Cold Summer Nights

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  Her eyes opened even wider. “Stay away,” she moaned louder, lowering her arm.

  He glanced around the room and turned back to her. “S-stay away from who?” he sputtered.

  Her wrinkled face twisted and her hands balled up into fists of anger. She threw her head back and screamed so loudly he covered his ears. And before he even knew what was happening, she launched into the air and jumped on him. He closed his eyes and tensed his entire body, waiting for her weight to come crashing down on him and her hands to start digging out his eyeballs. But nothing happened.

  He cracked an eyelid and scanned the room, his chest rising and falling. She was gone. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, gasping for air. The silence was overwhelming and all he wanted to do was turn on a light, but he still couldn’t move. Paralysis swept across his body as his mind played tricks on him in the darkened room. He saw her in the corner but it was just a tall plant. He took in deep gulps of air, trying to control his racing pulse.

  Finally, he mustered up enough motor function to ease the sheets back and place one bare foot on the floor, expecting her calloused hand to reach out from beneath the bed and latch on to his ankle. He hit the light next to him and squinted, canvassing the room with thin eyes. He got out of bed, expecting to find a pair of muddy footprints where she had been standing, but the carpet was clean. He checked the closet and the master bath before going to check the rest of the house.

  He came back into the bedroom and bent over, resting his hands on his knees like a gassed basketball player in the fourth quarter. His eyes scoured the room again and came up empty. He let out another long breath and dropped his head.

  The early morning sun slowly began slicing across the living room’s wooden floor as Nick forced himself to finish a bowl of Captain Crunch. He stared at the dark TV with unfocused eyes, images of his grandmother floating through his thick head. The only thing he was sure of was that it hadn’t been a dream. Her angry face flashed in his mind. He had never seen her make a face like that in all his years, not even when he had spilt an entire glass of cherry Kool-Aid on her favorite rug in the dining room. Her face, dripping with rage and saggy skin, had left an imprint in his mind he couldn’t shake – and probably never would. His phone started ringing, making him spill wet cereal in his lap. He snatched it, wiping his chin on his shirt sleeve. “Hello?” he said with his mouth full.

  “Nick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Marcia Cross at Fountain View Care Center.”

  Nick swallowed and turned to the bay window. “Yeah?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” she said, her soothing and professional tone saying everything he needed to know. “I’m afraid your grandmother, Helen Wilson, passed away early this morning.”

  Silence strangled his throat, his grandma’s ghostly warning reverberating off the walls inside his skull.

  “Nick?”

  “What happened?”

  “It was just her time. I’m sorry, Nick.”

  That night, Summer sipped hot coffee, listening to Nick’s bad news. “That is horrible. I’m so sorry, Nick,” she said softly, placing an icy hand on his.

  He picked at the label on his beer bottle with his thumb. “I know its cliché, but I’m sure she’s in a much better place now. That nursing home was so bad and she just wanted to be with my grandpa who died years ago.”

  Summer nodded and took her hand back. “Well, I’m sure she’s with him now.”

  His grandma’s enraged face popped into his head and he tried blinking it away. He considered telling Summer about seeing his grandma that morning but didn’t want to scare her off with too much drama. They hadn’t been dating that long.

  They decided to skip trying out a Mexican restaurant that had just opened around the corner and ordered a pizza instead. He didn’t feel like going out tonight, so they talked and watched TV with the remote working just fine while they waited for the delivery driver to show up.

  “My grandma died when I was twelve and I remember my mom taking it pretty hard,” Summer said, setting her empty mug down.

  “You want another cup?”

  “Sure.”

  Nick swept the mug into the kitchen.

  “But she thought the same thing you did,” Summer continued in a louder voice. “My grandma and grandpa had been happily married for fifty-two years before he died.” She paused, watching him pour her another cup of coffee. “She used to get her hair done every Saturday so she would look nice for him just in case that week was her time to go.”

  “Wow,” Nick said, coming back into the living room with goose bumps burrowing into his flesh.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the cup from him with two hands.

  He sat back down next to her on the couch. “I guess when you’re with someone for that long, you feel incomplete when they’re gone and just want to feel whole again.”

  Summer looked up from the steaming mug and smiled at him. “I hope I find that someday.”

  Nick smiled back, his eyes softening. “I’m sure you will.”

  She smiled bashfully and blew on her coffee.

  “Because I work with a guy I think you would just love.”

  She frowned and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “In fact, I’ll text him right now,” he said, pulling out his phone.

  “You are so bad!” she laughed, shaking her head.

  Nick’s eyes cracked open at three in the morning. He tried to fall back asleep but he had to pee like a racehorse. Gently, he slipped out of bed and tippy-toed into the hallway bathroom. They both had to work in the morning and he didn’t want to wake her. This was the first time she had stayed over on a work night and he wanted it to go well. The bathroom door gently clicked shut behind him. He reached for the light switch and stepped on something. He flipped on the light and his pulse quickened. The remote lying on the bathroom rug didn’t seem possible, didn’t seem real. But he thought the same thing about seeing his grandma Helen yesterday morning.

