Sight Unseen

by Andrew Neiderman

  “You don’t believe that, do you? There is someone out there, someone who attacked Buzzy. He’s been spying on you, watching you get undressed, watching you sit by that vanity table brushing your hair, sitting there in your bra and panties…” He stopped when her face reflected some shock.

  “How do you know I do that?”

  “It’s what…what he sees,” he said.

  “He sees? Or what you see?”

  “No,” he said, but he couldn’t deny what was printed indelibly on the surface of his eyes. Even now she was moving, bare breasted, toward the window to look out at him the way she had that first night. It wasn’t something he could pretend never happened.

  “That’s what you boys were doing here that night when Buzzy got hurt, huh? Then you made up that story about someone attacking Buzzy. He probably just tripped and fell down. Maybe he fell out of a tree.”

  He shook his head.

  “No,” he said.

  “You can’t deny why you and your friends were out there.”

  “You’re missing the point,” he said. “There’s someone very dangerous out there.”

  “Sure. Buzzy or one of your other sick friends.”

  “No.”

  “What did you do, call them up to tell them you were coming over here? Did you think something would happen between us and they could watch? Was this going to be another one of your magic tricks?”

  He blushed. Part of what she said was certainly his fantasy.

  “You’re all wrong. Listen to me.” He turned back to the window and closed his eyes, fighting to get some more concrete information. He had to impress her with an understanding of how serious this was, yet the picture he got was still not clear. All that came to him was a dark form, but a large dark form. At least he was sure of one thing. “Whoever’s out there is not a kid. He’s dangerous,” he repeated. He didn’t know what else he should say. The important vision hadn’t come. He pressed on, concentrating, searching through the darkness in his own mind. He pinched his head between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Stop it!” she said. “You’re just trying to frighten me. I think you better leave. I’m sorry I asked you to come over. This was a mistake.”

  For a moment he just stood there looking at her. He looked back at the windows one more time and then started out of her room. She followed him to the front door.

  “I’m really disappointed in you, David, making up something like that.” He heard the hope in her voice. She wanted him to confess and ease her fear.

  “I’m not lying. There’s someone out there, someone who wants more than to just look at you. Don’t go out alone,” he warned. Her eyes blazed.

  “Get out of here, David. And if you tell such a story to anyone else, I’ll tell Ted. I mean it.”

  “I don’t care if you tell him. I’ll tell him myself,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he added and left.

  He was saddened by the harsh sound of the door closing swiftly behind him. For a few moments he stood at the front of her house listening to the night. Then he walked to the side and looked into the shadows. Whoever had been there was gone, but he knew in his heart, with the same certainty that he knew the night would turn to morning, that the evil shadow would return and return again and again until it got what it wanted.

  He shuddered to think what that was.

  9

  He had intended to go right home from Diane’s house. All that had happened had left him shaky and afraid, but when he left her house and started down her street, there wasn’t any sense of relief. Instead of leaving the danger and the evil behind him, he had the distinct impression he was being watched. He stopped along the way a few times to study the shadows and listen. The longer he looked, the more the moonlight played tricks on him.

  Shadows took new shapes and seemed to slide across the road behind him. Tree branches nodded in the breeze, confirming danger. Everything was part of it; everything conspired against him. Even the houses looked as if they anticipated something terrifying would soon occur. Dimly lit windows looked like half-opened eyes. Were people peering out at him from behind their closed blinds and shades? It reminded him of something; he struggled to remember, and then it came to him: This was the way people were looking out of their windows when he had that dream about Mr. Hoffman in the coffin.

  The vivid recollection sent him into a frenzy, and he started again down the road, moving quickly and trying not to look back or to the sides. Was it his imagination that when he began to walk again, the echo of his footsteps on the macadam became amplified? It made him walk faster until he broke into a trot.

  Before he was off Diane’s avenue, he felt the evil presence leave him. Perhaps it had only wanted to be sure he was going. Could the evil have returned to her house?

  The confusion and turmoil within him prevented him from reaching any satisfying conclusions. He couldn’t close his eyes and see anything; he wasn’t in tune with the sounds of the night. Perhaps he had been wrong to neglect his visions. Now, when he felt he needed them the most, they weren’t there. He couldn’t raise an image. The future was as unknown to him as it was to anyone.

  Ironically, what he thought would make him happy put him into more of a panic. He couldn’t just go home and go back to what he had been doing; it would be impossible for him to fall asleep later as well. He had to do something. But what? He was afraid to go back to her house. If she saw him out there now, she would simply believe that he was there to be a Peeping Tom. It would confirm her suspicions, and he would only get into trouble. The real danger would continue to be ignored.

  He certainly couldn’t bring any of his friends back there with him. That would be just as bad. And they wouldn’t come anyway, especially after what had happened to Buzzy.

  No, there was only one thing to do, he thought. He turned at the corner of Main Street and headed for the police station. The village looked even quieter than usual, but he thought it was deceptively so. There was a ringing in his ears. Something explosive was about to happen. He broke into a hard run, chased by the demons in his own imagination.

