Snowball

by Andre Gonzalez

  The night grew hot, the sheets sticking to his sweaty legs, so he kicked them down to his feet. Just then the heater kicked on again and blasted a fresh wave of warm air into the room, mentally suffocating Brandon as he rolled to another part of the bed where the untouched sheets were cooler against his skin.

  Why? he asked himself. Why does this keep happening? Am I so tired that my body can’t sleep? Is this insomnia? He thought of the kids and how they could sometimes turn into screaming demonic monsters if they missed a nap or had a bad dream wake them in the middle of the night. They could grow so exhausted where all they wanted to do was scream, sleep an overlooked and obvious solution to the problem. And that’s where Brandon found himself now, on the brink of screaming and shouting to wake up the whole neighborhood. To think he had been so close to a good night’s sleep before that bastard crashed into his front yard. That one event had now thrown off a whole two night’s worth of shuteye.

  His tongue turned dry, cotton-mouthed, perhaps from the sleeping pills; another annoyance to keep him awake. The thought of cold water splashing down his gullet sounded both heavenly and impossible. The idea of getting out of bed to drink a glass seemed the most daunting task at the moment. Instead he clenched his jaw and pooled up as much saliva as he could muster, gulping his own flavorless liquid down as it lay a thick layer over his throat.

  That’s when the knocking began. It started so faint that he surely mistook it for bedsprings creaking in one of the kids’ rooms. Then the sound elevated to a level that made him sit up again. He looked over to Erin who had remained undisturbed, chest rising and falling peacefully.

  The knocking wasn’t constant, just a solid three knocks that may have been from a child’s balled-up fist. Three knocks then fifteen seconds of silence. Brandon hadn’t noticed this pattern at first, not until the fifth series when he started to mentally time the distance between knocks.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  A fresh wave of sweat beaded around his forehead. There is no knocking sound. It has to be in your head. Maybe one of the kids are flailing their arms around and hitting the side of the bed.

  Knock. Knock. Knock. Slightly louder this time, and becoming a little more clear that it was from the main level downstairs.

  The floodgates of paranoia opened and Brandon immediately returned to his thoughts of an evil spirit in their house, ready to terrorize the family while they slept every night.

  There is no such thing. Stop with the nonsense!

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “It’s got to be a tree, something hitting the house because of the wind,” he whispered to himself, both to create a new sound in the room and to ensure that he was actually awake. His breath tasted sour in his mouth, like he had sipped spoiled milk, confirming that he was indeed no longer in dreamland.

  It could be an animal trying to claw its way into the house. Maybe a fox or coyote.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  This time it was louder, sending slight vibrations up the walls of the house that he felt in bed. He shot a look to Erin to find her still undisturbed. His brain throbbed with exhaustion, yet his legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet dangling as he waited for the next set of knocks to echo their way upstairs.

  The sensation of someone breathing tickled the back of his neck, sending chills from head to toes as he jumped off the bed, muttering a confused, “Gahhh!”

  Not even his feet hitting the ground stirred Erin. She kept on snoring.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Brandon spun around and faced the bedroom door. The sound of the knock became heavier, as if someone had switched from knocking with their knuckles to the side of a balled fist. Erin kept a set of porcelain figurines on the top of their dresser, and they danced and rattled at the intensified knocking. Brandon’s heart banged in his chest, creating its own knocking within his head, his temples and jugular pulsing out of control.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Brandon shuffled for the bedroom door, swinging his head toward Erin. She normally woke to the slightest of sounds thanks to her motherly instinct, but apparently someone trying to break down their front door wasn’t enough to bring her back to consciousness.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Brandon felt the vibrations underneath his feet as he stepped into the hallway and stood at the top of the stairs to gauge where exactly the sound was coming from.

  Fifteen seconds passed with silence. Then thirty. Then forty-five. He thought he was in the clear, pivoting toward the kids’ rooms to check on them, when a sound so loud and sinister ruptured from downstairs, similar to someone hitting their house with a jackhammer.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  The pictures on the stairway walls rattled out of position, crooked like the times Riley decided it was a good idea to run her hand along the wall while descending the stairs.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Brandon screamed, no longer concerned about letting his family sleep. Hell, he wanted them to wake up, but Erin still didn’t budge, nor did any of the kids come running from their rooms.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  The sound was no longer coming from downstairs, but instead from the walls in their bedroom. One of the porcelain figurines tip over with a clink!

  “Erin!” Brandon barked, running into the bedroom, diving onto the bed and over her sleeping body. “Erin, wake up!”

  He grabbed her shoulders with trembling hands. She moaned, licked her lips, then opened her eyes to find Brandon sweating and panting for breath.

  “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, still clearly oblivious to what had been going on.

  “Are you shitting me? Did you not hear any of that? It sounds like someone is trying to break through our walls.”

  Brandon pulled the covers toward him like a scared child afraid of the monsters under the bed. Everyone knew covering yourself was the only way to keep them from reaching out and snatching your ankles.

  “I didn’t hear anything—”

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  “Ahh!” Brandon shrieked, feeling the bed rattle as the vibrations filled the entire house. “What the fuck?!”

