Bump In The Night

by David Leblond

  Bump In The Night

  By: David Leblond

  * * *

  Prologue

  April 20, 1988

  Mary sat in her quiet house in the country, and turned the page in her romance novel. She was slowly beginning to get sleepy, but she would not allow herself to go to bed until after her husband had called. Doug had left that afternoon to go on a business trip and said he would call at 11:30 that night. It was now 11:00, thirty minutes until Mary would learn whether her new husband was the late type, or the kind that called right on time, as she had hoped.

  In the month that they had been married, Mary had not slept alone. Now that she had someone to sleep with, she didn't know if she could even stand sleeping alone in that large bed, in that large room, and in this huge house. Alone. She hated being alone, especially at night. At every creak she heard she quickly lifted her head and looked around. This house wasn't exactly new, it was actually 20 years old. It was in a quiet neighborhood close to town, but far enough away that it remained peaceful. The city had not yet found this quiet neighborhood.

  A large crash of thunder made her drop her book, and lose her place. Great, a thunderstorm is all she needed right now. With all her luck, it would probably start to rain soon. She hated when it rained on this house, the copper roof over the large bay window on the front of their house was right below their bedroom window and made so much noise during a thunderstorm. Sure enough, the rain started as soon as the thought left her. She sighed, and began to look through her book for her page.

  The sounds the house made during a thunderstorm were horrible. The creaking and rattling of the walls against the wind were unbearable, but it was the sound that she heard next that really got to her: The creaking of the floor in the kitchen. She hated that sound because she always pictured herself falling through the floor at any moment. She hated that sound because when she stepped there, everyone knew instantly where she was. She hated that sound because she was alone... and someone, or something was in the kitchen.

  Mary dropped her book beside her chair. She didn't want to move, all she wanted to do was forget that she had just heard that sound. She knew she couldn't, though. The living room was bright, she would have it no other way. She had three lights on in there, and it still seemed too dim for her tastes. If Doug was there to protect her, two lights would be fine, but she was alone and wanted it as bright as possible. She slowly stood up and tried to compose herself. She couldn't. She was anxious, and scared... more scared than she had ever been in her life. Even if she searched the house and couldn't find anyone, she would not be able to sleep that night, for that one creak had ruined it for her. She took one step forward, right into the corner of her coffee table. The corner hit her square in the bone, and she cursed loudly. Too loudly, she told herself, now whatever was in the kitchen knew where she was.

  She made her way over to the hallway entry, being as quiet as she could, even though the throbbing in her leg constantly reminded her that being quiet was probably a useless cause now. She slowly poked her head into the hallway and saw the entry to the kitchen at the far end of the hall. The light was off, as it should be. Mustering all the courage she could, she made her way toward the kitchen entry.

  She stopped at the doorway. She couldn't see much in the kitchen, but what she could see showed no signs of anyone being there. Still, she would be stupid to go in there and feel around for a stranger in the dark. She scanned the side wall and saw a light switch right by the doorway. Better safe than sorry. She switched it on.

  She waited for a few seconds for the flickering of the fluorescent light... she was sure that's what was taking so long. Then she remembered it was her parent's house that had fluorescent lighting in their kitchen, not this one. The bulb must be burnt out she thought. Well, great. Things sure seemed to be going perfectly. She thought about getting a flashlight but then remembered that the flashlight was kept in a drawer... in the kitchen. But whatever was in the kitchen wasn't coming out, and surely it saw her silhouette in the doorway for the light in the hallway dimly, but nonetheless did provide some light. She leaned herself against the wall and thought about how she wished her husband was there to protect her. He would have no fear, and walk right into the kitchen and grab the flashlight and prove to her that she had nothing to fear. Her thoughts were broken by a new sound... something was rolling on the ground by her feet. She looked down and saw what it was: a light bulb.

  She couldn't help it, she screamed. Suddenly, as to answer her prayers for light, a flash of lightening illuminated the kitchen, giving her fears a shape... the shape of a person... the shape of a person, holding the vegetable knife that she got as a wedding gift. The first cut got her in the shoulder, and the second deeply across her throat. She stepped backward, right on the light bulb. She fell flat on her back. She couldn't scream anymore, and her life was quickly fading away. Suddenly her killer stood over her, and turned on the device that was in the other hand: the flashlight. She saw the face and instantly recognized it.

  "What a graceful thing you are, Mary," followed by a chuckle were the last things that Mary heard. That, and a final crash of thunder. As the killer closed the door to the house and made his way into the night, the phone began to ring. It rang four times before the answering machine got it. The storm continued throughout the night.

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  August 16, 1998

  Connie Richardson woke up late that day, savoring the last day of the life as an unemployed wife living off the luxuries of the countryside. She was in her mid twenties, with straight dirty blonde hair that barely covered her ears. She stretched and breathed in the fresh smell of fabric softener from her blanket. She wished she could just lie there all day but her dream was disturbed by her husband standing over her.

