13 Tales To Give You Night Terrors (8 page)

Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s why
she never ventures outside.

I see my life following the shut-in’s
path. Call in to my professors, tell them I’m sick. They’ll fail me
eventually. I can take classes online and get a job from home.
Endless nights watching the doors. How long until I feel
comfortable enough to turn on the TV?

It started when my phone buzzed on the
subway after my late class. I had to brush up against a
squirrelly-looking woman to fish it out my pants.

My buddy Jay was calling to cancel our
weekly poker game. I figured he’d contacted me last because he knew
the other guys wouldn’t give him any resistance, but I wasn’t
having any of it.

“
Don’t be a loser. Why
don’t you want to chill?” I asked him.

“
I’m not up for it
tonight.” The voice on the phone sounded hollow. I’d never heard
Jay like that before. I’d known him for two years, ever since we
sat next to each other in one of my first engineering classes. I
was a freshman and used to sticking your hand out and making
friends like from back home. The city was a different story and
most people treated me like an oddity, but Jay had shook my hand
and started blabbing. We were instant friends.

“
Something
happen?”

“
I don’t know. I guess
so.”

“
Don’t be a chick. Just
tell me.” He was never the type to get worked up easily. The
uncertainty in his voice made my skin crawl.

“
I ran into Declan in the
bar the other night.”

“
Who?”

“
He used to work with me in
the college bookstore. He was just sitting there at the bar,
drinking alone. There weren’t any decent girls around, so I had a
few Post Nap Funks with him.”

“
And?”

“
And his cousin died the
other day. A severe heart attack. He was only twenty-nine. The
weird thing was the cousin’s neighbor was shot a few days before in
a home invasion or something.”

“
That’s messed up,” I said.
What else was there to say? Sorry the random cousin of some
acquaintance died. If the city wasn’t so massive you would never
have even crossed paths.

I noticed a young preacher holding a
sign proclaiming it the end of days. Would the city swallow him up
whole like it had me?

“
Declan said his cousin saw
the killer leaving. Dude was dressed up like one of those street
performers. The costumed ones that kids take pictures with. They’re
always out there bothering people. Homeless weirdoes.”

Never would have happened
in Idaho.

“
Who was he dressed up as?
SpongeBob? Spider-Man?” I tried to lighten the mood, but it was
impossible.

“
A wolf in a ratty ‘I Heart
NY’ shirt.”

“
Weird. But who doesn’t
heart New York? Still no reason why we aren’t getting shitfaced
playing poker tonight.”

The train came to a halt and the doors
whooshed open. I hurried through the crowd of strangers. As I
emerged on the street above, I found myself looking out for any
costumed wolves. I never looked over my shoulder before moving
here. What is it about the city that changes you so quickly? The
smog? The abundance of people stacked upon each other?

“
I left the bar with
Declan. We went down to the subway together. It wasn’t that
crowded, you know, a Tuesday night at eleven. We were waiting for
the train, just talking or whatever, and suddenly his mouth drops
and he stumbles back. I tried to catch him, but he fell right in
front of the train. It made the most sickening sound.”

“
Damn.” I shuddered at the
thought of Jay’s friend actually dying in front of him, glad I
heard about it as I approached my apartment building and not while
I was still underground. “What did you do?”

“
I turned away. People were
screaming. The Wolf was standing there, twenty feet away. I swear
its big plastic eyes were staring straight at me. He held one
finger up to his lips.”

“
Shit. What
happened?”

“
People were running around
and I lost track of him. As soon as the cops heard we came from the
bar they didn’t seem that interested. Anyway, I’ve been holed up
here the last couple days.”

“
That’s no good. Look, I’ll
bring over a six-pack and keep you company for a while. Not like I
had any other plans for the night.”

He was quiet for several seconds. I
thought we got disconnected and checked my phone. The seconds on
the call log ticked up. “Jay?”

“
Yeah, sure. See you in a
few.”

I stuffed the phone back in my pants
and hurried upstairs. I tossed some beer in a brown bag and left
for Jay’s place.

The streets were still alive with
hipsters and partiers. A scruffy kid played some song by This Is My
Roommate as passers-by tossed spare change in his guitar case. I
nodded to a neighbor, a woman whose face I knew but name I didn’t.
It wasn’t a long walk to Jay’s apartment. I hoped he had some soda
and liquor so I could mix something stronger. Somehow I didn’t
think three beers apiece would do the trick.

As I reached Jay’s building, I glanced
up at his third story window out of habit. The lights were on. As I
neared the side of the building, something made a crashing sound
high above. I looked up just as Jay sailed through the air,
plummeting toward the concrete.

A woman screamed. Others pointed. Jay
hit the ground with a sickening splat and crunch. I backed away and
looked toward the window again. Those looming wolf eyes stared at
the carnage below.

Jay must have opened the door for the
Wolf, thinking it was me. He can’t pull the same trick on me. I’ll
sit right here until he tries, and then I’ll show him. One quick
stab to the stomach ought to do it. And then twenty more to be
sure.

I crack open my second beer with my
left hand and sip the foamy drink. Nothing will take the knife out
of my dominant hand. I picture the freak inside the mask. Homeless
maniac? A hipster artist hearing voices? A vet with
PTSD?

There’s a knock on the door. I tense
up. The light above the kitchen table flickers.

Who’s there?

Death.

Death who?

I leave the safety of the kitchen wall
and approach the front door. Through the peephole, I see him
clearly waiting on the other side. He’s perfectly still. Hands at
his side, head tilted just so. The knife is heavy in my hand. I
consider throwing open the door and launching myself at
him.

