Dear Sleep

by Kim Dickerson

  His pulse was racing faster than the cars at Talladega. He heard the pounding in his ears and it was giving him a headache. His feet were getting heavier the closer he got to the door. He lifted his right foot onto the second step of the porch. It felt the same as the last step of a ten-mile hike, heavy and hard to take. His stomach was doing flips, his mouth was dry, and he was starting to sweat. He made it onto the porch and once again surveyed his surroundings. It was like a ghost town, not a soul to be found. He was standing in front of the door.

  His thoughts were a swirling storm. He flashed to the first night he had encountered the beast, the dancing streetlights, and the first incident. He saw everything with clear detail as if it were happening all over again. As fast as the memories started, they ceased, replaced by the thoughts of the previous night, the smile, the office golf game he played with his desk drawer, Marlie walking in on him being frantic. It was like watching a movie. Then he flashed forward. He saw a living room that he had never been in. He saw people that he’d never met. Then he saw him. As soon as the beast exploded onto John’s screen, he snapped out of it. He found himself standing in the doorway.

  He slid in through the opening; he didn't want to touch anything, just in case he needed to call the police. He didn't want to become a suspect if they found his fingerprints on the door. It was the living room that had flashed through his thoughts while he was lost on the porch. Completely identical, down to the crushed coffee table. Crushed coffee table. He didn't mean Ted got drunk and fell on the coffee table broken. It’s more like a meteor fell out of the sky and the coffee table did nothing to stop it from meeting the Earth below. He should have turned around and left, but something drove him. He needed to know what happened there.

  Everything in the room looked normal, except for the mangled coffee table. He made his way through the living room to the kitchen. The kitchen looks exactly like the Matelin’s, total chaos and destruction. Everything was smashed and strewn about. He spotted something glinting in the middle of the floor that didn’t belong there. He tried to step around all of the utensils sprinkled on floor to get to it. It was silver and shiny. He stretched to pick it up and found it was a stud, a sharp-pointed, silver stud. It must have been from that loathsome fiend. He slid it into his pocket and retreated from the kitchen. He decide that he needed to get the hell out of there in a hurry. Something told him to leave. He turned on his heels and speed-walked to the door, down the driveway, and into his vehicle.

  He dialed 911 without hesitation.

  “911 Emergency. How can I help you?”

  “I’m not sure he have an emergency yet, but I was driving through my subdivision and noticed a large set of trenches in a front yard and their front door was half open.”

  “Can I get the address, Sir? I’ll send a cruiser over to check it out.”

  He gave the operator the address and told her he’d stay there until the officer came. He sat in the car waiting for the police to arrive. His nerves were shot. He was on the verge of upchucking. It felt like an eternity until the police cruiser arrived when in reality it was only five minutes.

  It’s Officer Cantmen again.

  Great.

  He looked at him quizzically as if to say what they were both thinking, “Isn’t it convenient they you’re at another house that seems to be having an emergency.”

  It looked bad for John. What were the odds the same officer would come for the call. Actually, quite good if he was honest. There were about three thousand people in town, so the police department wasn’t large, but he hadn’t thought about that when he made the call. All he could think of was that he had just become the prime suspect in whatever was going on there.

  “Hello again, Officer Cantmen,” he managed not to sound like he just robbed a bank.

  “Hello Mr., Mr., Schellsinski.”

  “Schellinger. John Schellinger.”

  “Well, John. What do we have here today?”

  “I have no idea, Officer. I was on my way to work and noticed the marks in the yard. Then I looked up and saw the door was open, so I called the police.”

  Officer Cantmen surveyed the area. He mumbled and nodded as he scanned the yard. He started to move to the door. John began to follow him, but he was stopped without the officer saying a word. He slunk back to the SUV and leaned against the side.

  It turned out, he didn’t have to wait long.

  “Jesus Christ!” Cantmen exclaimed from inside the house.

  He didn’t have to walk in to know what it looked like in there; he had already been in after all. John just wondered if the officer had even made it as far as the kitchen.

  “You okay in there, Officer?”

  He stumbled out the door. His face was pale. The only color was two perfect, bright pink circles in his cheeks. His breath sprinted in and out and he began to totter. John sprinted from the car. He tried to catch him, but he was no Usain Bolt. He didn’t get there in time and the officer went down as if someone had tied a rock around his neck and dropped it off the side of a building. He was not sure whether it was the fall that knocked him unconscious or if he fainted and then fell; either way it wasn’t pretty.

  John flipped him over and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his chest was rising and falling. Quickly, he grabbed his handkerchief and attempted to stop the gushing blood from the officer’s nose while trying to revive him.

  “Officer,” he said breathless from the panic. “Officer Cantmen. Officer Cantmen, can you hear me?” he shook him gently. When John did that, his eyes sprang open and darted back and forth in a panic. He had no idea where he was or what was going on. He began to struggle against him, but John held fast, he didn’t want the toppled man’s nose to begin gushing again.

  “What the hell? Where? What’s going ON?!”

  “You fell, Officer. Are you ok?”

