by Ada Uzoije
Doug cried out behind his hand and not a moment later Norman came storming around the corner, walking right through the apparition. The boy watched the figure dissolve briskly and now had another unpleasant confrontation coming.
“What in God’s name are you doing, Douglas?” he said in a loud whisper, not to wake Jean. He stopped and looked hard at the fridge, standing with its door open and looked at his son with a bewildered expression. “And this?” He slammed the door shut and switched on the light of the kitchen, a white cold light Doug found as threatening as his father’s tone.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “You want to break the fridge by leaving the door open? You think these things come cheap? What are you screaming about?”
Doug found any explanation futile and just stared at his father, forgetting entirely his hands over his mouth until Norman pulled them from his face. Surprisingly, Norman’s scowl vanished as he looked at his terrified child. It was as if he somehow, for once, understood that Doug was truly shaken by something and he decided not to ridicule the boy before actually listening to his explanation.
“Come on, son,” Norman said, “what are you on about then?”
Doug was grateful for his father’s generosity, but he knew if he started talking about things that disappear into thin air, he would lose his dad’s benefit of the doubt. So he lied again.
“I am so sorry, dad. Spider fell on my hand when I opened the tap,” he said. Norman had a very disturbing opinion of spiders. Doug was perfectly aware that his father was afraid of the hairy eight-legged things and heard him once calling them “monsters of God.” In his juvenile wisdom he picked the perfect scapegoat to justify his freak-out to get his father on his side, and it worked swimmingly. Norman’s face twitched in horror and he immediately started looking around the sink behind his son.
“Oh, don’t worry, dad. I killed it and ran it down the drain,” Doug said quickly. He was proud of himself for this well-needed aversion from a definite third degree from his father.
“Damn monsters,” Norman said quietly while his eyes still darted about the kitchen. “Keep the windows closed at night or the bloody buggers will come in from everywhere.”
With that Norman seemed to have forgotten all about his vexation with Doug’s nightly disturbances and with his hand on Doug’s back he ushered him from the kitchen and switched off the light.
“You are wet,” he noted as they went up the stairs and Doug simply giggled nervously. When Norman had returned to bed the young boy could not get the hallucination out of his mind. Where had it come from? He had never seen this kind of smoky thing before. It looked exactly like the man on the bridge, so now the ghost came in different guises? The thought frightened him terribly. Doug ran a basin full of lukewarm water and did everything possible not to look in the mirror. After all, that is apparently what provoked the molten mass of black which took on the Ferrari man’s figure. From the silver towel pipe he took his small gym towel and draped it quickly over the mirror to prevent him from giving in to temptation and looking into the reflective home of creepy apparitions.
Now he had more than nightmares to worry about. As he soothed his skin with the cleansing clear water, he sank deeper into contemplation. Considerations came with every stroke of the wash cloth on his skin, as if the gentle grazing of the warmth clarified his mind and calmed him and he came to one conclusion – these happenings were night things.
This is why they called these experiences night terrors.
“Of course,” he said loudly to himself as it dawned on him that the apparition hunting and scaring him was a night thing. The dreams came when he went to bed at night. Now the hallucination, which he preferred to call “a waking nightmare,” proved the same. It only came at night. During the day he would be safe.
Doug smiled at the revelation and had a plan. From now on he would not sleep at night anymore. Lucky for him there was no school for a while and he could test his theory, maybe even nip the entire ugly problem in the bud once and for all. He could not wait to tell Krista about it, but for now he had to drink lots of coffee not to fall asleep again before the safety of daylight blessed him.
And so he sat awake all night long until the birds announced dawn. Doug made sure not to listen to soothing music or watch action movies on his computer, because they always made him fall asleep. Instead he watched raunchy music videos he got from Mick and sat by his bedroom window to let the cool air come in. He would sleep in the day somewhere so that he would not be sleeping tonight. It was amazing how the new plan gave him hope, so much hope that he actually felt happy. He did not need professional help or useless advice from people who did not understand. This was his private fight and he was going to conquer it himself.
Through the day the clouds gathered and the wind picked up, but it was pleasant altogether. Jean did some gardening, loosening the soil around her hedges and rose bushes. It was cool enough not to sweat, but mild enough to let through some sunshine. Norman was off to the shops and she took the time to prune some of the longer branches. It was just after noon when she went inside to prepare some lunch and she wiped her forehead with her sand covered hand.
“Doug, would you like a sandwich?” she called out. In the coolness of the house she noticed that there was nothing going on upstairs and thought perhaps her son had his headphones on again. It annoyed Jean no end when Doug listened to music on his headphones. On one hand it was a blessing not to have to listen to his bad taste in music, but on the other hand she could not ever communicate with him without having to go up there and repeat everything she said a second time. She washed her hands and made a snack for both of them but still Doug did not show up and she still heard nothing upstairs. Not movement or music or his computer games blaring. Jean walked up the stairs to check on him and knocked twice on the door before entering.