I back away from the door. Maybe he’ll
go away.

How’d he even find me?

It’s cold in my apartment but sweat
drips down my forehead. I can’t take my eyes off the front door.
He’s unarmed. He can’t hurt me. I’m safe.

I’ll huff and I’ll puff
and I’ll blow your house down.

I fall back to the kitchen table.
Shaking, I finish my beer. Do I dare crack open another? The lights
are on; he already knows I’m home. Maybe he’ll go away.

I sit again. Nothing happens. A car
horn blares outside. There are sirens in the distance. I risk
opening another beer by momentarily setting down the knife. My
right hand is sore. I flex it and then crack open the can under the
table, muffling it as best as I can.

The bitter taste doesn’t help any. I
only take one sip before setting it down on the table and holding
the knife again.

The city sounds blur together. All I
can distinctly hear is my own breathing and the muffled TV next
door.

“
You’ll lose yourself in
New York,” Dad said.

“
What’s there to lose? Any
sense that cows are worthwhile conversationalists?” I’d joke back.
But he was right. The city does swallow you whole. You come in
thinking one thing and the next minute, you’re a New Yorker and
anything goes.

The stillness is nearly as bad as
chaos.

Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he gave
up.

I leave the table and shuffle toward
the front door to peer through the peephole. The Wolf hasn’t moved
an inch. If they could, I’m sure the edges of his costumed lips
would twist upward.

I step away from the door. The Wolf
will never tire. He’ll never leave his station.

I remember my phone. The cops. Help. I
silently creep away from the door. Where’s my phone?

The bedroom.

My feet carry me through the narrow
hallway and into my bedroom. I find the phone on my bed and dial
911. I make my way back to the kitchen table as the operator
answers.

“
911, what is the nature of
your emergency?”

“
Uh, yes, there’s someone
outside my apartment. I think he’s dangerous.”

I glance back at the door. The
deadbolt has moved; the door’s no longer locked. He must be inside.
The phone fumbles through my fingers and clatters on the
floor.

I run toward the door. I have to get
out before he leaps out at me. I throw the door wide
open.

The Wolf never moved from the
spot.

Before I can slam the door shut, he
barges forward. I step back and ram the knife into his stomach. It
slices through the shirt and furry costume.

He backhands me and I stumble back
through my living room. My vision blurs. I shake it
away.

The Wolf approaches. The knife is
still stuck in his gut. The costume stinks of piss and stale beer.
I launch myself at him and yank out the knife. I pull back and
slash horizontally at his neck. I feel the blade cut through fur
and something thick, like molasses.

The Wolf head falls to the floor and
rolls several feet.

My senses feel like they’re on fire.
My entire body tingles. The Wolf drops to his knees and collapses
at my feet.

Shaking, I bend down and pick up the
Wolf’s head. It’s empty.

The furry hands grab my ankles and
yank my feet out from under me. I fall on top of the costume. The
headless thing crawls over me. It’s heavier than it should be. It
weighs me down. I try to scream, but the hands are over my mouth.
It’s stronger than I am.

There’s a zipping sound. The costume
rolls over, practically crushing me into the floor. But then the
furry back envelops me. It wraps around my chest, crushing the air
out of my lungs. I feel the legs stretching out across my own like
warm glue. The hands reach the Wolf’s head and pull it over my
own.

My vision becomes his.

It’s hot here. My sweat drips,
collecting in the furry folds around my lips and chin. It’s moist
and I’m so thirsty.

I stumble out of the apartment.
Through the city.

Hookers and addicts own the streets
until the sun rises on the city. The tourists and professionals
reclaim the lost territory.

There are others like me in the
fringes. Batman. Snoopy. Wonder Woman.

Kids pose with me and parents chuck
spare coins my way.

People point. They jeer. Snicker.
Laugh. They shouldn’t push me too far; they wouldn’t like the
consequences. There’s been a long line from the first people who
pushed me too far. Each told someone about me and each had to be
dealt with.

It’s a precious chain.

Now you know my story and I can’t
break the chain. That’s why I’m coming for you.

7. STORE
MACABRE

Scott Clark,
Scotland

NO
one noticed when the doors clicked shut and the locks flipped
in their chambers. The glass doors warbled in their steel fixtures
against the harsh wind tearing down the empty high street, and an
atmosphere possessed by dusk rapidly drew towards the bitter cold
of night.

Past the busy cash desks swarm
bug-eyed and ferocious patrons, each waving garments over-head with
ritualistic frenzy, cackling in tongues, demanding the attention of
sweating workers who do their best in a heat unthinkable. Over
discarded items and the litter of a thousand wretches, children rub
sticky chocolate across miserable smiles and cry for mothers who
sing at them whilst scrabbling at the last filthy dress on the
rack.

Feel the heat squeeze salty
beads of moisture from greasy pores. Feel the waves of noise bang
and clash against, what you might have once called fine hearing.
Feel every complaint or roar of vicious laughter race up to join
the atmosphere of panic induced by nothing more than this; a store
about to
tipple
into the eye of a storm, no more impeded by
harmony.

Back at the door the lights flicker.
As the shadows surge forwards and backwards, warded by the failing
light, it is almost possible to notice a figure of impossible
height. Wreathed in black, whining softly, the figure’s stuttering
form reaches out a ghastly arm and calls for attention. Its
knuckles scrape and crack on the hardened glass. The hollow noise,
enough to freeze the blood of any hardened soul, is a glimpse of
death’s embrace resonating in the knock of this doomed figure. And
yet it falls on deaf ears. The figure maintains a vigil.