  John handed him his handkerchief and then he realized that his blood was spouting from his nose. He tossed his head back and squeezed the blood-soaked handkerchief against it.

  In a very nasal voice he inquired, “Did you see anything? I mean the house…the house…it’s foul in there. It’s as fucked up as the other place. I mean…” He trailed off as if replaying what he had seen inside.

  He began to panic. He had slid in there to look around. He had grabbed the stud. Did he miss something else? He did not make it past the kitchen because he didn’t want to disturb anything. Then it dawned on him. He didn’t see anyone in the house. He must have seen the person, or people, that lived there. John suddenly began to feel sick. It must be horrific to have this type of effect on an officer of the law.

  He could have easily gone inside and looked around. Officer Cantmen was still trying to sort out what he saw and wouldn’t even have noticed John wasn’t there.

  He suddenly had the desire to get the hell out of there. It washed over him as waves wash on the beach at high tide. It was all he could do to stop himself from running off that porch. He brought himself back to the situation and focused on Officer Cantmen again.

  “Should you call for back up, Officer Cantmen?”

  He looked at him blankly, as if John was speaking a foreign language. “Eugene,” he said. “Call me Eugene. Thanks for helping me out with the nose. That was a lot of blood.” He was coming back to reality.

  “Okay. Eugene, should you call for backup?”

  “Oh yes!” He popped up as if he was sitting on a spring. He walked briskly to his patrol car and flung open the door. He grabbed his radio and started spouting numbers and police codes that an accountant isn’t remotely familiar with. He never broke eye contact with John the whole time. Officer Cantmen’s suspicions had been aroused. John noticed and started for his car. Eugene’s non-professional demeanor had gone the way of the dodo, and his police officer persona was back.

  John was inches away from the car when Cantmen stopped him. “Mr. Schellinger, I’m going to need you to stick around for a while. Since you made the call, we’ll need a state
ment.”

  He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The police wanted a statement. John felt more like he was going to face the Spanish Inquisition. He began trying to think of excuses so he could leave, but he knew that there was no way he could get out of there without making some sort of formal statement for Eugene. John was pretty sure Officer Cantmen would burst into flames if he actually called him that. The moment of bonding was long gone even though it was only a matter of minutes since the events had taken place. He was back to his professional mannerisms and he was back to being the schmuck who called 911 from, what now seems to be, a second crime scene.

  As John sat on the curb, he pondered the morning’s events. Other emergency vehicles began arriving. First was the ambulance, second, another squad car, and lastly, the coroner. The last one scared him the most. If the coroner was there, someone was dead.

  More death.

  Suddenly, there was a throbbing in his hip. It radiated down his thigh. His flesh began to ache. He figured it was just the stress reminding him that he lied to his wife, and ventured into a house that belonged to strangers.

  He made official statements to a police officer, who John was sure thinks he was involved in this mess somehow. He reached down to massage his hip and his hand didn’t hit his leg, instead it rested on the stud in his pocket.

  The stud!

  That’s why his hip was throbbing, that sinister piece of another world was generating…something. The urge to vomit was almost overwhelming. He got himself together and up off the curb.

  He made his way to the trunk of the car, popped it open, and looked for a good spot to store the radiating piece of Hell. Finally, he decided to stow it with the spare. It was as good a place as any, and it got the damn thing out of his pocket. When he got home, he would put it with the tooth from the Matelin’s and lock it away.

  Before he got to the driver’s side, Officer Cantmen waved him back. “John, do you know the people that live here?”

  He called him John, that shocked him, but it also meant something had changed. “No, Eugene, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Well something happened here that I have no logical explanation for. I was hoping you could tell me something about these people.”

  John shook his head. There was nothing he could say to help him at all. He didn’t know the people and he didn’t know what happened in there. Even if he did, he would have kept his mouth shut about his evil nightmare. If he wasn’t a suspect, he would end up having a mental evaluation done.

  “Well, we’ll call you if we have any more questions. You’re free to go.”

  “Thanks, Eu…Officer Cantmen.”

  John got into the Range Rover, buckled his seatbelt, and slowly pulled away from the curb. He started to head for home, but decided against it for now. He had some time to kill before he should go home. He didn’t want to arrive before Marlie. She worked part-time at a dentist’s office front desk and would be home around 2:30.

  He looked at the clock. Noon. Two and a half hours before he could go home, so he took the road out of town. Maybe a drive out to the creek would soothe his disturbed mind.

  It was so peaceful out in the countryside. The hay fields were waving in the breeze as far as the eye could see. The only thing that broke the fields apart was an occasional dirt road that led back to a barn or farmhouse. This was a stark contrast to the turmoil wreaking havoc in his mind. The turbulence of the terror that had befallen him today, and the horror the families who had met their fate with the black menace, are cluttering his thoughts.

  He kept replaying the events of the first encounter with the phenomenon. The lights were gallivanting with the dark, forming a barrier between two worlds, or maybe a portal. Two worlds was a ridiculous concept, but there was no way that menacing beast belonged to this Earth. The only explanation was another world. He was not even sure how that would work. He was no scientist, hell he didn't even know if science could explain this.

