The Sleepwalker

by Doug Hantke

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “I will.”

  I said goodbye to both of them and got in my car. I looked down at my phone and turned it upside down. The picture had been the last straw. I was definitely having issues that I couldn’t explain and I needed help. I just hoped there was something they could do to help.

  4

  I pulled into the Charleston Sleep Study Facility at about 9:00p.m. I looked up at the building watching my breath travel upward into the night sky. This place has to hold the answer to my questions.

  I met with a few doctors and told them my story. They jotted down some notes as I spoke, without the slightest expression change, until I mentioned Rocky. One of the female doctor’s raised her eyes to me. I could tell she didn’t believe me. Her look was cold as if she were saying, “Yea, you are probably just looking for an excuse for your sick actions.” I can’t say I blame her. The story definitely isn’t an everyday normal event. But it’s the God’s honest truth.

  “I just don’t know what else to do.” I put my head in my hands, as they set up the bed with their equipment.

  They had machines with wires all around, attached to plenty of things that beeped and booped. There was a machine that looked like one of those polygraph tests.

  “That will measure your brain’s activity while you sleep.” The woman that had been so accusing earlier had since settled down. I think she was starting to pity me. Better that than thinking I’m some kind of lunatic, I thought.

  “Just go about your normal routine. We will be monitoring everything from the other room. If anything is strange we will be able to see it happen.” The man touched my shoulder. “Your condition isn’t unheard of, I’m sure there is something we can do.”

  His attempts to comfort me failed. Even though I knew his heart was in the right place. I was scared to even fall asleep. I was a laboratory rat, hooked up to machines and being studied. What were they going to find? Am I some kind of sleepwalking serial killer? The picture from that morning still lingered in my memory. The dreams felt so real. I closed my eyes, and the events of the night before played like a movie. I was so angry at the sight of Brian that I could hardly even control myself in my dream. Then the feeling I had when I saw the picture that I had taken in my sleep.

  My son sleeping with Rocky’s leash hanging above his headboard.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but the dream world was not quite the same as reality. It takes some people years to truly master lucid dreaming, but for me it had been natural. I didn’t even know that there was a word for it until a few years back. I had just thought it happened to everyone. I felt a bit special when I learned people practiced just to be able to do what I did without trying.

  I sat up in my bed and removed the wires from my body. I looked to the glass mirror where they were certainly watching me. I spoke out to them, but no words came out of my mouth. I moved to the edge of the bed only to realize that I was no longer in bed, but on the couch at my home. I was definitely dreaming. This much was certain, but instead of taking control I decided to just watch and let it unfold before me.

  My body glided into the kitchen almost hovering over the ground like it had done just a day before. Rocky sat on the kitchen floor, apparently passed out from overeating. My hand reached down and grabbed him by the back of the collar forcefully and started to drag him away. His eyes glared at me, his lips pulled back showing that snarl that I remember from the picture. His nails screeched on the kitchen floor as I drug him. My other hand searched a drawer next to the sink until it found the largest blade available. My heart skipped a beat as I pulled him outside into the snow.

  The air felt cool against my face as I stepped onto the back porch. The night was silent. The only sound was that of the wind. I hooked Rocky up to the leash, and without a second thought, jabbed the blade into his stomach.

  His screech was brutal. It almost woke me from my dream, but I was unable to pull myself away. With each thrust from the blade the sounds from Rocky lessened until only the wind could be heard once more.

  I climbed the small part of the tree where I planned on building a treehouse for Brian, and I tied the leash around the largest branch. Once I was comfortable with its sturdiness I hoisted him off the ground, leaving his lifeless body swinging in the silent night.

  I could feel a grin on my face.

  I woke up in a cold sweat with my hands pressed against the window of the observing room. No smile was on my face now.

  The doctors rushed in to constrain me as I beat the glass sobbing. The female doctor seemed to have made up her mind that pity was in fact the correct emotion to have toward me.

  They finally calmed me down enough to hook me back up to the machines. I drank a glass of water and sprawled back on the bed. I had only been asleep an hour. The night was far from over. In my experience it was usually the first hour or two that gave me issues. If I made it through that part I was normally fine.

  In the morning the doctors met with me and went over some of their theories on what was occurring. They told me that I suffered from REM-sleep behavior disorder, and it seems like it is becoming more severe. They were going to prescribe me Klonopin, which is said to help in the majority of patients. This was the cause, in their opinion, if what I had told them was true. I was instructed to return for further evaluation if it continued.

  This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I already knew that I had that disorder. I assumed having the medication could help though, so I thanked them. The good news was that I hadn’t taken a picture of anything last night. That was relief enough for me.