  He could see that the patrol car was parked in front. He hoped Charlie was on duty. He realized that he would be easier to talk to than Louis Nesselwitz, one of the other permanent policemen. Charlie was younger; Charlie would understand, he thought.

  Charlie was there and when he saw David enter the station, he sat back almost as if he had expected him. There was no one else present. David tried to catch his breath as he walked farther in. He pressed his right hand into his side to force back the pain caused by his frantic run.

  “What did you do, run down here to confess?” he asked smiling. David didn’t smile. He shook his head and approached the desk.

  “I was just up at Diane Jones’s house. Helping her with some school stuff,” he added quickly.

  “So?”

  “Whoever hurt Buzzy was out there again.”

  “Oh yeah.” Charlie sat forward. “You saw him? What did he look like?”

  “I didn’t exactly see him,” David said.

  “Then how do you know he was there? You heard him?”

  “No, I didn’t hear him.”

  “What the hell is this?” Charlie sat back again. “You didn’t see him and you didn’t hear him, but you know he was there?” He squinted skeptically, drawing his forehead into dark crevices.

  “I…I sensed his shadow when I looked out her window, but I couldn’t make out any details.”

  “Sensed or saw?”

  “Sensed. Look, Charlie, I can’t explain everything, but you’ve got to believe me. I know whoever is out there wants to hurt her.”

  “Oh yeah.” Charlie’s eyes widened, and he lifted his head as though he wanted to catch something revealing in David’s words. “How do you know this?”

  “I just know it. I know stuff other people don’t know.”

  “Oh? Well, that explains it.” Charlie slapped his hands together and sat up straighter. “I’ll just call
for an all points bulletin and get the National Guard out. And when they ask me why, I’ll say, David just knows what everyone else doesn’t. Shit. What, are some of your friends peepin’ around again? Are you trying to cover for ’em? Is that why you’re here with this bullshit story?”

  “No, it’s not that, Charlie. It’s definitely not that.” David studied the young policeman for a moment. “And you know it, too,” he added, screwing his face into an intense and determined look. Charlie’s smile began to fade. David stared at him until the thought was born and quickly converted into words. “Other girls…other women have complained about being watched, right?”

  “What about it? You guys know something more?”

  “It’s not kids,” David repeated. He continued to study the policeman’s face. He wasn’t able to hide the truth from David by keeping what he knew behind a false face any longer. The mask was quickly falling away. “You know it’s not kids. Someone saw someone more clearly, huh?” David concluded.

  Charlie didn’t respond. He leaned forward and tapped a pencil on the desk for a moment, thoughtfully. Then he sat back again, only he sat straighter, looking more official, putting on the formal police face.

  “How long ago did you…sense…this guy at Diane’s?”

  “Fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Was he there when you left?”

  “Not when I left the house, but I thought I was being followed.”

  “You heard him?”

  “No.”

  “Well what the hell is this…feelings, sensing…thinking. Either you see someone or you don’t; either you hear him or you don’t.”

  “I don’t know how I can do it, Charlie, but sometimes I can see things without actually seeing them.”

  “Jesus. What’dya do, go to a Disney film lately?”

  “No. I’m not imagining this stuff. You’ve got to believe me.” David put both of his hands on the policeman’s desk and leaned in at him. This time it was Charlie who studied the expressions. He nodded, impressed with David’s sincerity.

  “All right, all right.” He got up and came around the desk. “Come on. We’ll take a ride up to Diane’s house and you’ll sense and feel and think,” he said. He reached for his hat and directed David out of the station. “Get in the patrol car,” he said after he closed the station door. David did so. “So you see things others can’t see, huh?” Charlie said as he started the engine and backed the patrol car onto the street.

  “Yes,” David said weakly. Now that he was in the police car and they were actually going, he felt a little more intimidated.

  “When I was in Korea,” Charlie said, “there was this guy who told me he was going to die and two days later, he got shot through the neck while on patrol.”

  “Really? Then you see that sometimes people can do these things,” David added quickly.

  “But half the outfit thought they were going to die, so it wasn’t any wonder,” Charlie said dryly.

  “I dreamt about Mr. Hoffman’s death before it happened,” David said. He thought it was essential now that he convince Charlie he could do it.

  “Is that so? Hoffman the baker?”

  “Yes. In this dream I was walking through the village, and I came upon a coffin. He was in it. The next day, he died.” David waited for Charlie’s reaction. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he looked at him.

  “You’re fulla shit, ain’tcha kid?”

  “No, Charlie, I’m telling the truth.”

  “Yeah? Well, who else have you dreamt about dying?”

  “No one recently, but…there’s something trying to take shape in my mind, and it has to do with Diane Jones.”

  “I’ll bet I know what it is, kid…a hard-on.”

  “What?”

  “Look, I don’t blame you going up there to peek in on her. She’s a knockout, but if you’re setting me up as some kind of joke, I’ll hang your ass up in the middle of the village.”

  “I’m not, Charlie. Honest.”

  “We’ll see.” He pulled up in front of Diane Jones’s house. “So where did you sense this guy?”

  “Down the road a bit, just in the shadows of the trees.”

