In spite of her words, Ben dropped into a crouch, making sure to keep the bench between him and the oncoming group. As they drew closer, the quality of the air changed, growing denser like the static heaviness in the air before a thunderstorm. The closer they came, the stronger the thick, fishy smell got until it filled his nostrils, making it impossible to swallow. When the figures were close to him, no more than six or eight feet away, they all drew to a halt and one of them—the one closest to him—shifted its head to one side until it turned in Ben’s direction and noisily sniffed the air like a hunting dog.
Backlit against the night sky, the figures loomed above Ben. A terrible coldness emanated from the black depths of their eyes. Ben was sure they knew he was there, and he desperately wished he could melt into the ground rather than be seen by these things.
They aren’t people.
He knew that much, at least. People walking together—especially late at night—would be talking and joking around if only to relieve their own nervousness. But this group hadn’t made any sounds other than their dragging footsteps and the low, rattling sounds that might be them breathing through their mouths.
If they breathe at all, Ben thought, struggling to push aside his rising panic as he stared at the motionless figures. The one nearest to him made a low, growling sound deep in its chest, and the others in the group—Ben could see now that there were five of them altogether—looked around as though searching for something…for him! The one closest to Ben took a few shuffling steps closer to where Ben crouched. Tight, aching pressure filled his chest. The skin of his face tightened.
Go away! Leave me alone!
He wished he dared speak out loud, but he knew he’d be in terrible danger if he did. He resisted the sudden compulsion to look behind him to see if there was someplace he could run and hide if he had to, but he knew there was only the river, and he certainly couldn’t get away from them by diving into the water. He was sure that’s where they had come from. He didn’t dare look away, even for an instant, convinced that—whatever these things were—they would sense him if he moved even a muscle. Still, it was a struggle not to scream and make a run for it. Maybe he could get back to his apartment before they caught him. They certainly moved slow enough. He should be able to outrun them.
But what if I don’t make it?
Ben knew he couldn’t let them know he was there. The woman on the far shore had told him they couldn’t see him, but even if they couldn’t, they might hear or feel or smell him. He was convinced they were aware of his presence. To them, he might be nothing more than a dark smudge against the night, just like they were to him, but he didn’t dare do anything that would draw their attention. All he could do was hope they passed by like the other two had earlier.
A soft whimper escaped him when the thing closest to him leaned closer, thrusting its head forward. Ben was terrified by the thought that he was visible with the river behind him. If the woman on the other side had seen him so easily, then these things must be able to see him, too. He’d been holding his breath so long his lungs were aching. His armpits were moist, and he caught a strong scent of vinegar. He felt dizzy, and a hollow, rushing sound like the wind high in the treetops filled his head. The night swelled and pulsed as he stared back at the figure. He had the distinct impression he could see inside it where twining strands of deep blue and violet light played like a tangle of barbed wire that glowed in the dark.
Finally, just when he was sure he couldn’t take it anymore, the figure uttered a low snorting sound and straightened up. Then all of the figures continued moving down the pathway toward the park, gradually fading from sight as they went. Behind them, they left dark, muddy streaks on the pavement and a lingering smell of rotting flesh. Ben watched until they were lost in the distant glow of the streetlights in the park, and the night closed down around him. Once Ben was positive he was alone, he allowed himself to breathe normally. His arm and leg muscles trembled with a deep ache like a subtle electric current running through him. The sour smell coming from his armpits grew stronger and nauseated him, but he wasn’t sure his legs would support him as he looked up the street toward his apartment building and wondered if he could make it home.
“That was close, huh?”
The woman’s voice came to him like the snap of a whip close to his ear, making him jump. He turned and looked across the river, surprised that he could see her so clearly now. She was standing under a grove of willow trees that grew on a little peninsula that jutted out into the river. The current was strong there, and it rippled like wrinkled silver with reflected light. A nearby house—a small, white, one-story home Ben had noticed before—was dark, and there weren’t any other lights nearby that could account for the illumination. Ben was sure the streetlights in the park weren’t strong enough to reach under the dark stand of trees, and there certainly wasn’t enough ambient light from the town.
He started to reply to her, but then he stopped himself, suddenly convinced that she, too, must be a hallucination.
How else could he explain how clearly he could see her even though she stood under the shadows of the trees?
Her face was glowing like a pale, full moon, and even at this distance, Ben could see the dark wells of her eyes and the bell-shaped curve of her mouth.
“There are probably more of them coming,” she said, her voice rising with a mellifluous note.
Ben scanned the pathway up and down but didn’t see a hint of motion.
“How…how do you know they’re there?” he asked.
While he waited for her to answer, he started moving down the rocky incline toward the river’s edge. He could see her more clearly if he didn’t look directly at her and focused instead on a spot a little to either side of her, but even so, her figure jittered back and forth with a weird flickering. Without looking down at his feet, he descended the uneven slope, his legs brushing through the dying weeds and grass that grew there. The closer he got to the water, the stronger the damp smell became until it nearly gagged him. The only sound was the watery hiss as the river glided past the rocks.