To her amazement, the child was still sleeping soundly in his bed. She stood for a long moment, mulling over the strange phenomenon of her normally active son sleeping well beyond midday. Jean placed her hands on her hips, unable to decide if she should feel sorry for him or drag his ass unceremoniously from bed for being a lazy brat. But the latter seemed harsh. It was, after all, holidays and he had every right to enjoy the benefits thereof. Norman had not told her that Doug was scuttling about the kitchen well after bedtime and thus she did not know that he could have been tired from being up late.
Perhaps he was ill? She frowned and elected to check his temperature before opening his curtains to let in the daylight. Jean kneeled next to her son’s bed where he was slumbering undisturbed and she gently placed the back of her hand against his forehead, but found that he had no temperature. His breathing was normal. Perplexed, she went to the bathroom to wash off the bit of dirt she discovered she had on her own brow from wiping her sweat with that dirty garden hand.
There was a towel over the mirror. Why was there a towel over the mirror? Jean stood frozen in her tracks, trying to add up all the oddities of this day. How did Doug’s day sleep connect with the covered looking-glass in the bathroom? With a scoff she went and pulled the towel off and hung it back on the silver railing. There was no evidence that Doug had been sick, vomited or had a nose bleed, but his face cloth was still wet even though he had bathed early in the evening already. She went back into his room and decided to wake him.
With immense struggle the teen opened his eyes and stretched endlessly to wake properly. He looked absolutely drained, but he had colour in his face.
“Why are you still sleeping, love?” she said, trying not to make an issue of something which was probably nothing. Doug thought to keep his explanation simple.
“I just couldn’t sleep much last night, mum,” he replied. “I only fell asleep shortly before the sun came up. Don’t know why, really. Just one of those nights.” He kept his tone light so that she would not suspect any dark things going on in his head. Jean seemed to buy it and she drew his curtains.
“Well, I have made
us some lunch. Breakfast for you,” she smiled and he sniggered with her.
“Thanks mum. I’ll be right down.”
Doug had it sorted. He had slept since dawn, for over six hours! No nightmares, just a dark, dead sleep which was more than welcome after all his troubles.
“It was the oddest thing,” Jean said to Norman that night as they got into bed, having no idea that Doug had made himself a pot of coffee and got four new movies to keep him occupied through the night. “I caught him sleeping all day long, Norman. He hasn’t slept through the day, or in daytime, since he was five years old,” she said as she settled in.
“Don’t worry about it, love,” Norman replied, recalling the previous night in the kitchen and understanding Doug’s fatigue, “I am sure he was up with that bloody spider thing.”
Jean looked at him with befuddlement, but rejected the urge to inquire. She only smiled at the obvious encounter her husband must have had with another spider, something he could blame things on for days afterward. It was rather amusing.
The following day Jean had to leave early to see her friend off at the airport and she left Doug a note on the fridge that she would be back before lunch. It was a still, hot day with no clouds in sight and the neighbours decided to go out for the day to swim. In Doug’s room it was quiet. His music videos were still playing softly on his computer, the way he set it just before he had gone to bed at 7 a.m.
Outside on the smooth green lawn a man with a suit and hat climbed out of a red Ferrari parked in the street. He came to the front door and knocked three times, three heavy pounds upon the wood of the front door. Doug wanted to open the door to tell the man that his parents were not there and that his knocking is disturbing his day sleep. He went downstairs as another set of knocks had the door shuddering.
“Oh my God, can you knock like a normal person?” Doug said to himself as he came to the door with his hair in a mess. He opened the door with his eyes still sandy and thick, but he quickly sobered up his act when he jerked the door aside. Just on the other side of the threshold, the man from the bridge stood- upside down. Doug’s entire body seized up in an icy grip and he tried to scream but all he could utter was a despondent grunt which rasped from his gullet to his teeth. He could not close the door as he watched the ghastly thing hang upside down and then the dead man’s head simply tore from his neck and fell to the ground with a thump. It reached out with its right hand and slapped Doug across the face, the way the detached hand had slapped him on the bridge that day of the wicked incident. Another slap of the cold, dead hand ripped him from sleep and he screamed loud and long before he realised that he was sitting upright in his bed.
Outside it was a lovely sunny day and he could hear birds and laughter as if he was locked inside, away from all happiness and peace. Shocked still, Doug just sat in his bed for a moment with wide open eyes and a pounding heart. Then he simply burst out in tears. He sobbed violently. Now it was clear, once and for all. The man from the bridge could get him even in the day time. The nightmare, the evil apparition could walk the daylight as well as he could walk the lanes of the night. Now Doug knew – he would never escape him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Just another long and uneventful day at school had Doug wishing he was somewhere else. Math class was especially tedious, and after-school sports were nothing short of punishment for him. The teachers would march them all up to the football field to establish which of the students were secretly gifted at various sports, whether running or activities of strength such as shot put and javelin, which he loathed. Doug hated sports. He liked swimming on the farm, but only to play. Why people decided to swim for time and technique was above him. It was supposed to be fun, like most physical activities. Not an excuse for sadistic teachers to force upon children their own broken dreams of attaining medals, he thought. He tried out for swimming and fared very well according to Mr. Browning, and therefore he had to stay longer. Mr. Browning had chosen six students for his possible team and asked for them to attend the final tryouts later today.
