“Now what?” Marc backed away from the window, watching the room grow brighter as the creature approached.
“Up on the roof,” whispered Greg. “Grab the spouting and pull yourself up.” He was already clinging to the gutter, hoping fervently that it would hold his weight. The metal girders buckled under the stress, but he managed to hoist himself onto the tile-covered roof, offering a hand to his friend.
Marc latched onto Greg’s arm, gritting his teeth as he felt the odd prickling sensation crawling across his skin, exactly as Greg had described earlier. The spouting bent downwards under the added pressure, and Marc kicked his feet against the wall in panic. Greg tugged onto Marc’s shirt, dragging him up to the roof. Breathing a sigh of relief, Marc raised himself higher, sampling the lurid atmosphere surrounding the house.
“Greg! Look!” He stared in surprise at a disturbance along the left side of the building. They trudged along the rooftop, staring in amazement at a shimmering section of light, encompassing an area of only a few square feet. It emitted a dazzling spectrum of churning colors - purple, violet, and various hues of a dozen other shades.
“The rift!” Greg was ecstatic as they drew nearer. “It has to be the doorway.”
As they reached the edge of the house, they were almost blinded by the laser-like rays pouring forth from the anomaly. Greg looked grim as he measured their position. The opening was several yards in front of them and below where they stood.
“How do we go through?” Marc waved his hands in the air, as if to grab onto something substantial.
“We jump.”
The prospect was daunting.
“In mid-air? Just like that?” Marc stared at the void underneath the rift. “And what if we miss?”
“If we miss,” said Greg, “then we’ll see a lot more of this dimension than we ever dreamed possible. There doesn’t seem to be any surface like we’re familiar with.”
“We could drift forever in that nothingness.” Marc shuddered.
“Have to do it soon, the lights getting brighter. It’s starting to close.” Greg pointed ahead, where the rift was slowly shrinking, the pulsing beams increasing in severity.
“Greg! What in the name -” Marc pointed behind them, where another light had appeared.
A billowing curtain of pale illumination slowly approached. It looked like a flag or banner, flapping softly without wind to move it, coming purposefully towards them.
“Another creature! We’ve got to take our chances with the rift.” Greg poised himself like a long-jumper, hands splayed at his sides to brace himself for the leap. Peering over his shoulder, he was startled as a new glowing covered part of the roof, directly over the attic window.
The thing was following them.
“Good luck, Marc.” He shook his friend’s hand, and bounded forward into the air, never looking back.
He glided into space like a high-diver, going headfirst into the narrowing rift. Anticipating being burned or electrified, he was surprised by the oddest sensation, as if he were being sucked into mud.
His ears rang with a rending squeal and he lost all perception of direction or consciousness for a time.
Darkness and pain.
Every fiber of his body ached, and Greg felt bruised and weary. He opened his eyes but saw nothing. He was blind for a span of several seconds as his pupils adjusted to the new light. Staring skyward he recognized familiar shades of colors forming again. A soft groan reached his ears as he arched his neck, seeing the crumpled form of Marc lying next to him. They had made it, passing through the rift in enough time to leave the other dimension.
He pushed himself off the ground with battered arms, his eyesight becoming clearer, and he looked around.
“Greg, we made it. We made it!”
Marc’s voice shook with excitement, reaching out to his friend with a shaking hand. Greg looked down at Marc, overwhelmed with emotions himself, trying to find the right words, but finding none. What could he possibly tell him, he thought, standing as he craned his head upwards at the purple sky above.
Words alone would not suffice. There was no way to describe the vision before him - the vast, spiraling vortex of blackness, stretching beyond the range of comprehension into the glaring-orange distance, the colorless fabric of haze they were impossibly resting on, the jagged streaks of ethereal lines criss-crossing the alien landscape, some of them even passing through their bodies. No, there was nothing suitable to express the awe that crushed down on Greg as he looked at his strange surroundings.