  “What’s wrong?” Erin gasped, a sliver of annoyance slipping into her tone.

  “You didn’t hear that?!” Brandon snapped, his jaw hanging as he looked to her.

  “Babe, I think you had a nightmare. There are no sounds. You’re clearly having some sort of aftershock from a dream.”

  “No. This isn’t a dream. I heard it. I felt it. Listen for it, I don’t know how you can’t hear it.”

  Brandon put up his hand to call for silence, nothing audible but their breathing. A minute passed without another sound.

  “I told you,” Erin mumbled and rolled back to her side. “It was a nightmare.”

  Brandon sat in silence, waiting, heart racing, sweat dripping down his neck and back in cold streaks.

  I’m not going crazy, he thought. I know what I heard, and it wasn’t any dream.

  Brandon lay wide awake as the clock approached 2:30 A.M., so he snatched his cell phone off the nightstand and Googled the possibilities of mental illusions when the brain lacked sufficient sleep. He would stay up for another hour reading, until he finally fell into a dreamless doze.

  12

  December 18

  Brandon tossed and turned through the morning’s early hours, and when his alarm sounded, he thought he might cry. He needed another day off from work—there was no way he could function after another long, horrific night. But the last thing he wanted to do was stay home alone again.

  I have to try. I need sleep.

  During the hour of reading, his mind had waited for more banging on the walls. He did learn that sleep deprivation had a direct link to both visual and auditory hallucinations. Lack of sleep can, in fact, lead to symptoms that mimic mental illness. Brandon had never felt so close to the brink of insanity during the prior night, even more so when Erin claimed to not hear any sounds.

  Sleep was the only solu
tion. Deep, beautiful, undisturbed sleep. Half awake, Brandon sent a text message to his manager to inform he would need one more day at home. He didn’t help get the kids ready in the morning, and Erin didn’t ask. She had seen the crazed look in his eyes during the night and understood the dangerous depths to where her husband’s mind was headed. She kept their blackout curtains closed, engulfing Brandon in near darkness, even as the sun tried to claw its way into the bedroom with no success.

  He slept right until noon, getting a solid five hours undisturbed and waking up naturally, no alarm, no crying kids, no haunted house. Sure, he was still tired, but his mind felt refreshed and able to form a clear thought. Hopefully the hallucinations were gone for good.

  Brandon remained in bed for another hour after waking up, basking in the dark silence, partly hoping he might fall back asleep, but gradually accepting that he was now awake for the day. His stomach growled, but he ignored it, enjoying the weightless feeling of having no responsibilities for the day ahead. The house was still clean from his cover up a few days earlier, and snow blanketed outside, leaving nothing to be done as far as yard work. He’d lay in bed until four o’clock, alternating between Netflix and reading books, and he did doze off for a quick nap at some point.

  At four, he rolled out of bed, got ready for the day—or the evening, at this point—and headed downstairs to eat a snack and prepare dinner. No haunted sounds, no tipped over knives, just a house how it was supposed to be in the middle of December with its Christmas decor setting a festive and joyful mood. He snatched Snowball off the counter and paced around the house to find a new place for him. He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked at the toy elf with a clear mind, wondering just how close he had been to lunacy, like not knowing a shark is swimming twenty feet below you while you splash around the ocean.

  Brandon hung the elf on the top edge of the TV, making him appear like he was sneaking a peek at the screen. It was simple, but funny, and the kids would certainly get a kick out of their tiny elf craning to watch Paw Patrol with them.

  With Snowball settled, and Nemo snoozing in his bed, Brandon raided the kitchen for lasagna ingredients, ready to spend the next two hours crafting the perfect dish for Erin and the kids. It was rare when they had the time to make a tray, and it was always received as a special treat.

  Brandon played music while he prepared and cooked the food, dancing in the kitchen, singing and whistling along. He felt the best he had in a week. Catching up on sleep made everything that had happened seem insignificant, as if the fatigue alone had clouded his vision and made things a bigger deal than they were. He hadn’t even thought about the dead man in his front lawn, and now believed Erin that he must have hallucinated the banging sounds.

  The kids arrived home with Erin, yelling in excitement when they smelled the lasagna in the oven. Brandon thought he inhaled a whiff of the burnt present, but chalked it up to his paranoid imagination. Life was normal again, and he had actual energy after putting the kids down for bed after dinner. He and Erin made love that night, and everything was right in the world.

  * * *

  Brandon had no issue falling asleep at ten o’clock, even though he had slept until noon earlier. His body was still likely a few hours behind on sleep and welcomed the chance to be completely caught up. The prospect of having a second consecutive day of feeling this sensational excited him. Even if, God forbid, something woke him in the middle of the night, he’d still be in good shape to head back in to the office in the morning, and finally get out of the house for a few hours.

  He slept soundly until midnight when the soft, yellowish glow of light kissed his eyes, making him see red insides of his eyelids.

  There’s no way it’s already the morning, he thought as he rolled to bury his face into the pillow. Impossible.