For once, Doug decided to give the sport thing a try, knowing that any form of distraction would do him well and to top that he would perhaps find something he could pursue which could cultivate some peace and achievement in him. His mother had called. She told him that they would not be able to collect him from school this afternoon. It was alright. He could take the scooter and besides, he was going to be longer with tryouts anyway.
It was late afternoon when Doug finally packed up after swimming practice and made his long way home. The sky was strange above him, as if it waited just for him to emerge from the school gates. Vast and reddish, it contained the picturesque morphing of dark grey clouds which circled like a gang of bullies. They ushered in a current of unnaturally cool air which twirled about his ankles like an amorous cat as he got on his scooter and flung his satchel over his shoulder. Doug brushed his hair from his brow and focused on the hideous road home which by now was teeming with annoying traffic and impatient adults who thought they owned everything. It was after work for most and the road crowded up with congestion at every block he passed. Uphill he went, hating the exertion after sport and when he reached the summit of the not-so-impressive mound, he stopped for a breather.
From a few blocks away where he was now at the top of the school road, he could see the sunken area ahead of him reaching a few miles in curved road and then came the bridge at the bottom twist. At least he would enjoy the wind in his hair as he descended the hill. It was a thrill, a small pleasure like those you discover when you least expect it. An inkling of juvenile fun thrown randomly in the middle of your day. Doug always had time for some fun, no matter how trivial it may seem to others. Things like lying on the grass looking at the circling birds on his grandparent’s farm or jumping the wooden beam fence at the roadside shop instead of going around it, even if he fell on his ass on occasion.
It was a rare moment of carefree abandon, the few blocks downhill on the sidewalk where the cars could not come. For a second or two, Doug forgot all his problems and just existed. No thinking, no worry and no concern for time. Jean knew her son would be late and it was fine. Everything was fine.
Then he saw the bridge. Wind rushing through his hair compelled his jacket to flap wildly, giving the impression of wings. It was as if the atmosphere had gone cold. Doug immediately thought of Icarus and how his wings had sealed his fate. With the reminiscence of the legendary boy’s doom Doug approached the bridge, gradually slowing down as the end of the walkway came into sight and he knew he could ride no further. Keenly eyeing the structure burdened with cars he pushed his scooter as he went and the wind increased its buffeting somewhat as he started crossing. Perhaps it was merely the weather turning, but for some reason Doug thought the icy breath over the land was meant for him.
He remembered that fateful day clearly now as he progressed toward the spot where it had happened. In his shattered mind the pieces came ominously together with every step he took. Beneath him the wheels of his scooter shrieked like a witch’s teeth, overwhelming his reality as the traffic and all its bustling faded into the background. All the young boy could hear now was his heart pounding in his ears. No interference. Closer he came to where the Ferrari man had placed his briefcase and looked over the barricade – where he had locked eyes with Doug. Those pale blue eyes, shrinking into a forced smile before the terrible thing happened.
Doug stopped at the spot where the two of them had their first and only moment and recalled the face of the dead man in the posh suit. Upon his brow there were many lines, as if he frowned a lot, worried a lot, but those eyes…
Passing the daydreaming boy, a truck honked loudly and suddenly, ripping Doug from his spell. The driver was concerned that the school boy might wander into the roadway under the grip of whatever held him so enthralled, but he scared the life out of the poor child.
“Idiot!” Doug shouted at the fading vehicle which almost gave him a heart attack and he placed his scoo
ter against the steel barricade. Placing his hand on his chest, he tried to calm down again so that he could look over the barrier before continuing on. People stared at him as they crawled by in their cars at a snail’s pace and he felt quite disgruntled by the scrutiny. Obviously they were intrigued by the odd boy loitering by the edge of the bridge, as he could see on some of their faces. He noticed their attention, as if they expected him to resort to something unexpected or ghastly, much like the pale-eyed Ferrari man had done. Maybe they were there that day, or read about it in the paper and now thought the obscene terror might replay itself. Doug did his best to look as calm and happy as he could to avert their concern.
Now he was so close to the side of the bridge that the wind jerked his lean body about effortlessly and those molten clouds spread across the entire sky.
For a moment he stood looking over and then he saw it.
Beneath him, afloat in the rushing river that the bridge crossed, drifted the black briefcase he remembered so well. Doug caught his breath and felt the cold grip him once more, but he had to retrieve the case. It called to him to pick it from the damage of the water and he immediately started toward the end of the barrier, so that he could get down under the bridge.
Some motorists now stared, others had their cell phones ready for whatever the suspicious-acting boy might do. Doug paid no attention to them and set his mind to the task at hand.
Whipping about his sides, his jacket wings flapped to remind him that he was not invincible, but he ignored all sense to complete his mission. Mockingly the briefcase bobbed on the surface, slower than the current of the water as if it waited for him in the pandemonium of the strong gusts and the awkward slant which would bring him to the river bank.