  With sleepy eyes, he reached down and picked the remote up with two fingers like it was a dead mouse. He set it on the sink and turned to the toilet. His eyes drifted over to the gray remote while his stream wandered over the toilet’s edge. “Damn,” he whispered, yanking his eyes and the stream back to the porcelain bowl.

  He wiped up the floor with a wad of toilet paper and flushed it. After washing his hands, he turned off the light and let his eyes adjust to the darkness before opening the door. The deep sea diving knife glistened inside his mind. Someone was in the house. Someone like his grandma. He swallowed dryly and felt bad for fearing her, for letting that be her legacy.

  Cautiously, he stepped into the hallway and froze, listening intently. It was quiet. He glanced over to the bedroom, noticing that Summer’s usual heavy breathing was gone but at least she wasn’t. He crept into the living room and set the remote back on the coffee table, his wide eyes nervously sweeping the place.

  “Get off me!” Summer suddenly yelled.

  His head snapped to the hallway. He hesitated before dashing down it. From the doorway, he could see she was sound asleep with her eyes closed. He cased the room, his blood pounding thickly in his temples, driving out the quiet. Her words echoed in his head but there was no one else in there.

  After checking the spare room, he stumbled into the dark kitchen and opened the fridge to provide some light. It was clear as well so he reached into the fridge to get a drink of cold water. His breath snagged when he saw the toaster sitting next to the milk on the top shelf. He backpedaled, his eyes doing full rotations around the room. His body twirled, trying to keep up with his frantic peepers, as the fridge door slowly shut on its own. He stared at the empty spot on the counter where the toaster was supposed to be sitting, knowing that someone was inside the house. He hit the lights, trying to catch his breath.

  The knife under his bed flashed through his mind again. He pulled a butcher’s knife from the block on the counter and shuffle
d his bare feet over to the basement door, taking a deep breath before turning the knob. The door swung back into the kitchen with a long creak and darkness greeted him on the other side. He hit the light switch inside the door, bringing the staircase into view. Cautiously, went down the wooden steps, trying to ready himself for a surprise attack at the bottom. But when he reached the end of the stairs, no one jumped out at him.

  His eyes patrolled the small, unfinished area as cooler air wrapped its clammy arms around him. The washer and dryer, furnace, water heater, oddball boxes, tools, and an old bumper pool table occupied their usual positions. Nothing seemed out of whack, so he turned to leave and screamed.

  Summer screamed with him and threw her hands over her mouth.

  “Sonofabitch!” he cried, lowering the large knife.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I heard a noise and came down to see if you were okay.”

  He set the knife down on a box and rested his hands on his hips, his chest heaving. “We really got to get you a bell.”

  Her face scrunched up. “What are you doing with that knife?”

  Back in the bedroom, he told Summer about finding the remote on the bathroom floor and the toaster in the fridge. If texting too much had scared girls off before, this would probably make her run for the hills. But it obviously wasn’t him and there was only one other person in the house who could have done it. If anything, maybe he was the one who should be running for the hills.

  “So what? You think it was me?” she laughed, her over her chest. “I’ve never walked in my sleep before, let alone transported objects in the process.”

  “Well, here’s the thing. Somebody put the toaster in the refrigerator,” he said carefully, plopping onto the bed and laying back down.

  “Well it wasn’t me!”

  The conversation stalled out and Nick’s eyes kept jerking to shadows in the room where he thought he had just seen something move.

  Summer pulled the covers up to her chin. “I’m really freaked out right now,” she whispered.

  Nick didn’t reply. She was preaching to the choir.

  She rolled over onto her side and studied his profile. “You think I did it, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but something crazy is going on.” His grandma, standing at the foot of his bed, flickered in front of him. Then she was gone.

  “I’m scared,” Summer said faintly, as if she had seen the same ghostly image.

  Nick turned to her. “Maybe we need to lay off the coffee before bed.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You do think it was me!”

  “Well it's either paranormal activity or somebody is sleepwalking.”

  She grunted and turned her back to him and just like that, he guessed the week night visits were finished.

  “We need to set up a camera with night vision.”

  She snorted. “Camera?”

  “To catch whatever is going on here. Plus, we could make our own movies.”

  She tried not to laugh but it slipped out anyway. “Are you ever serious?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “And we will both be starring in a movie I like to call The Lucky Burglar,” he said, pushing a hand across the air in front of them like he could see the theater marquee now.

  “What?” she said, cracking up.

  “I’m gonna need a black ski mask. And some rope.”

  She took a deep breath and turned to him with doe eyes. “If that’s the case, we should probably start rehearsing.” Her lips sinuously found his as her cold hand disappeared beneath the sheets.

  Chapter Eight

  The office was already bustling and Nick was late. He power walked to his office, keeping his head down as he passed the cubicle farm he was, thankfully, no longer a part of. A couple of rookie agents said good morning and he nodded without slowing. The door frame to his small office grew closer and he had to resist the urge to take a quick look around. At this point, he didn’t really care if Bill saw him or not, but preferred dodging his boss’ barbs today. Bill was an ex-military guy and punctuation was everything. If someone wanted to be a real ass kisser, they came in ten minutes early every day, loud and proud.