Marc would have to see for himself before believing in the fantastic elements of this new dimension.
Scary Nights
The scream echoed in Bill’s mind, a shrill plea calling him, the thin voice drenched in terror. He tossed in fitful unrest, his slumber growing lighter as the disturbance molested his unconsciousness, pricking him with tendrils of anxiety. A slow suffocation draped across his mind - a blanket of fear and madness which threatened to overwhelm him, black creatures flapping invisibly over his drifting fantasies.
He opened his eyes, his skin moist with sweat, as he stared at the stucco ceiling overhead. Bill’s breathing was labored, loud in his own ears, his heart racing in his chest. The voice, he thought. A dream?
“Mommy, help.”
It was Bobby.
He looked over at the bleary-eyed figure of his wife Carol, now roused from sleep herself.
“Honey, can you go check on him? He’s having another nightmare.”
A grimace played across Bill’s clean-shaven face, a face that managed to look pale even under the midday sun. He hopped out of bed, feeling a twinge of stiffness in his back, and slid his feet into a pair of fuzzy-blue slippers.
“All right. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, though.”
Shuffling his lean frame through the room, he snapped on a lamp and continued toward Bobby’s bedroom. He flicked on the light, banishing the shadows back into the corners as he stuck his head inside Bobby’s room.
“Hey, what’s going on here? Another nightmare?”
The nine-year old looked up at him from tightly pulled covers, only the upper part of his head visible. His gray orbs were misted, dusky with fright.
“Dad, I’m scared. There’s something in here.” His voice shook with that special blend of terror, which only a frightened child could feel, alone in the night, and shrouded in darkness. Bill frowned at the boy.
“We’ve had this talk before, you know. There is nothing in this room, do you hear me? Just a young boy with an overactive imagination, having a bad dream.”
“But there is something, dad. Over there.”
He pointed at the closet, which was open several inches.
Bill stepped into the room. “Listen, sport. This is the third night in a row; you’ve got to stop waking up at night. Your mother and I need our sleep, and so do you. If this keeps up, I won’t let you watch any more scary shows, or play video games. Understand?”
The boy cowered under the blankets. “I don’t care, there’s something in the closet.”
“Guess I’ll have to show you myself.” He walked towards the closet door.
“Don’t! It’s in there!” There was genuine fear in the boy’s voice, causing Bill to stop in his tracks. Bobby was a good kid, and they didn’t have any problems with him. His grades were excellent, he never got into trouble. Why the nightmares? What else was going on?
“Is there anything you want to tell me?”
“Yeah, please don’t go in the closet. It’s in there.”
“What’s in there? The boogeyman? There’s no such thing, Bobby.”
Bill stared at the closet, knowing how children could be afraid of such unseen terrors. All kids went through that stage at some point. Invisible friends, monsters lurking under the bed, creatures in the closet. He had felt the same way when he was a child, but grew out of them in time.
“Don’t open it.”
He looked at Bobby, then at the close
t. A tingle of fear ran down his spine as he briefly shared his son’s dread, a flashback of deeply buried feelings he had experienced long ago. What if there really was something in the closet?
Don’t be foolish, he chided himself. You’re a big boy, now, no throwbacks at forty. That’s not part of being middle-aged. He placed his hand on the doorknob as Bobby huddled in the bed, concern for his dad etched into the smooth face, the blond hair ruffled to one side.
For a fleeting moment, Bill’s entire body went cold. His hand rested on the door handle, and he felt absolutely terrified to open the door, convinced that something waited inside.
Something intelligent, horrible, and purely evil.
His wandering mind embraced the demons that brooded within, giving them a face, breathing life into their ethereal forms. Beads of new sweat appeared on his brow, conjured up by the trappings of subconscious fears.
In that single span of time, Bill knew that something existed in the closet.