  “Uh-huh.” Charlie reached into his glove compartment and came out with a flashlight. “Come on. We’ll check it out together. What did Diane say about this when you told her?” he asked after they got out of the patrol car.

  “She didn’t believe me,” David said.

  “I see. So she didn’t see, sense, think or feel anyone then?”

  “No, but…”

  “Quiet. Let’s surprise him,” he said, and they walked along the side of the house. The lights were on in Diane’s room, but the shades were still drawn down the way he had left them. Charlie directed the beam of his flashlight into the shadows and followed the road. David stayed back. When Charlie was almost directly across from Diane’s bedroom, he paused and directed his light at the ground. Then he knelt down. A few moments later, he stood up, washed the woods and the road ahead with his light, and then returned to David.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.” David looked back and then got into the car.

  “I didn’t think he was still there,” he said. Charlie didn’t reply. He started the patrol car, turned around, and drove back into the village, but instead of returning to the station, he made the turn on Main Street and drove David to his house.

  “Go on home, David.”

  “I’m not lying,” David said before getting out.

  “I know,” Charlie said. “I saw some tracks back there. Whoever it was has big feet. I think I know who it was. Go on. Thanks,” he added.

  David was impressed with Charlie’s new serious tone. He got out of the car and watched Charlie head up toward Turtle Avenue. He knew where he was going. He watched until the patrol car disappeared, and then he started for his front door. Before he reached it, a new thought came to him like something he had forgotten for a long time but just remembered. He actually said, “Oh,” and turned around, spinning like someone who had been touched on the shoulder.

  Charlie was making a mistake. It wasn’t Gerry Porter; it was definitely not Gerry Porter.

  It was someone far more dangerous.

  That night the terrible vision came. He half expected it would, and when he got into bed, he got into bed reluctantly. He wasn’t slipping in under the covers; he was lying down in his own coffin. Tonight, he was rooming with death. The darkness that enveloped him was animated. It slid down the roof of his house and oozed over the outside walls, covering the windows, pulsating around the pane and the frame, looking for avenues through which it could enter and get to him.

  His grandmother was gone; there was no one to cry to for help and comfort. If he called to his mother and she came, she would be more terrified than he was. She wouldn’t understand any of it.

  He was alone in the unwelcomed darkness and at the mercy of the power. It could draw from any and all of the vast inventory of horrible images and scenes that had appeared to him at one time or another. He was terrified to close his eyes.

  For as long as he could, he lay there staring into the darkness. But even keeping his eyes opened did not guarantee any relief. The reoccurring image of the dark shadow outside Diane Jones’s window moved across the ceiling of his room, sliding slowly through the blackness like an egg broken against a blackboard. When it reached bottom, it merely began at the top again. He had to close his eyes to escape from that.

  Sleep came quickly, overpowering him, driving back and locking away all conscious thoughts. Moments later he felt himself slipping and falling down a long, rubbery tunnel, the walls of which were sticky wet with dark-red blood. He tried to end the descent, but when he reached out to grasp the walls of the tunnel, his fingers sunk into them as though they were made of decomposing flesh.

  He opened his mouth and exerted a great effort to scream, but no sounds emerged. The scream was being directed inward and echoed down the caverns of his own m
ind instead. Finally, his descent ended. He emerged from what was the entrance of this terrible tunnel, but he came forth like some creature born of it. The opening widened and stretched, pressing him out until he found himself standing alone in the darkness on Diane Jones’s street.

  It was ominous. He looked back toward the entrance of the tunnel, actually wanting to return to it rather than face what the night had to offer. But the tunnel was gone. There was no escape from the vision that was about to begin. He trembled, embracing himself, but when he did so, his arms went through his body. He could grasp on to nothing.

  Inevitably came the sound of her footsteps. She was carrying her books and walking up the street toward her home. It was a very warm evening. She was dressed only in that light-blue cotton blouse and those tight shorts. Her sandals slapped the pavement, the sounds amplified the same way his were when he fled from the shadows closing in around him. The patter punctuated the night. He put his hands over his ears because to him it had become a terrific pounding. But that brought him no relief; his ears came through his hands.

  Soon she was only a dozen feet or so away. He waited anxiously, fearfully looking about, watching, searching, but the darkness never looked so thick. The blackness had solidified into charcoal and cinder-block walls, walls that were pressing in and blocking out any route of escape, walls that drove them both forward toward the evil shadow that he knew was waiting.

  She was at his side now. He raised his hand to seize her by the arm and hold her back, but his fingers, as if they were made of air, went through her, and she didn’t hear him pronounce her name. Nor did she hear his scream. He was beside her, but he was beside her just the way he was when he imagined himself in her room the night he watched her get ready for the shower. He had been happy and excited by his invisibility then; now he was frustrated and terrified by it.

  He continued to call and reach out, but to no avail. All he could do was follow along and be a witness. He looked back longingly. He didn’t want to be a witness to this, but there was no way out. When he returned to retreat, he found he couldn’t go forward. It was like walking into a wall. He could only move in her direction, and he couldn’t stand still because the wall behind him kept pressing him forward. It was his destiny to know; he could do nothing to prevent it.