  He turned off the paved road and took the dirt road back to the small creek where he liked to fish in his free time. The road was bumpy and the suspension on the Range Rover was not very forgiving. He was used to the rough ride, but this day he felt every single rut and pebble as if someone was dragging him by his ankles. He felt very hypersensitive to everything. The few trees lining the road that danced in the breeze. The flock of crows that flew overhead. The rabbit that hopped lazily down the ditch. He noticed it all, felt every small movement, even the twitch of the hairs on his arm. Finally, feeling like a well-blended margarita, he arrived at the creek. He pulled off to the side of the man-made tractor cut through and threw the vehicle into park.

  He got out of the SUV and sauntered down to the stump that he usually sat on while he fished. This attire was not conducive to relaxing, but he did his best. This old stump was built like a poor man’s throne. It’s been cut out to have a back and arm rests. For a piece of wood, it was pretty comfortable. It sat close enough to the edge of the creek that he could sit there and cast his line for hours. He passed an hour or so there listening to the world around him, the sane world. The real world.

  He was in a deep, hard, dreamless sleep. His eyes opened slowly, then he realized the sun was starting to dip in the west. He snapped to and realized he had better start hauling ass home so Marlie didn’t call the office looking for him. He decided to call her from the car so she didn’t. He needed everything to remain as normal as possible.

  He hopped into the SUV and whipped a quick U-turn and headed back up the dirt road. As he was driving towards the pavement, he noticed something odd. There’s a stillness that was not there before. The trees were not moving, there were no animals to be seen, and even the clouds in the sky were at a standstill. The air seemed heavy, like a humid summer day before a thunderstorm rolls in. Something was just not right.

  He pulled onto the pavement and he grabbed his cell to call Marlie to let her know he was on his way home.

  “Hi, Darlin’.”

  “Hey, babe. Are you on your way home?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Want to go out to dinner tonight?”

  “Sure. Chinese?”

  “Yeo Fung’s?”

  “Sure. Sounds good. How long until you pull in?”

  “About 15 minutes. Be ready, I’m starving!” That was another lie, John was not sure he could even pretend to eat, but he had to give it a shot.

  “Will do! See you shortly.”

  She hung up. He didn’t want to go home. He didn't know why, but something was telling him to stay away. He knew he’d have to go home eventually, but he could draw it out for a few more hours. That nap by the creek didn’t help clear his head at all. It didn’t bring any great epiphanies, grand solutions, or situational clarity. In fact, he didn’t feel rested at all, he felt more restless. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

  Another oddity occurred on his way home; there wasn’t a single car on the road. The streetlights were beginning to work their way on as the sun sank lower in the sky. He sped up. He didn’t want to be out there, alone, when they came on full blast. He checked his rear-view mirror out of habit. When he shifted his eye back to the road, he noticed a glowing in the back of the Rover. A sick, green glow.

  He knew what it was. He pulled over on the side of the street about four houses down from his. He couldn’t let Marlie see this, nor did he want her in the vehicle with that stud in the back. He didn’t want her to become infected. Infected with what he wasn’t sure, but he knew it had changed him and he didn’t want it to change her.

  He walked around back and opened the spare tire compartment. He grabbed the stud and put it back in his pocket. He’d feign an emergency bathroom run and lock it up in his office while she was loading herself into the car. It was the perfect ploy. He got back into the car and drove the rest of the way home. Marlie was waiting at the door. As soon as she saw him pull in, she was on her way out. John tossed the car in park and hopped out of the door feigning the urge to use the bathroom an
d fast.

  He went zipping past her, grimacing as he mock sprinted for the bathroom. She just looked at him, laughed, and continued for the car. It worked! Thank God it worked! He punched the code in, the door unlocked, and he headed straight to his office to stow this sinister trinket. He opted for the firebox because putting it in the same place as the tooth seemed dangerous right now. He locked everything up and he headed out the door.

  Marlie and he rode off to Yeo Fung’s for some Chinese food. They made small talk on the way there. The restaurant wasn’t crowded so they got in right away. It was a typical meal out, talked about their days, only John’s were lies. They talked about their plans for the weekend, and tried to eat with chopsticks. The latter was the hilarity of the evening because he was not coordinated enough to use chopsticks. Then they hopped in the Rover and headed home.

  As he was driving, he noticed all the streetlights were on full bore. There was no flickering or outages, this made him feel a little bit better. They turned on to their street, and he noticed that sickly, green glow coming from the window of his office. He prayed Marlie didn’t notice it because he couldn't even come up with a lie to cover it since he hadn’t been home all day.

  He pulled into the garage, thankful that Marlie had been too busy chatting to notice the dim glow of his office window. He got out of the car and opened Marlie’s door. They headed into the house still chatting about the day. He went upstairs and changed out of his work clothes. When he was changed out of his trousers, he noticed a weird mark on his hip, not quite a bruise and not quite a burn, something odd and in between the two. He tried to recall what he had run into that would make such an odd mark, but he couldn't come up with anything. His memory stopped its betrayal. He recalled that stud in his pants’ pocket; it must have caused it.