  He figured Erin must have gotten out of bed to use the restroom and refused to close the door like always. He reached an arm out and felt the warmth of her body still by his side. The light didn’t fade, intensifying the more awake Brandon became. Brandon squirmed from the sensation, the brightness crawling on his skin like thousands of prickling ants.

  He rolled onto his back, eyes squinted shut as he clung to the dwindling hope that he’d get to fall back asleep.

  “Did you leave the light on?” he mumbled in Erin’s direction, receiving no response.

  Brandon panicked, afraid he was having another episode of hallucinations. He shot up in bed, eyes wide, heart pounding like a drum. Not only was the bathroom light on, but so was the bedroom, the hallway, and the kids’ bathroom.

  “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath. “Erin, wake up.”

  He nudged her, causing a drawn out moan as she attempted to open her eyes, snapping them back shut at the unexpected brightness.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are the lights on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Brandon rolled out of bed and grabbed his baseball bat.

  “Mommy? Daddy?” Riley called from down the hall.

  Brandon sprinted into her room, the bat hoisted over his shoulder, finding Riley sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes, and keeping them closed from the blinding light.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” Brandon asked, panting.

  “Why are the lights on, Daddy?” she asked, her voice stronger than his at the moment.

  He opened his lips to tell her he didn’t know, but decided that might strike fear into his little girl. “I’m sorry, sweetie, Daddy was looking for something. Lay down and go back to sleep.”

  He flicked off the light switch and watched as she tipped backward, moaning gibberish when she flipped onto her side and pulled the covers back over her body.

  Brandon stepped out and poked his head into Jordan’s bedroom, finding his son sleeping upside down in his bed, an arm draped over his eyes to shield away the disrupting light. His little chest rose and fell as he continued his snooze. He turned off the light and returned to the hallway, turning off that light, leaving what appeared to be the rest of the main level below illuminated, judging by the glow from downstairs.

  “This is bullshit,” Brandon snarled, a wave of rage consuming his tired mind.

  “Are the kids okay?” Erin asked. She had stayed in bed, sitting up with the sheets pulled up to her chest, eyes bulging with fear. Brandon stood in the bedroom doorway, his face turning red.

  “They’re fine and sleeping. I have to go turn off every single light in the house now. Excuse me.”

  Brandon stomped down the stairs, baseball bat resting on his shoulder.

  It’s now been more than a week of these events waking you up every night.

  He reached the main level and puttered around like a madman, flipping off all the light switches until the darkness of midnight was allowed to return. A thin line of light glowed from beneath the door leading to the basement.

  “Goddammit! Really?” he barked as he pushed open the door and stormed down another flight of stairs, ready to snap. Fire filled his veins, and his brain felt like it was physically pressing against his skull in an attempt to break out. Oh, God, how he just wanted a night of uninterrupted sleep.

  “One fucking night, c’mon!” he barked into the basement, knowing no one all the way upstairs would hear him. Exhaustion grabbed hold, making his head feel like it might split in two pieces. The back of his eyeballs itched, and he wanted nothing more than to reach into his head and scratch them like a cat attacking a catnip-infested toy.

  He stood alone in the dark basement after turning off all the lights, lips quivering as tears rolled silently down his face. He wasn’t one for crying, and this time was no different. He didn’t get sniffles or the ballooning sensation in his throat that often accompanied a good sob session. Tears oozed out of his eyes beyond his control, as if his body insisted on crying with or without his blessing. His balled fist wanted to blast right through the wall while the other yearned to crash the baseball bat over someone’s head.

  He tore
back up the stairs, barged through the kitchen and family room, and stormed up the stairs to his bedroom where Erin remained sitting up in bed, looking as if she thought the floor was hot lava that would melt her body if she dared try to step down.

  “We need to talk,” Brandon said sharply, leaning the bat against the door and plopping himself on the edge of the bed at Erin’s side. Erin’s eyes, already bloodshot, bulged a bit more. “Hear me out and don’t panic, but I think someone is sleepwalking. There’s been too much going on in the middle of the nights.”

  He let his words fall to her ears like a feather swaying to the ground. It took her a moment to process what he had said, her face scrunching into confusion.

  “Impossible,” Erin eventually said, crossing her arms over her bosom. “One of us would notice.”

  Her voice became suddenly awake, and Brandon figured he must have struck a nerve. He looked up to the ceiling and nodded, looked back down to Erin, and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Sleepwalking?” she whispered, more to herself.

  “Think about it. The lights, the running water, the car. None of it makes any logical sense. There has to be someone behind it all, these things don’t just happen.”

  Erin looked down to the bed in deep thought. “What do we do?” she whispered.

  “Well, I was thinking I can sleep downstairs, maybe throw off my body’s sleeping patterns. I think it’s me. You’ve been impossible to wake up and the kids aren’t big enough to do the things that have been done.”

  “Sleep downstairs? I don’t understand how that solves anything.”

  “I don’t know anything about sleepwalking, but I figure changing where I sleep could throw things off, maybe help us figure out for sure if it’s me or not.”