The Man in the Black Top Hat

by Ju Ephraime

  “I am,” I told her. “What I’m about to tell you is the stuff horror movies are made of, but I’ve been living it for several months now. It started at the beginning of spring.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Several months ago, I began having nightmarish dreams and feeling as if someone else was in my bedroom with John and me. John didn’t seem to be aware of the presence, and neither have I heard anything from the girls. But several nights in a row, I would wake up to a lot of physical body pain and marks on my body. I haven’t been able to go to work sometimes because of the aching soreness in my body. Also, strange things have been happening, such as objects moving and appliances turning on and off. I cannot find any explanation for the phenomenon, but I have been scared to death. I am now afraid of my own home. I am afraid to be alone in the house, particularly the bathroom and bedroom because this is where most of the activities take place.”

  I explained everything to my mother, including my fear and anxieties. When I was through, it took her a minute to recover her voice. I was not surprised; it was a lot to throw at someone, especially, a worry rat like my Mom.

  “This is amazing, Syria. What are you going to do about this?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m at my wits’ end. The problem started with me thinking it was a dream, and not telling John about it. But in my defense, I would never have discussed an erotic dream with John. I thought that would’ve been in poor taste. I still have no idea how to tell him.”

  “You can’t continue this way. I sensed the tension between you and John when I walked into the room today. Also, there are the girls to think about. I’m worried about their possible exposure to all this.”

  “Do you believe I don’t think about this every minute of every day? I take courage from the fact that, so far, the girls appear to be okay. They haven’t reported anything out of the ordinary. And you know I would’ve heard it from Kelsey if anything had taken place in her room.”

  “But you have no guarantee things will remain this way.”

  “Mom, I’m aware of this.”

  “Maybe you should get one of those Ghostbusters they show on television. They’re always getting rid of ghosts or unknown entities in people’s homes. Have you looked to find out if there are any of these locally?”

  “No, Mom,” I replied. “I can’t do any of these things without first discussing the entire situation with John, and the girls, for that matter. They’ll all need to know what’s been going on, and quite frankly, I am very uncomfortable with the topic.”

  “I know, honey, but it’s the lesser of two evils.”

  My mother’s constant interruptions and her justifiable concerns gave me more stress than I already had.

  “Anyway, to continue with my story, things came to a head when I would go to bed, and everyone had settled down for the night, I would hear someone climbing up the stairs to the bedrooms. The steps were distinctly male, because they were heavy, and John was the only male in this house. I would call to John, but he wouldn’t answer. This went on for a couple of weeks. It got so loud that I would get out of bed to look to see who was climbing the stairs, but there was never anyone there. Then it began to take on a more sinister aspect. I would be in my bed, awake, yet not quite. Let me see if I can explain this so you can understand.”

  “This is all very strange, Syria,” my mother interrupted again.

  “Mom, you have to let me finish,” I told her. “I would retire for the night and would be asleep in my bed when someone would begin making love to me. I’m always aware of everything that’s happening, but I’m not able to verbalize or move my body. I’m held in this state of paralysis until the lovemaking has come to a conclusion and suddenly I can move again. In the beginning, it felt like a dream, and then it gradually progressed to my being aware the entire time. I know I am alone in my bed, but I can feel the evidence of the lovemaking. But there is no man, and John isn’t lying next to me.”

  “Where was John when all this was taking place?”

  “In the beginning, this was happening to me when I was alone in bed, before John came home from work. But after a while, it began to take place while John was lying next to me fast asleep. I could see him beside me, so I knew he was not the man making love to me, but I could not reach out and touch him because I was held immobile.”

  “Syria, I don’t want to hear any more. I’ve heard enough. You need to take care of this now! I’ll talk with Father Bertram at church to see if he has any ideas on what you could do.”

  “Before you talk to him, I need to first talk with John. Give me a day or so, because I’m working up the courage. I thought I would have been able to discuss it with him today, but he saw some bruises on my body, and demanded that I go to the doctor straight away. He’s very worried that I may have something contagious, although he didn’t say it. His insistence that I go to the doctor right away, even though I’d told him I’d already been, showed genuine concern, underlying something else.”

  “You can’t blame him, Syria. Are you going to the doctor for real?”

  “I’m waiting for a call back from Dr. Weinbach’s office, because I do have to see him for a follow-up.”

  “You are?” she asked.

  “Yes, I was trying to prepare John for the possibility that the doctor won’t be able to diagnose my condition because there’s no physical cause for it. I tried to begin the conversation with a joke, and he practically snapped my head off. That was the argument you and Dad walked in on. But, back to the story.

  “Strange things began happening during the day while the girls and I were home alone. One afternoon, the electric blender turned itself on and began blending away at a faster speed than possible. Then the oven door opened without any of us touching it. And that time several months ago when we couldn’t find our keys? That was the one incident in which John was involved.”

  “Syria, are you talking about the weekend I kept the girls? Tell me you’re not. That was months ago. I hate to think you’ve been going through all this for such a long time, all by yourself.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Mom,” I replied, bursting into tears.

