Alone

by Eric Clay



  Alone

  Eric Clay

  Alone

  Copyright © 2014 by Eric Clay

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information contact:

  ericcly@gmail.com

  Published by:

  M.O.I. Publishing

  "Mirrors of Imagination"

  Cover Design:

  Eric Clay

  Picture:

  Dreamstime: © Andreiuc88

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Awakened

  Chapter Two: Miss King

  Chapter Three: Movie Madness

  Chapter Four: Secrets

  Chapter Five: Uninvited

  Chapter 6: Missing

  Chapter 7: Note

  Chapter 8: Defeated

  Chapter 9: Not Defeated

  Chapter 10: First Love

  Chapter 11: Mother

  Chapter 12: Taylor

  Chapter 13: Confessions

  Chapter 14: Another Note

  Chapter 15: Apology

  Chapter 16: Story

  Chapter 17: Out-of-Body

  Chapter 18: Murder

  Chapter 19: Escape

  Chapter 20: Truth

  Chapter 21: Rose

  Chapter 22: Warning

  Chapter 23: Deception

  Chapter 24: Light

  Chapter 25: Attack

  Chapter 26: Matt

  Chapter 27: Rebellion

  Chapter 28: Discovery

  Chapter 29: Beginning of the End

  Chapter 30: Truth

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my mother…my inspiration!

  Chapter One: Awakened

  I jerked awake. Perspiration beaded my brow and my body felt stifled. The only relief came from a cool breeze blowing through the window across the room. Sunshine beamed onto the foot of my bed as it did every summer morning.

  It's not true. It can't be. It was a nightmare.

  Sweat trickled down my neck and the heat trapped beneath the sheet was unbearable. Inhaling and kicking off the covers, I concentrated on calming my raging heart. Repetitive knocking of the blind string against the window sill sounded loud to my ears.

  I remained in bed paralyzed by fear. Other than the slap of the string, eerie silence enshrouded the room. I looked at my closed bedroom door. Did the wind blow it shut?

  Nothing made sense.

  What if it wasn't a dream?

  My heart hammered and the sweat on my body brought chills. A loss of sensation spread up my arms.

  You're having a panic attack.

  Hoping it wouldn't intensify, I tried to ignore symptoms that had become familiar over the past several years. I focused and concentrated on each breath—in and out, in and out. I had to clear my mind to prevent an attack. Finally, I started to relax.

  Chapter Two: Miss King

  From the Beginning

  As I continued methodically breathing I decided to reexamine my life, beginning with my first memory of weirdness.

  I was in the fifth grade; a kid with cropped blond hair bleached by the sun, blue eyes, and an attitude twice as big as my short stature. If there was one thing I had learned in my eleven years, it was that I definitely did not fit in with the other kids, no matter how much I tried. They had a connection that always eluded me.

  Some of the name calling I endured throughout elementary school was: loser, freak, weirdo, nutcase. Daily, I tried to fit in, only to be mocked and harassed. And daily, I wondered why I was different from everyone else. It's not as if I went around looking for trouble.

  My only friend was Matt Crimsley. He was skinny and short like me, no more than five feet, with long, flyaway orange hair and patches of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had a gap between his front teeth that made him look like a chipmunk. I don't think he owned a hairbrush, and he usually wore the same afterschool attire—jeans snipped with scissors to make them into shorts and a brown T-shirt sporting a twisting trout on the front. His black Converse shoes had holes in the sides and looked like they should have been thrown away years earlier.

  Matt lived with his Mom on Willow Street on the outskirts of our small town of Fairview. His mom worked for McDuff's, the local grocery store, stocking shelves during the late shift. I felt bad for him because he had to stay home alone most nights while his mom worked. Mrs. Crimsley didn't make much money so Matt didn't even get an allowance. He was a faithful friend and always stood up for me when the other kids started their harassment.