Mechanically, he pulled the frame open, eyes wide in anticipation of what lurked inside the confines of Bobby’s closet. He wanted to stop himself, wanted to scream out loud. He watched in fascination as his own hand, now an alien appendage, acted against the warnings in his head, while Bobby whimpered behind him.
“Daddy, don’t, pleeeeease...”
Bill opened the door, feeling a rush of unseen nightmare wings thrust into his face, clawing at his mind.
It was empty.
Bill swished the spoon around in the plastic bowl, trying to gather as many of his favorite flakes as possible on the over-sized utensil.
“He’ll get over it, all kids go through the same thing, you know,” Bill said, scooping up a generous clump of flakes.
“Yes, but why don’t you do this for him? Show him there’s nothing to be afraid of?” Carol peered at him over one shoulder, carrying a handful of egg-splattered dishes.
He looked at the back of the cereal carton, which depicted a purple and yellow monster in the middle of a maze. Bill mentally followed a spot on the diagram, weaving in and out of dead-ends and false passages.
“Then we can all get back to our normal routine again.”
Bill came dangerously close to choosing a fatal corridor, and then he backed up. If he’d been tracing the maze with a pencil, he would have led himself to the monster. Fortunately, it was make-believe.
“Are you even listening?”
Yeah, he thought. Lucky me.
“Bill!”
“What?” He swung his head around, looking at Carol, spilling milk over the rim of his cereal bowl and losing his imaginary spot on the labyrinth.
“I said, why don’t you spend the night in Bobby’s room, and prove that there is nothing to be scared of, all right?”
“That won’t show him anything, he needs to overcome the nightmares by himself.” Bill tried to find his spot on the maze, well away from the leering monster that waited in the middle.
“Come on, hon. I’m asking you. For me.”
Bill grunted.
“Well?”
He sighed, knowing that he fought a losing battle. “All right.”
“Thanks. Tonight then?”
“Yeah, tonight. But only one night.”
“Fine. He’ll be relieved to hear it.”
What about me, he thought, thinking of his own panic the previous night.
Suddenly, Bill didn’t feel hungry anymore.
All day long, Bill had waged a silent battle against a disquieting uneasiness, trying to distract the unwanted thoughts. He’d been unsuccessful. Now he stared at the black and white set in Bobby’s room, flicking through the channels, and finding little of interest. He looked over at the clock on the dresser, shaped like a swimming fish holding a clamshell in its fins. It was nearly midnight, and he should have been asleep himself by now.
But he wasn’t.
Bill’s gray eyes shifted over to the bedroom closet, fully closed, and he felt spider-chills creeping over his arms, causing him to shiver. Stop it, he thought. You’re worse than a kid. A grown man, afraid of the boogeyman. He almost laughed aloud.
Almost.
Why was he so disturbed? Maybe he felt Bobby’s innocent fear, making him apprehensive, concerned for his son. He yawned, stretching out on the soft feather bed. Pretty comfortable, he thought. An airplane dangled from the ceiling tied to a plastic wire. Bobby liked the plane, especially in the summer when the wind would blow it, and the propeller would spin.
Bill fell asleep, dreaming about a warm breeze and sailing out on the lake.
Eyes, baleful and red, glared at him.
An open maw, slavering with dripping saliva, filled with rows of sharp teeth. The foul breath, hot, and steamy, poured out from the creature’s mouth. Coming closer. Closer...
Bill awoke from the horrible nightmare, clutching the blankets and finding himself drenched in a cold, sticky sweat. His heart pounded in fear, his breathing deep and painful. He was fully alert, the dream dispersing into the realm of sleep to be lost forever.
Staring up at the ceiling, he saw the propeller spinning on the little airplane. Something familiar, friendly, he thought. Bill’s jaw stiffened.
It shouldn’t be moving.
The windows were shut - it was the middle of winter.
His chest felt a growing numbness, squeezing him slowly, threatening to stifle him. He pushed himself up from the bed, his entire body encased in icy terror. He knew immediately where to look, his body reacting to the subconscious command.