  “You poor dear.” My mother hugged me to her and rocked me as if I were a baby.

  I couldn’t help it. I cried even harder, but I had to hurry and get myself under control before one of the men walked in on us, demanding to know what was going on.

  After my mom and dad left, I sat in the living room, thinking about her advice to bring a ghost buster into my home. To do this, I would have to tell John and the girls. But I did not want them to be afraid of our home – not John so much, but the girls. Also, I did not know how John would feel about someone else making passionate love to his wife, ghost or not.

  I sat there trying to figure out exactly when these strange things had begun, and I could not, for the life of me recall exactly when it started. Something must have caused this. It had begun so innocently at first. I believed it was with the blender, but I could not recall with certainty. I also didn’t remember if the nightly visits began before or after the blender incident. I was stressing out just thinking about it. I had to get out of the house in order to think clearly.

  Had it not been so late in the evening, I would have gotten in my car and gone for a drive just to clear my head. I could think better in neutral surroundings. I’d have to leave the house tomorrow morning and find a place where I could sit and think. Not that I had not been thinking properly all along. But relaying the entire thing to my mother made me realize just how serious the situation really was. I could be endangering my family by remaining silent and not seeking professional help.

  That night, John and I retired to bed together, but he did not cuddle with me. He turned on his side and promptly fell asleep. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, when the changes came over me. The invisible man was not making any pretense; he was getting bolder every day. The unreal quality of the acts was gone. In the beginning it
was so hazy, I was not certain if it had really happened or if it had been a dream. There was no dreamlike quality to these more recent assaults.

  He touched me between my thighs, spreading and rubbing my pubis with rough, callused fingers. He increased the pressure with each downward stroke, pushing one finger inside me and pulling it out when the muscle of my pussy involuntarily tightened. His breath against my neck felt cold, and then without warning, he swiped my neck with his tongue, once, and then a second time. The sharp edge of his teeth bit into my neck, almost, to the point of pain, and yet not quite. I tried to evade his mouth, but he kept me there without much effort. Every time his tongue swiped my neck, I held my breath in anticipation of the pain. Sometimes he would bite me and other times, he only licked my neck, putting pressure with his tongue on the pulse beating erratically there.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I lay in bed next to my husband, and the invisible man kept me in a state of semi-awareness while he had his way with me repeatedly. I didn’t know how he did it even though I was awake and watching the entire time; sometime in the course of the night he had moved John to the floor and took control of the entire bed. Our bed was only a queen size, so I guess he needed the room for the sexual activities he wanted to subject me to. He was quite accomplished in the bedroom, but it was too much for me. Again, I passed out. When I came to it was 8:30 on Saturday morning.

  That decided it. I did not know how I would pull it off, but I was determined to move out of the house, at least until I had removed this man from my home. The aggressive, demanding sexual activities had become impossible for me to tolerate any more. The longer it continued, the more difficult it got to put an end to it. More than that, the invisible man’s lack of respect towards my husband was pretty obvious from the way he threw him out of his own bed while he violated me. I had no doubt he had to have placed John under some type of spell so that he slept through the activity taking place in our bedroom. The most frustrating thing was I could not discuss it with John – for one thing, the nature of the attacks, and I had not confided in him from the beginning.

  John had already left the bedroom. I forced myself to get out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up. I needed a bath but there was no way I was getting into the tub. I made my way to the kitchen, where John had already made coffee. He was having a cup while he read the morning paper.

  “Hi, hon,” I greeted him.

  “Hi, sweetheart, how are you feeling today?

  “I’m feeling better.” I replied. God, I felt worse than I did yesterday, but I couldn’t let him know this. The sex last night was not like the night before. I had not received any fresh bites, but the repeated sex made it so painful.

  “I meant to rub some ointment on your spots last night when I came to bed, but one minute I was undressing and the next I was out like a light. I wasn’t aware of anything until I woke up around 7:30 this morning.”

  “Do you have to go in to work today?” I asked, hoping he would say yes.

  “Yes, just for a short while, but I’ll be back in about an hour. Why?”

  “No reason,” I replied.

  “Are you sure? You wouldn’t have asked for no reason, so what do you want?”

  “I really didn’t want anything.”

  “Hmmm, out with it. What do you want? You never do anything without a reason, so out with it.”

  “I was just wondering—”

  “I knew it!” he interrupted.

  “John, stop it. I was about to say, I was just wondering what we could do today. We haven’t done anything much with the girls this summer.”

  “Well, you and the girls think of something while I’m gone, and we’ll do it when I get back. Okay, sweetheart?”

  He gave me a quick kiss, finished his coffee and left. I remained downstairs, mulling over how my life had changed, how my relationship with my husband was changing right before my very eyes, and there was not one damn thing I could do about it.

  My spirit was heavy, a pall of gloom hung over me. These secrets I had been keeping from my husband were eating me up inside. My eyes filled with tears as I wrestled with the situation.

  I was sitting in the family room, trying to get myself under control, when John returned, just as he said he would, in under an hour.

