusatory bullsh
it, and I’m tired of it. I know you don’t like my job and the travel and all that—fine, OK, fair enough—but to accuse me of this bullshit, and with Aaron of all people. Jesus. And you base this on what exactly, the drunken ramblings of Gloria Searcy? That’s all it takes, huh? When did our marriage become so fragile? One quick visit from that paranoid, alcoholic bitch and suddenly I’m a liar and a cheat? You sell me down the river and side with her just like that? Nice. Really nice.”

  “She called your hotel. They have no record of you two staying there.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Kelly gave another lengthy sigh. “Lately whenever Aaron travels he tells Gloria to call his cell and instructs the front desk not to put her through if she calls the hotel.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because the woman calls every five minutes if he doesn’t. He’ll get back to his room and there are literally twenty or thirty messages in a two or three hour span. He’ll call her back and it’s nothing. He keeps his cell on vibrate as it is because she calls that constantly too. She’s just checking up on him, or she has some ridiculous excuse, but it’s never anything important. She’s nuts, Harry. She’s a fucking train wreck.”

  “Does he instruct the front desk to tell her you’re not registered too?”

  “With the accusations she’s been throwing around lately it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he did. Otherwise she’d probably start badgering me when she couldn’t reach him.”

  He stood near the door, listened. The noise had stopped.

  But I know you’re there. I can feel you.

  “You said yourself I should call you on your cell rather than at the hotel.”

  “Because I thought it would be easier for you to reach me. I’m rarely in my hotel room. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  She’s lying. Don’t let her off the hook.

  “Every time I’ve spoken to you on this trip it’s been on your cell,” he reminded her. “No one’s ever answered the suite number you gave me.”

  “OK, I’m on foot but only a couple blocks from the hotel. Would you like to call me back at the suite in five minutes? Then I can prove to you I’m really in San Diego. You know, since there’s such compelling evidence that I’m not.”