“How come you can see them, too?”
“I come down here a lot,” the woman finally replied. She spoke softly, but her voice carried across the water clearly, sounding close to Ben’s ear, as though she might be right behind him, whispering to him.
“I’m like you. I can’t sleep, so I come down to the river and watch it.”
“But those…those things… Do you have any idea what they are?”
The woman laughed softly, and as she did, a warm puff of a breeze caressed Ben’s face. He felt a strong compulsion to keep talking to her, to keep asking her questions so he could listen to her voice. Whenever she spoke, as soon as she stopped, he experienced a deep sense of loss. There was a powerful, almost frightening attraction in her voice that he couldn’t begin to explain.
“I’ve seen them just about every night,” she said, her voice rising and falling as though it was being stirred by the wind. “In fact, for quite a while, I thought you might be one of them.”
“No,” Ben said. “I’m not.”
His voice sounded strangled and raw to him, as if there was gravel packed in his throat. His chest still ached from holding his breath for so long, but as he inhaled the damp river air, his head began to clear. The surrounding night seemed to open up all around him like a cloud that was releasing a summer shower. Above him, the stars made thin streaks like tiny yellow threads across the sky.
“Who are you? What’s your name?” Ben called out.
His voice echoed hollowly from the opposite shore. For a heartbeat, the woman didn’t answer, and as he stared at her, her figure began to waver in and out of sight as though she were fading from sight.
“My name…?” she replied, her voice fading for a moment to a faint echo. “My name is Lori.”
She didn’t say anything more. The only sound was the steady hiss of the river as it slid between the dried stalks of dead cat-o-nine
-tails. Once again, a strange feeling of loneliness swept over Ben as soon as she stopped speaking. He was about to ask her to tell him something more about herself when a stinging coldness ringed his ankles. Looking down, he saw that he had walked out into the river without realizing it and was standing ankle-deep in water. The icy current tugged at his legs, and the slippery rocks below the water made his footing unsure. Suddenly fearful that he might fall, he let out a low cry as he stepped back onto dry land. His wet sneakers made sucking sounds as he pulled them out of the water.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” Lori asked. Ben was filled with sudden apprehension and thrown off balance, he stumbled backwards, trying to keep his balance, but he tripped over an unseen rock and fell. His butt hit the ground hard enough to shoot an electric spark up his legs to the small of his back.
“What’s the matter?” Lori called out. “Is something wrong?”
Sitting with his legs splayed wide on the ground, Ben shook his head, trying hard to clear it. Tiny white points of light weaved like fireflies in the corners of his vision, and a steady ringing sound filled his ears.
He wanted to tell Lori that he had fallen and that he had to go home, but he was too embarrassed. How could he be so stupid as to walk out into the river without even knowing it?
When he shook his feet, his sneakers and pants legs made loud squishing noises that sounded like the plodding footsteps of the things he had seen earlier. He was suddenly afraid that more of them had shown up on the path and were coming for him. Whimpering softly, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, and scrambled up the slope to level ground.
“Don’t leave,” Lori called out, her voice modulating up and down like the wind was still playing tricks with it. “Where are you going?”
Shaking his head, Ben lumbered up onto the pathway. A bone-deep chill gripped him, and he shivered wildly, his teeth chattering and hammering inside his head. After a quick glance over his shoulder to be sure no one else was near, he started running up the street toward his apartment building. Far off in the distance, he heard Lori calling for him to come back, but even her voice filled him with fear and spurred him on. His feet slapped loudly on the pavement, blocking out any other sounds and filling him with the sudden fear that more of those things were pursuing him.
As he ran, his breath came in raw gulps that burned inside his chest. The closer he got to his building, the stronger a new fear became. Up ahead, he could see it, lying on the edge of the driveway, halfway between the ditch by the side of the road and the steps leading up to his door.
A pile of dead leaves.
And he saw, now, that it had taken on a definite human shape. Even as he ran toward it, determined to plow right through it if he had to, he saw that the leaves were moving, heaving and stirring as though blown by the wind and reassembling until they looked like someone struggling to stand up.
“No…No!” Ben whimpered.
As he leaped over the pile, a sudden cold blast of wind swirled the leaves, blowing them in a flurry into his face. He batted them away but could feel their sharp edges slice into him like tiny razors. It was only a flash, but he was positive that a leafy hand reached out to grab him while something else snagged him by the pants leg, almost tripping him. He yanked himself free and bounded up the steps to the door, taking them three at a time. His hands were shaking out of control as he fished his house key from his pocket and fumbled to get it into the lock. He could feel cold, unrelenting pressure building up behind him, and he was absolutely convinced something was going to grab him from behind before he could get the door open.
“Come on…Come on…Come on!” he muttered as he slid the key into the slot, savagely turned it, and then spun the doorknob. He let out a warbling cry as he fell forward onto the porch and then, spinning around, kicked the door shut behind him. It banged shut hard enough to rattle the glass in the porch windows. Inhaling loudly, Ben collapsed onto the porch floor, not at all convinced he was safe. He jumped when something slammed against the door, hard enough to vibrate it, but he didn’t dare get up to see what it was.