  I greeted him quite enthusiastically, hugging and kissing him. It was good to have him home.

  “I missed you. Were you able to solve the problem you had at work?

  “Yes,” he answered. “I walked in on several problems. I could tell it would be one of those days. You know, the hellish kind, when everything that can go wrong goes wrong. We had less than an hour before the place opened for business. I was happy to turn it over to the assistant manager. I couldn’t get out of there soon enough.”

  It was hysterically funny that he should have almost the same sort of day I had been having. “A day from hell is quite apropos.” I wouldn’t admit this to him, but that was what my day had been like as I sat there and tried to fabricate a lie to tell him so that I could get out of staying home with him and the girls. I hated being dishonest with John; this was not the sort of relationship we had. The invisible man had me all bent out of shape, doing things that I abhorred in an effort to maintain my sanity and protect my family.

  I needed some excuse why I wanted to leave the house. We cherished the weekend, the only time we had together as a family. I too had been looking forward to our time together today. But I needed to be alone, somewhere quiet, where I could think. I could not get my thoughts together in this house. I thought I should go to the library. Not only would I be able to think there; but, if I needed to do any research, the tools were there at my disposal. I could not tell John I was ditching my family to go to the library. He would not buy it, and then it hit me.

  “Hon, I believe I’ll go antiquing with the girls today. I have not been in a while. Maybe there’s some new inventory at the village store. The girls haven’t come up with anything they want to do. We’ll be back in a couple of hours. When we return, you could make your famous barbecue chicken. What do you think?”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. I’m happy to see you getting back to one of your favorite past-time activities.”

  I sat across from him as I tried to recall the last time I’d gone antiquing, when, out of the blue, the black top hat I had found on my step came back to me. I immediately sat up straighter. I must have alerted John that something was wrong because he gave me a hard look, and asked what was the matter?

  “You looked as though you had seen a ghost,” he continued.

  I did not answer him, because suddenly, I began to connect the strange happenings taking place in my home to the black top hat. I wasn’t certain, but it was becoming clearer the longer I thought about the events taking place in my home and the last time I had been antiquing. I needed to talk with the girls. I called them from upstairs, and they rushed into the living room all excited. That was when I realized I had not had a playful conversation with my girls in a long while.

  “Girls, do either one of you remember the last time we went antiquing?” I asked all breathless, waiting to confirm my suspicions.

  “On that note,” John began, “I’m going to take a shower and change into something cool before I start working on the barbecue. I’ll prepare the chicken so it’ll have a couple of hours to marinate by the time you all get back. I’ll talk with you later.”

  I had already dismissed John and concentrated on the last time the girls and I had gone antiquing.

  “It’s been a while, Mom,” Johanna replied. “I believe it was in the spring.”

  It had been in the spring. The girls and I had gone to O’Mallery’s antique shop and spent quite a few hours there. I recreated the events that took place during my time at O’Mallery’s in my mind. I remembered walking into the shop and Mr. O’Mallery greeting me. He always seemed happy to see me, and that day had been no exception. When I had first begun visiting O’Mallery’s, the store was run b
y the old man and his son, Jeff. Jeff was believed to have drowned several months before in a boating accident. His body was never found, so his father was never able to mourn him properly.

  Mr. O’Mallery was very proud of his son. He had sent him away to school, and he had also done a stint in the army. Mr. O’Mallery always talked about his son to anyone who’d listen, but his son was a loner who did not socialize with the customers. As a matter of fact, come to think about it, I’d never seen Jeff O’Mallery publicly in the neighborhood or even about in the store. He was always in the back room, but it was his skill in restoring the old antiques his father bought that kept the store busy. His restoration skills were extraordinary. It made everything that came out of O’Mallery’s top of the line. Yes, talking about his son was Mr. O’Mallery’s favorite topic of conversation.

  That day, for the first time since I’d been visiting his store, Mr. O’Mallery had not mentioned his son, but he had kept me occupied looking at his new arrivals. The inventory was not the same, and nothing had caught my interest, but come to think of it, I had noticed a black top hat, similar to the one I had found on my front step, behind the counter when I was last there. I’d also seen Jeff O’Mallery wearing a similar hat that day he’d waited on me, that day when I’d gotten all hot and bothered to have him wait on me.

  The only reason I even noticed it was because I’d caught a glimpse of Jeff wearing a similar hat on the couple of occasions I had seen him in the back of the shop. I’d only caught brief glimpses of him when I had gone to the back room on two separate occasions that I could remember. I’d gone back there to look at some merchandise that Mr. O’Mallery wanted to show me.

  The first time was to look at an old rocking horse, which had newly arrived that day. The piece was in perfect condition with a beautiful mane that moved every time the horse moved. I liked the piece, but since I had no young children to appreciate it, I thought it would be wasted in my home, and I told him so. I’d caught a glimpse of O’Mallery’s son as I stood next to the horse, running my hand up and down its mane. I saw a movement in my peripheral vision, and turned just in time to see him disappear into a room marked private.