  "Come on, honey. Get that head out of bed!" Donald Richardson was a tall, well built man. The man of her dreams. He had dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. She often taunted him, saying his eyes looked like the dark brown M&Ms... the kind nobody cares for. But that wasn't true for her. She loved his eyes, in fact it was his eyes that first attracted her to him.

  They met the way people meet in the movies-- they literally bumped into each other. It was a classic case of woman runs into man, woman drops books, man helps woman pick up books. It doesn't happen on college campuses as much as the movies would like us to believe, but it does happen. It happened to them. They happen to be walking to the same building after that, and she did something she would never have thought of herself to do. She got his phone number. From there, the rest of their relationship was that of a fairy tale. The perfect wedding, moving into the perfect house on the perfect countryside--with the perfect man. Always loyal and by her side... until that week.

  "Come on, babe, you can't sleep all day. I have to leave for dad's this afternoon. I need you to help me pack," he pined. She giggled, of course she would have to help him pack. He could barely pack his foot in a sock, much less socks in a suitcase. He was headed for his dad's house, to sort through stuff left behind when his dad passed away the past Christmas.

  Now his family life was one that was amazing... not because it was good, but because it was horrible, and he survived it and became the man he was today. He didn't speak much about it, but Connie did know that he was kicked out when he was 18. His father didn't want him to leave for college and leave him alone in that house. They lived on a farm and he had always thought that Donald would grow up being a farmer. Donald's mother had committed suicide when he was only ten, leaving him and his older brother, Jeff, in the sole care of an alcoholic father. She had put a gun to her head after coming home to a drunken husband who was out to strike her again. His father cut out alcohol for the most part a
fter that, part of him blaming himself for the death of his wife. But it was the other part, the part that said she was crazy anyway, that Donald didn't like. After he left to go to college he never returned home, except once when Connie felt she needed to meet him. They weren't allowed inside, and the father didn't even acknowledge her presence. The meeting was a big mistake.

  But the alcoholism apparently caught up with him, and he died around Christmas 1997 of a heart attack. Donald had to go to an important meeting at work, and did not attend the funeral. Connie thought it was just an excuse, but kept her opinion to herself. She had never met his brother, she had only seen pictures. They looked like they got along well when they were kids, but as adults they didn't want anything to do with each other. Donald simply stated that his brother was a good for nothing loser, one that he had no respect for whatsoever. Every good memory about Donald's family that he brought up, was quickly countered by a bad one.

  As far unattached as he was from his father and brother, Connie still saw him as being a wonderful father. Both agreed on children, but also agreed that they should wait a few more years to have them. Why waste your younger years chasing after the rascals? Those years were meant for fun and relaxation.

  Connie showered and got dressed in her worn-out sweatshirt and jeans--typical Sunday attire for her. She was making her way downstairs when she smelled the scent of coffee brewing.

  "I thought you'd like breakfast for lunch, seeing that you missed it and all," Don shouted from the kitchen. She was more of a breakfast person anyway. She trained him well, she thought. He knew exactly what she liked.

  Over breakfast, they talked about his travel plans and her upcoming workweek. She would have lots of practice for the future, Donald was teasing, seeing how she would be working amongst the youngsters as a grade-school librarian. She had always wanted to be a teacher when she was little. She always looked to her teachers as being amazing. To her they were the roots of all knowledge. They didn't only teach her, they shaped her. They had the power to mold her life into something. In college, she had no bad professors--she loved every one of them.

  Being a librarian was the first step to that dream. Introducing children to books and getting them to read, she thought, was the greatest thing that you could do for them. She loved books and couldn't see life without them. When her teachers taught her to read, her life began. She was instantly attracted to mystery books. She started out reading books involving cute little animal sleuths instead of detectives. Then, slowly she delved into children solving mysteries for themselves. Nancy Drew became her heroine. Now she always ended the night with a mystery novel. Yes, introducing her students to this marvelous world was her goal. She was certain she would find a mystery lover or two amongst them.

  "What do you have to do down there for a week, anyway? Can't you just go down, sign a few papers, get a few things, and leave?" Connie asked out of silence.

  "I'd love to, honey... trust me. But since my brother has vowed never to set foot on the property, I have to be the sole person to look after the auctioning of the farm and all the timber on the land. Dad apparently had a soft spot for me after all, and left me in charge of cleaning up his shit." Donald grumbled, and then shrugged it off as he always did. "But they tell me we'll be getting quite a bit from auctioning this farm. I don't know... you think this house could use some renovation?"

  "I was thinking more along the lines of a new car or a new computer perhaps." She looked around. "What makes you think this house needs any sort of renovation? I haven't found a thing wrong with it."

  "It just feels too... old. And the floors squeak too much. We really need to replace these damn floors." It was true. The floors in the house were horrible, but she always thought they had character. She loved old houses, no matter how squeaky the floors got. She wouldn't change a thing about it.