  The day of weirdness began like any other school day with me and my sister walking to the bus stop by following the forest trail behind our home. Halfway down there was a small pond that dried up every year. The bottom of the trail intersected an old country road that led to Main Street, the road into town, and also passed by Willow Street. We always picked Matt up on the way. The bus stop was located on the old country road across the street from a picnic area. I remember it was a windy day and, as usual, the bus arrived around seven twenty-five. It was never late.

  "All aboard!" shouted Mr. Rigsby like he did every morning while opening the sliding doors of the yellow monstrosity. Matt and I always sat in the seat directly behind the driver and Mr. Rigsby always pulled the bus to the front of the school around eight.

  As was our habit, Matt and I entered the classroom at eight fifteen, barely making it on time. Miss King stood at the door waiting for the last students to arrive. She had a reputation for being the toughest teacher at school and never wore makeup. The extent of her color palette seemed to be black or brown to match her black hair. Whenever I caused a disturbance, she would make me sit outside the door of the classroom. Yes, she was tough.

  This day was different because there was a foul smell in the classroom. It smelled like something was dead and rotting. The other kids didn't seem to notice the creepy odor.

  Matt went to his seat in the back corner of the room because Miss King wanted us separated. My seat was in the very front center where she could keep an eye on me. As I sat at my desk, I couldn't understand why no one was complaining about the stink in the room. I raised my hand.

  Miss King said in her scratchy voice, "Yes, Roy?"

  "Miss King, what is that horrible smell?"

  "I don't smell anything. Does anyone else smell anything?"

  The kids shook their heads and looked at me like I'd stolen their lunch money or something. Almost in unison, they said, "No, I don't smell anything."

  Next to me, I heard Jacob Jensen say under his breath, "Freak."

  Turning around, I glanced at Matt and he shook his head.

  The stench was so strong I couldn't believe no one could smell it.

  "What does it smell like?" asked Miss King.

  I said the only word I could think of to describe the awful stench. "Death"

  "Death!" she snarled. "How do you know what death smells like?"

  "I smelled a dead deer before."

  "Trust me, if something was dead, everyone in this room would know it, including me. Now no more nonsense. Everyone, pass your homework assignment to the front."

  Glancing around the room for the cause of the horrendous odor, I noticed Miss King watching me closely. I looked at the closed door to the supply room, which usually remained open. I figured there must be something in there causing the smell.

  The odor remained constant throughout the morning. We had a short
recess, but the stink was still there when we returned to class. At eleven fifty-five the bell rang. Miss King excused us and we all rushed for the door. "Roy," she called in a stern voice.

  I froze because the only time I heard that tone was when I was in trouble.

  "Yes, Miss King," I replied, cautiously.

  "Can you stay for a minute, please?"

  "Um. Okay." I couldn't think of anything I'd done wrong other than ask about the stinky smell. Maybe I did something bad yesterday? Puzzled, I slowly returned to my seat.

  Miss King shut the door after the last student and then went from window to window at the back of the classroom shutting blinds. The room got darker as each of the six blinds was drawn. This was very unusual behavior. Miss King never closed the blinds unless we were watching a film. I started feeling uneasy. I must really be in trouble.

  Anticipating the worst, my heart started pounding. My father had warned me that I would be in big trouble if he got another call from the school.

  Miss King finished pulling the last blind and peeked around it. A shaft of light streaked through the crack and emphasized her harsh features. Finally, she turned and walked to my desk.

  "Roy, you're not in trouble," she whispered. "There's something very important you must know, but we don't have much time."

  In the dim light, I could see she looked scared.

  She said. "You are–"

  At that moment, Matt opened the door to the classroom. Startled, Miss King stopped midsentence.

  "Roy, are you coming?" Matt demanded.

  I looked at Miss King. She looked nervous and said, "Go ahead, Roy. We'll talk after lunch."

  I started toward Matt who was holding the door open, but turned back to Miss King. "You sure? What did you want to tell me?"

  "Only that we'll work on your homework later."