Still on his hands and knees, he opened the inside door, whimpering as he crawled into the kitchen. His shoes and the knees of his damp and muddy pants left long, dark streaks on the floor, but he was barely aware of them, grateful simply to have escaped. Still on his hands and knees, he scrambled through the dining room and into his bedroom where he slammed the door shut behind him.
Covering his mouth with both hands, he cowered on the floor and started rocking back and forth on his haunches, all the while whispering, “This isn’t happening…this can’t be happening.”
He lost all sense of time as the darkness in the bedroom deepened, squeezing in on him with unrelenting pressure. His vision dimmed and distorted, but the night never deepened enough to drag him under.
****
“This is getting serious,” Ben said, not even trying to hide the desperation in his voice. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You left the office before I could make an appointment for you at the sleep center,” Dr. Porlock said. “Would you like me to call them for you now?”
Cupping the phone with one hand, Ben pressed it hard against his ear. If he didn’t, he was afraid of what else he might hear. There were other sounds he was aware of, just at the edge of hearing…sounds he feared might not be real.
He was seated at the kitchen table, his elbows propped on the edge of the table. His eyes jerked back and forth, looking for something solid to anchor onto, but his vision had a razor-sharp intensity that was frightening. Everything he looked at seemed to be vibrating at a high frequency, blurring their edges. Sunlight glinted off the chrome salt-and-pepper shakers, flashing like sparks from an arc weld. It left burning afterimages across his vision. His heart was racing. He was worried that, especially now at his age, he might be having a heart attack.
“I don’t…I’m not sure.” The level of panic in his voice scared him. “I don’t know what to do. I—I’m exhausted. I’m worn out. I…I’m freaking out.”
“Why don’t you come on into the office, and we can talk about it?”
Dr. Porlock’s voice kept a low and soothing tone, but Ben was so filled with fear, he mistrusted it. When the doctor wasn’t speaking, Ben had the distinct impression the phone was nothing but dead air, and that he was imagining the whole conversation.
“I…I don’t know if I can leave the apartment. I don’t dare to.” His voice through the receiver sounded weak and pathetic, and he couldn’t stop wondering what Ed was thinking.
“Do you think you need to check into the emergency room?” Ed asked. “I can call for an ambulance.”
“No, I…I don’t think so…I don’t know…maybe.” He raked his fingers through his hair, wincing when they caught in a tangle. “I feel like—I’m really losing it. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think straight.”
“What you need to do right now is try to calm down,” Ed said mildly. “Do you still have that Xanax I prescribed for you?”
“Yeah…I think so.”
Ben glanced over his shoulder at the doorway to his bedroom. The darkened frame of the doorway loomed like a gaping mouth that was about to swallow him. He turned away but instantly was more frightened with it behind his back, so he turned and looked at it again. When he did, he saw a gray smudge of a shadow shift up the wall to the ceiling and then disappear.
“I can call for an ambulance if you think you need one,” Ed said.
Ben concentrated carefully on his doctor’s voice, trying to determine if it was really him. He remembered calling the office, but now he was filled with doubt. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“No. I think I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t want to hear ‘think.’ I want to hear that you’re sure you’ll be okay.”
A warm, salty pressure was building up in his mouth, making it almost impossible to speak. Ben cleared his throat, not quite believing it was his own voic
e when he said, “Yes. I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’ll take some Xanax and lie down for a bit.”
“I don’t usually make house calls,” Dr. Porlock said, “but if you want, I can swing by after work.”
Feeling suddenly foolish for letting himself get so worked up, Ben chuckled. “That won’t be necessary. Seriously. What time is it, anyway?” There was a clock on the wall beside him, but Ben didn’t dare take his eyes off the bedroom doorway. He was still poised, waiting to see if the shadow moved again.
“It’s not quite ten o’clock, Ben,” Ed said.
Ben didn’t know what to say. He thought it was already well past noon. Licking his lips, he swallowed noisily before saying, “I’ll pop a Xanax and lie down for a bit, then.”
“Give me a call in an hour or so if you’re not feeling any better. Will you do that?”
“Yeah…sure,” Ben replied, knowing even as he said it that he had no intention of calling Ed back. He was suddenly quite sure that, no matter how good his intentions, Dr. Porlock—if this really is him on the phone—or the sleep center in Portland or anyone else wasn’t going to help him. Whatever was going on, Ben knew its source was grief for his wife and his inability to accept that she was truly gone.
Forever.
The word throbbed in his ears like a hammer blow, but as he stared at the bedroom doorway, Ben wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or merely thought it or if someone he couldn’t see had whispered into his ear. He shivered so wildly he almost dropped the phone.
“I mean it. Call me if you’re not feeling better in an—”
Dr. Porlock’s voice buzzed from the phone like an insect, trapped between windows. Without thinking, Ben switched the phone off and replaced it on its base. He let out a low groan as he stood up and stretched. Knots of pain flashed through his arms and legs, and tiny white beads of light spiraled in the edges of his vision.
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