  Donald quickly finished his lunch, realizing that he was about to be late for his plane. As the door closed behind him, Connie realized that she was alone for the very first time in her life. She had grown up with three sisters and had roommates in college. She moved into an apartment with Donald during college and from there moved into the beautiful old house on the countryside. Donald had gotten the house from his boss's wife who was a realtor. He had his mind set on getting it ever since he heard about it. He got it at a nice price too. It's a shame that his love for old houses changed shortly afterward. Now all he could think about was fixing the place up to look like new.

  Connie walked outside to wave at her husband's car driving down the road. From there she strolled next door to her neighbor, and good friend, Joan's house. Joan Roberts wasn't married, at least not anymore. She led the all too common life of a woman who got married, had a kid and led a wonderfully happy life until the night she caught her husband with another woman. She moved into her home around the same time as Connie and Donald moved into theirs, so they immediately became good friends. Joan's son, Paul, was seven and was attending the very same school that Connie would be a librarian at.

  Joan invited her in, and they talked over hot tea while Paul played video games on the living room television. Inevitably, Donald leaving for a week became the topic of conversation.

  "Well I know I don't technically live alone, since I have Paul, but when he goes off to a friend's house to spend the night it really isn't that bad. Sure, you have to get use to it but think of it as getting time to yourself," Joan suggested.

  "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just wish time alone didn't have to be so lonely."

  Joan shrugged and sipped her tea. "Get a dog."

  Connie frowned and shook her head. "Don--we don't like animals too much." She knew this wasn't true. If she could have a dog, she'd have one in a heartbeat. But Donald wasn't fond of them, and she had to respect that some people just didn't like animals. She decided to change the subject. "He says we should renovate. Do you think our house could use some renovation?"

  Joan's eyes brightened. "You say renovation like it's a bad thing! Its really lots of fun! Lets go over to your place, and we can daydream a little!" Joan called Paul away from his games so that he could come with them.

  They stood at the end of Connie's driveway and stared at the front of the house. "The shutters could use a different color, don't you think? Blue is nice, sure... but burgundy would be so much more pleasant looking!" Joan suggested.

  Connie thought about it for a minute. "You know? That's really a good idea! I never thought about that before. It really would look so much better! Come on, lets see if you can do something inside!"

  Joan smiled. She knew she could pull Connie out of her rut. She tugged on Paul. "Lets go big guy!" But Paul didn't move. He was still staring at the front of the house. "Paul? Hey! Whatcha lookin' at sport?"

  "Ma, I wanna go back and finish my game, I was almost done with it. I won't do anything but play, I promise."

  She believed him. That's all he ever did anyway. "Sure thing, hon... I'll be back shortly!" Connie led her up to her door, and invited her in. She took a last glance at her son. Her son had stopped on the sidewalk and was looking up towards the roof of the house. He caught her watching him, and continued his way to her house. She backed up so she could look at where he was watching, but didn't see anything strange. "That certainly is creepy," she muttered to herself.

  After a couple of minutes of watching Connie's house from the bathroom window, Paul shrugged and went back to his video game.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  August 17, 1998

  Connie gave the snooze button a good smack. She could use ten more minutes of sleep, she had set her alarm ten minutes early for this very pleasure. She had spent most of the night, after Joan had left, reading her newest mystery novel. Talking with Joan certainly made her feel better about sleeping in the house alone and she had gone to sleep easily. Still, she would have much preferred staying asleep to going to work. But that wasn't going to happen. Her days of sleeping in have ended.

  She got o
ut of bed and showered. She dreaded turning the shower off and making her way downstairs. She was definitely not the morning type. She finally brought herself to getting dressed and made her way downstairs for a bowl of Cheerios and a much anticipated cup of instant coffee. Of course, she would have anticipated real coffee much more, but when there is only one person in the house making a pot would mean some of it would go down the drain... and that, of course, is sacrilege.

  An hour after she woke up she was finally dragging herself out the door. Ever since college, an hour getting ready was record time. As she drove to work she relived the dream of becoming a teacher over and over in her head. This was her first real shot at making that dream come true, she knew this. Knowing this, of course, made her a little nervous. What if she was deemed not fit to teach? What if the staff didn't like her? Today was first impressions day. The day you meet the staff and the day that all judgments are made on. She had picked out her outfit the night before and hoped it wasn't too dressy, at a first glance people might think she was a lawyer coming to sue the school.

  When she got there, she parked in the faculty lot behind the school. She had no trouble finding the principal's office, it was right there beside the door through which she had entered. Principal Allen was a friendly, tall skinny African American with a warm smile. A perfect principal, Connie thought, one who really gave the impression that he enjoyed his job. Never had a bad teacher, never had a bad principal, and the pattern still continues.

  "So you're the newest librarian, eh? We're so glad you came along, we're stuck with only one librarian, and he wasn't the head librarian to begin with. He got promoted to that position last month when our head librarian left to work at a new school in the city--some kind of charter school." Principal Allen showed some signs of aggravation. Apparently this wasn't the first faculty member he had lost to such a school. But hey, no matter what profession you are in, there is always competition going around. Gotta make a buck in such a harsh world. Gotta teach the children to do the same.