  I sat around the house most of that day. Brian’s grandmother told me to take it easy for the weekend, and I hadn’t found a reason to argue. I watched trash television talk shows that blended into wonderful court room parodies. I ordered a pizza and tried to figure out how anyone could call this crap entertainment. It’s nothing but a bunch of people making fun of others. This is what people watch? No wonder society was headed on a downward spiral.

  I’m not sure when it happened, but I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up to a bright blue screen on my television. A cold breeze swept through the living room forcing a shiver. An empty pizza box sat opened on the floor with a few pieces left lonely and uneaten.

  The backdoor banged against the wall as the wind forced itself through the open doorway. Snow flurried inside my living room, and I made my way to the door to close it. It was three in the morning. The last time I could remember was maybe ten. But I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t even remember being tired at all.

  The storm outside was getting worse and the lights flickered as I moved upstairs to my room. A chilling wind hit me when I reached the top of the stairs. I saw that the window in my room was open and walked over to close it. Before I turned away I noticed a bright, blue light in the yard below the window. I tried to make it out, but I couldn’t quite see what it was. I squinted my eyes and tried harder to focus on the object. The object was quite small, but the light it omitted was bright. It took me only a few moments to realize what it was.

  My phone was in the yard below.

  I made my way cautiously down the stairs and to the back door. I slowly exited my house and crept my way to where the phone lay. The blue light resonated from the snow taunting me to approach. My heart rose to my throat as I picked up the phone, afraid of what I might see. The images folder stared back at me, and I realized a new picture had been taken. I pressed my finger to the screen and waited for the picture to show. It wasn’t a picture of my house. It was a picture from the outside of Brian’s Grandmother’s house. I looked closer into the picture and saw both Brian and his grandmother cuddled up on the couch with the light of the television reflecting off their faces. They were both sleeping.

  I started to run back to the house and began feeling sick to my stomach. My vision was hazy and my balance seemed impossible to steady. I crawled through the backdoor, closed it, and locked it. I stumbled upstairs to m
y bedroom and locked the door. I grabbed the phone and started to dial my mother-in-laws number, but my eyes became too heavy. Something was wrong, I didn’t feel right. I tried to fight it. Just one more number, I told myself, but there was nothing that I could do. The phone fell from my limp hands and crashed to the floor. My eyes began to close, and before I could think another thought, I was asleep again.

  When my eyes opened I could hardly move. My legs felt like they were made of cement. I rolled over, the best I could, and picked up the phone. I immediately dialed her number hoping she would pick up.

  She didn’t.

  Tears filled my eyes and my attempts at moving were completely useless. I felt paralyzed from the waist down. I could hear the television downstairs. Its volume seemed to increase with every moment until I could hear it like it was in the room with me. The local news station was at a murder scene.

  “The victims were 55 year old Ramona Hall and six-year-old…”

  My eyes burst with tears and anger. My heart split in two as the reporters words blasted through my television speakers.

  “…Brian Fletcher. Police found the two dead on their couch this morning after a neighbor had seen Mrs. Hall’s front door open and went to check on her.”

  “I ain’t never seen nothing like it,” a man’s said. “I mean, who the hell does that? It ain’t right. Sad really.”

  “Police are still looking for suspects and have had no success in reaching the child’s father. His mother hasn’t been heard from in over a year,” the reporter paused for a moment. “This has been WTWS TV, Channel 13.”

  I tried to wake myself up but nothing would work. I must be dreaming, there is no way I could have possibly done that. There must be another explanation. I pulled myself over the side of the bed and stretched for my phone. My legs were still and impossible to move. Each attempt made me more frustrated. They were completely numb. I finally reached my phone after what seemed like hours of struggling and went to the images folder.

  I saw a new picture. A sudden feeling of dread crept over me as I opened the new image. What I saw confused me. It was a picture of me. The picture was of me sleeping in the very bed I was in at that very moment. I frantically began searching the image.

  I could just make out the shadow of a person in my mirror above my bed. The person stood distant in the doorway, but I could just make out their features. I spread my fingers to zoom in on the image. My heart beat quickened as the image became clearer. Sweat cooled my brow, and I wiped it away with a blanket. I could almost make out the person in the picture. Just a little bit more and—the image became clear. I dropped the phone and turned quickly to the doorway.

  “Hi, Marcus.” The person carried a small syringe with them as they walked toward my bed. “I thought I told you no dogs.”

  The woman sat down on my bed, on her face was a devilish smile. My wife always had the scariest of smiles.

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