  Homework? All this secrecy for homework? I was confused, but I was hungry and I knew we could finish our talk after lunch, so I bolted out the door.

  After lunch, Mr. Hucklebee, the principal, was there. "Where's Miss King?" I asked.

  "She had an emergency and had to leave," he replied.

  I took my seat and fixed my eyes on the closed supply room door. The smell has to be coming from in there. Often I caught Mr. Hucklebee staring at me.

  I thought of a way to get into the supply room and raised my hand.

  "Yes, Mr. Clawson."

  "May I get a pencil from the supply room, please?"

  "No!" he said firmly. "Does anyone have a pencil Mr. Clawson can borrow?"

  Matt raised his hand with a pencil in it. "I do."

  Reluctantly, I walked to Matt's desk and grabbed the pencil.

  The class dragged on and I couldn't wait for it to be over. Anxiously, I watched the clock above the chalkboard, willing it to tick faster. My plan was to run to the supply room and throw the door open as soon as the bell rang. I wanted to prove to everyone that there was something in that room causing a bad smell—3:27, 3:28, 3:29, 3:30. The bell rang.

  Principal Hucklebee moved to stand in front of the supply room door. He said, "You are all excused to go home."

  Slowly, I left the classroom. Once I got outside, Matt and I ran to the bus. On the ride home, I tried to get him to admit to smelling the stink. He insisted he didn't smell anything.

  "What about Miss King?" I asked, after I told him how strange she had acted.

  "She was probably trying to tell you she was leaving and not to be sad," he teased.

  "Very funny. Seriously, what do you think she was trying to tell me?"

  "I don't know, Roy, but I'm sure it was no big deal."

  "Why did she shut all the blinds?"

  "Maybe she was planning on a movie after lunch." He laughed. "Or maybe she was trying to freak you out a little. You know, get back at you for coming to class last week with gum on the bottom of your shoes."

  "Yeah? Well I still think it's really weird."

  The next day I arrived at school hoping to find out what Miss King wanted to tell me and what was in the supply room. I ran from the bus and reached my classroom at precisely three minutes after eight. The door was closed. I pulled it open and ducked my head around scanning the room for Miss King. The room was empty. I looked at the closed door of the supply room. Unlike yesterday, the classroom did not have the foul odor. Purposefully, I walked to the supply room door and gripped the old copper knob with my sweaty palm. I twisted until I felt the knob click.

  "Mr. Clawson!"

  I jumped back and turned around to see Mr. Hucklebee standing inside the classroom door. My heart pounded.

  "Um, yes, Principal Hucklebee?"

  "Why are you here so early, son? Don't you want to play before class starts?"

  "Yes, sir." I released the door and walked past the principal.

  "Did you need something out of the supply room, Mr. Clawson?"

  "Just a pencil, sir."

  "What is it with you and pencils, boy?" Principal Hucklebee walked to the door and opened it wide. Slowly, I returned to the supply room and slipped inside, scanning its contents for anything unusual. Everything looked the way it always had. I grabbed a pencil and returned to the classroom.

  "Is Miss King here today?" I asked, before leaving the room.

  "No, she's not."

  "Thanks," I gulped, and bolted outside.

  Several days later Miss King had still not returned and was replaced by another teacher, Mrs. Crane. We were told that Miss King was taking an early retirement because her health would not allow her to return to work. I never saw Miss King again.

  Chapter Three: Movie Madness

  On my fourteenth birthday, my parents gave me two tickets to the opening night of Amazing Man. Being such a huge comic book fan, I watched every super hero movie that came to the big screen. I thought it was way cool that super heroes had such awesome powers. Out of all their abilities, though, the one I liked most was flying. Soaring through the clouds and looking down on earth seemed like the ultimate experience. I would often lie on the grass in my backyard staring at the clouds and imagining myself airborne. I imagined the wind blowing against my face and the freedom of nothing holding me up. Even though I knew it was impossible, pretending still got me excited.