  Nick glanced at his watch and grimaced with his head still down, staring at the grey speckled carpet unfolding beneath his black dress shoes. Twelve minutes late, which, in Bill time, translated to twenty-two minutes late and counting. He turned into his office and released a pent-up breath, hurriedly setting his laptop on the desk. Now if he could just make it to the coat rack and back to the desk chair he was home free. His coat slipped off his shoulders into his hands, which swung it around and dropped it onto one of the big wooden hooks. Halfway back to the desk, he released another sigh of relief. Home free.

  “Did you have a good weekend, Nick?”

  Nick flinched, his heart beating sharply out of rhythm. He knew Bill had seen him jump and probably wasn’t satisfied with it. If his boss had his way around here, he’d be in Nick’s face spitting profanities and making him drop and give him twenty. Nick made it to the desk and sat down in the high back chair on wheels, looking up to see Bill leaning in the doorway with steam rising from a Morton Realty coffee cup in his hand. His large frame cast an enormous shadow into the room.

  “It was a long one,” Nick replied, trying to smile.

  Bill flicked his watch out from beneath his crisp white shirtsleeve and took a good look at the timepiece. “Bet it was,” he said, lifting his eyebrows and dropping his arm. “Bet you had a lot more going on than the rest of us who had all the time in the world to come back to work today on time, because we don’t have nearly the exiting life you do, so it’s understandable that you need preferential...treatment.”

  “Actually,” Nick started, clearing his throat. “My grandma died on Saturday.”

  Bill’s eyebrows dipped.

  “And things got a little…”

  “The one in the nursing home?” Bill asked, in a much softer tone.

  Nick nodded with thin lips.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Nick. That’s terrible news,” he said gently, dropping his eyes to his mug.

  “Is it okay if I take Wednesday off for her funeral?”

  Bill’s eyes popped back up. “Absolutely. Take tomorrow off too if you need it.”

  “I think I will. Thanks.”

  Bill shifted in his stance in the doorway and took a slow sip. He swallowed, staring at Nick. “It’s always hard losing a grandparent who has been around since before you were even born.”

  Nick nodded, unzipping his laptop case. “It is, but I’m sure she’s a lot happier now. That place was brutal.”

  Bill shook his gray crew cut. “That’s no way to go out, which is why I try to go biking as often as possible,” he said, patting his flat stomach.

  Nick smiled and took out his laptop. “How’d your weekend go?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

  Bill inhaled deeply and released it. “Well, mine went a little bit smoother than yours. Got the cars washed, did some grilling, my son got beat by a girl at the state wrestling tournament.”

  Nick stopped punching buttons on the laptop and looked up to meet Bill’s eyes. “What?”

  His boss raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yep, finally got the cars all washed up.”

  Nick squinted and shook his head. “No, the other part…about your son.”

  Bill tilted his head back. “Oh that. Evidently they let girls wrestle in high school now and lucky me, my son drew the card.”

  Nick snorted. “Don’t they have…girl wrestling leagues or something?”

  Bill sipped some more hot coffee and grimaced with its heat. “Apparently not. And now my son will probably turn into a serial killer. He didn’t take it too well.”

  Nick tried not to laugh. “That is so wrong. I mean, you win, big deal you beat a girl. If you lose, you got beat by a girl.”

  Bill chuckled. “Tell me about it. His mother wants to take his shoelaces.”

>   This time the laugh escaped Nick’s lips.

  “Personally, I’m more afraid of finding a collection of soiled female panties hiding underneath his mattress than anything else. Maybe some of those female shoe catalogues with the pages all stuck together.”

  Nick arched an eyebrow at him. “Okay, I should probably get some work done.”

  “Which reminds me,” Bill said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and dropping it onto Nick’s desk.

  Nick’s eyes followed the paper to its resting position next to his office phone.

  “Carla’s out sick today, so I’m going to need you to show the Manning house at ten o’clock this morning,” Bill said, slamming back some more of the dark brew.

  The smell of burnt toast suddenly wafted into Nick’s office from down the hall, prompting his toaster - sitting next to the milk and eggs in the fridge - to flash through his mind. He stared at the folded up piece of paper on the desk as the clock on the wall across from him ticked off each passing second. Why would anyone put a toaster in the refrigerator, asleep or not? And why was there always something wrong with every girl he ever dated. Something he couldn’t get past, like sneaking around with bartenders who looked like they should be on The Jersey Shore.

  “Nick?”

  Nick’s eyes jerked up to his boss. “Huh?”

  Bill squinted at him. “You okay?”

  He grabbed the paper and began unfolding it. “Yeah. Ten o’clock. Gotcha,” he said, staring at a picture of a nicely manicured three bedroom/two bath Beaverdale brown brick.

  “You are free at ten, right?”

  Nick glanced up to see Bill’s eyebrows high up on his forehead, awaiting Nick’s reply. “Yeah, I’m free.”

  “Now, the lady you are meeting, Ms. Gardner, has already looked at the place twice so I want you to go in for the kill on this one, Nick,” he said firmly, as if he was commanding Nick to clear a burning village. “We can’t afford to waste any more time with her. I want you to sweep the leg.”