“You’re going to pay up,” he says. “And I mean soon.”
Awake. Jesus. My neck feels damp on the pillow. The alarm clock reads 2 a.m. Shit. I’ve not been asleep long.
My mouth tastes of booze. I drink a glass of water in the bathroom, then lie back down on my bed, the pillow turned to its dry side.
What’s the nightmare all about? What do I owe Dave? Money? I’m not sure.
Did he do a favour for me? Or a job? It doesn’t feel like that. But he’s sure that I owe him something.
Why’s he being so nasty? I’m shocked. He’s supposed to be my friend. I’ve never seen this side of him.
It’s too early to get up, but I don’t want to go back to sleep just yet - I can still feel the cold hand of the nightmare.
If I can just stay awake a bit longer…
Shit. I’m dreaming again. Thornaby town centre. It’s a nice day.
I’m coming out of school. I think it’s school, even though I’m probably too old for it. I’m one of the last ones out.
He’s leaning on a railing, smoking a cigarette, waiting for me. He sees me, throws his cigarette away and stands up from the railing.
He’s skinny, medium height, dark hair, older than me, maybe forty-five, jeans and camouflage jacket.
I know that he’s here to collect the debt.
“Are you working for Dave?” I ask him.
He stares at me without blinking.
“Let’s go,” he says.
We stand at the traffic lights, waiting to cross the road.
“Watch out for this guy,” he says, holding my arm as a rider-less bicycle speeds by, almost running me over.
We’re at the ATM.
I tell him I’ve got the money, but I know I haven’t. He’ll find out when I try to withdraw the cash. He’ll know I’ve been lying to him. What will he do?
He’s cool and relaxed. Unhurried. He scares me now, and he hasn’t even raised his voice. What will he do to me if he’s angry?
Does he know I’m scared? I think he does.
Does he work for Dave? Doing what? Collecting debts? He seems deadly. Maybe a killer. Does Dave know people like that? Or is this guy working for somebody else?
I’m in trouble, when he sees I’m short of cash. Time to wake up!
I’m awake again, feeling like shit. What’s with this nightmare?
It’s 5 a.m. Still too early to get up. Must try to control my breathing. Did I scream out? I’m not sure. The house is quiet - my heartbeat sounds very loud in the stillness.
I don’t want to go back to sleep just yet. The fucking nightmare is waiting for me, I can feel it.
The cycling theme is no real surprise; I know what it means. It happened five years ago. Five years ago this week, actually.
It’s been on my mind all week. It’s been on my mind ever since that night.
I drove home from the pub in Hilton, taking Roger Lane towards Maltby.
It was late and the sky was black and starless. A light rain fell, slanted into my windscreen by the wind.
As I came over the rise of a hill, a large yellow blur struck the car and I hit the brakes. The car skidded to a halt.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I said. “What was that?”
I opened the door and stepped out of the car. There were no streetlamps, so I couldn’t see what I’d hit. Turning the car around, I shone my headlights into the hedgerow at the side of the road.
A man lay on his back, his neck at an unnatural angle. He wore cycling shorts and a yellow high-visibility vest. His bike lay crumpled beside him, the back wheel a few feet away in the ditch.
He wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t feel a pulse in his neck.
Time to call the police. They’d breathalyse me. I didn’t feel drunk, but I’d fail the breathalyser. Then I’d be screwed.
Murder? Manslaughter? I didn’t know, but probably prison for a long time. It was an accident, but they’d say it was avoidable, I was driving too fast, all kinds of stuff.
I stood in the rain for a few moments, the wind blowing through unlit fields around me, seeing the lights of Thornaby in the distance.
“You’ve been acting weird,” Jenny said to me a week later.
I thought about telling her, but there was no way of knowing how she’d react. I had a strong urge to tell someone. Anyone.
I thought about turning myself in to the police. I’d feel better for a while. But then I’d be in prison for a long time. Maybe living with some guilt was a lot better than prison.
I read the papers, followed the news. The police appealed for info.
Every knock on the door, every time the phone rang – I thought it was the police. But they never came.
I drank alcohol more often; if I drank enough then the nightmares weren’t too bad.
“You drink because something’s bothering you,” Jenny said the day she left. “But you won’t tell me what it is. You won’t let me in.”
So now it’s just me.
The nightmares come and go. It’s the price I have to pay for what I’ve done. It’ll get better in time, I hope.
Now, I should try and get a few hours’ sleep.
Rhodes Court. The house I grew up in. What am I doing here?
I’m looking out the living room window, across the gardens of my neighbours.
I see my childhood friend, Kenny Parker. He’s a man now. He sits at a table in his garden, with others, not sure who. They’re having food and drink. It’s a sunny day.
He looks up and sees me watching him. Shit. He wants me to pay the debt. I know it.
Is he collecting for Dave? Does Dave have two collectors working for him? Why do I recognise only one of the collectors? Or are Kenny and the Camouflage Guy working for somebody else?
I tell him that I’ve got the money. He understands and nods, even though I’m behind the window and too far away for him to hear me.
My sister Tracey sits at a table in the garden next to Kenny’s garden. She’s having food and drink with others, not sure who.
She looks around thirty years old, but she was a small child when we left Rhodes Court all those years ago. Are we back in 1985?
She’s facing my way, but hasn’t seen me. I don’t want her to see me like this, embarrassed and scared.
Kenny gets up from the table, and points to the shed at the bottom of his garden; he wants me to meet him there.
He wants me to pay. Shit. Should I go? I can’t pay, so he’s not gonna be happy. Why am I afraid of him?
Should I stay here in Rhodes Court? Forever?
Maybe it’s time to wake up. I said wake up, Mark! Shit. It’s not working. Is this how I pay the debt? Is this how my story ends?
Thanks for reading!
I hope you enjoyed my stories.
Please feel free to review this book on Amazon, and let me know your thoughts.
Until next time.
Glenn McGoldrick.
If you liked reading these stories, then you might like this collection in the Dark Teesside series:
UK: http://amzn.to/2m2cECU
US: http://amzn.to/2znkZGS
Nightmare Waiting_& Other Dark Stories Page 2