  Amazing Man was playing at the only theater in the town of Fort Carter, about twenty miles from Fairview. My little burg was far too small to support a movie theater.

  On that particular Friday night, Matt and I were excited about the opening of Amazing Man. My dad dropped us off at the curb in my family's old yellow station wagon, and said, "Roy…"

  "Yeah, dad?"

  "Don't forget, I'll be back at nine-thirty."

  "Okay, Dad."

  Matt and I rushed to the entrance of the old theater to purchase our tickets and hurried inside.

  "Theater number two on the right," said the teenage boy as he tore our tickets in half and pointed to a long, narrow hallway leading to theaters one through three.

  I said, "Matt, let's get some popcorn first."

  "Sure, Roy. You go ahead. I'll wait for you." He sounded funny.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out an old balled up five dollar bill. "Don't worry about paying, I have five bucks. Let's get a large popcorn to share."

  Matt licked his lips with anticipation.

  When we reached the front of the line, I said, "One large popcorn and two cups of water, please"

  The girl working the concession nodded and asked, "Butter?"

  "Sure." I handed her the five dollar bill and she gave me a few pennies in return. Matt grabbed the overflowing bucket and we walked into the theater. Since we had arrived early we were able to get our favorite seats—third row from the front, dead center. We liked those seats because an aisle separated our row from the rest of the rows so no one could sit behind us, and usually no one sat in front of us because it was too close to the screen. We were pretty much alone. However, the best part of sitting there was feeling like you were right in the action
of the movie. We ate our popcorn and waited for the previews to begin. Finally, the lights dimmed.

  By the time the movie started, I was feeling chilled. I folded my arms tightly across my chest and curled my legs onto my chair to stay warm. Matt didn't appear to be cold as he held the big bucket of popcorn between us and chomped on handfuls. I was having a hard time focusing on the screen because I was so cold. I turned and scanned the audience. It seemed that I was the only one shivering.

  I leaned toward Matt. "I'm freezing," I whispered.

  "Maybe if you weren't wearing shorts and a tank top you wouldn't be so cold," he replied, as he chomped another mouthful of popcorn and watched the previews. A particularly scary one had us gasping.

  I heard a voice behind me call, "Hey!" I turned around to see someone standing at the rear of the theater waving. I squinted trying to focus on whoever was disrupting the movie. I thought it was strange, however, that everyone just sat with their eyes glued to the movie screen; seemingly oblivious to whoever was making noise at the back.

  "Roy!" The person gestured again.

  Quickly, I turned back to Matt. "Matt, did you hear my name yelled? There's someone waving at me from the back of the theater."

  Matt was so engrossed in the movie that he continued staring at the screen, ignoring me.

  Anxiously, I stood and started toward the stairs leading to the rear of the theater. I didn't see anyone gesturing anymore as I ascended the stairs. When I reached the top, I noticed an empty aisle seat with someone sitting in the chair next to it. Confused, I glanced around. Who had called my name and waved? I sat in the aisle chair beside a heavy set man wearing a baseball cap.

  "Excuse me, sir," I whispered, and lightly tapped his arm. The man just sat motionless, engrossed in the movie. "Excuse me, sir," I repeated a little louder. The man brushed his arm and continued to ignore me. I couldn't understand how he could be so rude. How could he not at least acknowledge me? Frustrated, I looked behind me. A shadowy figure sat in the corner of the back row, two rows behind and a few chairs over from me. I couldn't see the person's face clearly. In a hushed tone I asked, "Did you see someone standing here gesturing and calling out for Roy?"

  In a voice that sounded scratchy and creepy, he replied, "No."

  I left my seat and headed back to where Matt was sitting. I noticed someone had taken my seat. Still cold, I folded my arms around myself, staring at whoever was in my place. The movie screen suddenly brightened and the person turned around. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was me sitting next to Matt. I was staring at myself.