The closet door.
Bill knew what he would see.
The door would be fully opened, the creature glaring out at him, silently beckoning to him, inviting him into its dark demesne. As a young boy, he’d been mercilessly tormented by the nightmare dweller. And now Bobby was too.
He never actually saw the monster, but that failed to prove anything. It was in there, coming into the world only at night, summoned by the frightful workings of a child’s mind. Bill trembled in fear, telling himself that he was not a child. The boogeymen go away as you get older and smarter. They don’t exist.
He stood up, gazing at the closet door. There needed to be an end to the dark fantasy.
Don’t exist.
For both himself and Bobby. Time to grow up, put the monsters back where they belonged, in dreams and stories.
Don’t exist.
Bill walked over to the door, terror mixing with determination on his face.
Don’t exist.
Grabbing the handle with quivering fingers, he acted on his own this time, wanting to dispel the nightmares for good, eradicate them from his reality and Bobby’s, the monotonous litany replaying itself inside his head.
Don’t exist.
Bill opened the door.
Carol’s eyes fluttered briefly then widened all the way, as she went from light sleep to wakefulness within the span of a few seconds. She’d heard a scream.
Looking at the other side of the bed, she saw the resting form of Bobby, his head nestled against her, the young face cherubic in peaceful slumber. She breathed a sigh of relief; her first waking thought one of concern for her only child. But she had heard something. What was it?
Without disturbing the boy she carefully crept out of bed, pulling her robe tight. She didn’t usually get up at night for anything and was normally a deep sleeper. She entered the hallway, leaving the light off, not wanting to waken Bobby. The boy’s bedroom door was shut, and she opened it, peering inside.
“Bill, did you call?”
Silence.
“You awake honey?” She walked into the room, looking at the crumpled covers on the bed. The bedroom appeared to be empty, the only light coming from the small lamp on Bobby’s dresser.
Strange, she thought. Why would he go downstairs this late at night? He wasn’t one to snatch a late snack; he worked early in the morning. A sudden movement caught her attention, and she stared up at the ceiling.
Something had moved, she was cer
tain, but looking at the airplane, everything was still. Shaking her head, she decided to check the kitchen for her husband. As Carol turned to leave the room, she noticed that the closet door was closed. He better not be playing a joke on me, she thought.
“Bill, if you jump out of that closet to scare me, you’ll be sleeping by yourself the rest of the week.”
No answer.
“I promise.”
Bill wasn’t one for practical jokes. Actually, he possessed very little humor. Carol walked towards the door, her hand hovering before the handle. She felt tense, anticipating the panel to open at any second and Bill’s reproachful face would appear, chiding her for having him spend the night in Bobby’s room. Carol stopped, deciding that he wasn’t in there. A foolish notion anyway - he didn’t play such games.
Carol left the room to see if Bill was downstairs.
Ten minutes later, Carol again stood in Bobby’s bedroom, this time with a serious look on her face. Bill was nowhere to be found. She’d searched the entire house, even the attic and basement, but still there was no sign of her husband.
Extremely upset, she came back to see if he had left a note, or some indication as to where he had gone. Carol threw Bobby’s clothes off the dresser, hoping for a scrap of paper, or anything that told her of Bill’s whereabouts.
On the verge of tears, she was frantic, staring at her reflection in the dresser mirror. A haunted image returned the gaze, looking weary and frightened. I am, she thought. Where is he? What would make him leave in the middle of the night, on foot yet? The cars were still parked in the garage. She felt nauseous. Carol noticed that the closet door was open, nearly halfway.
It was closed before - she was certain. And now it was open. Maybe he really was in there, ready to spring out and surprise her. It was one nasty trick, Carol thought, but she prayed he was waiting in there regardless. Better a bad joke than the unthinkable alternative. She stared into the reflection. Leaning against the dresser, Carol gasped at what now appeared in the mirror.
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