A gray triangle.
A shark’s fin.
It rises steadily, bigger and bigger, and I know soon it will surface and I will feel the cold, rough skin of it just before it opens its jaws, and my mother will come in and see me about to be eaten, and it’s only then, when I think of my mother, think of her shocked face, that I am able to move.
Before it surfaces.
Before I feel its teeth chomp into me.
I manage to push myself from the tub. I leap. Out onto the bath mat. I grab my towel and wrap it around me and run out into the hallway, slamming the door behind me.
“Andres is naked,” Leo says, giggling from his doorway.
I blush and quickly run to my room.
“What was that?” I whisper as I sit there, dripping, on the edge of my bed.
I don’t go back into the bathroom to find out.
Finally, when I’m so cold I’m shivering, I change into pajamas. From the other side of the hall, I hear my mother thud toward me. Hear her knock on the bathroom door, and when no one answers—even though I want to call out to her not to go in there—I hear the bathroom door open.
“Andres!” she calls out. “You forgot to drain the tub!”
She can’t reach in there! She can’t!
I yank open my door and run over to the bathroom.
Just in time to see her reach elbow deep into the bubble-less water.
Just in time to see her pull out the plug and stand, shaking her head at me disapprovingly.
“You need to learn to be more responsible,” she says.
I watch the water drain.
There is nothing in the tub.
Nothing.
But try as I might, I can’t convince myself that it was all a bad dream.
There’s a large part of me that wants to invite Kyle over again. Even though he was starting to annoy me with all of his not-so-subtle questions, the moment I step inside my room, fear trickles down my spine.
I stand in the doorway of my bedroom, frozen, staring at the remains of last night. The mound of blankets that Kyle had been sleeping on. The bag of half-eaten candy. And the blank computer screen. Sitting there like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Even with the sounds of my family moving about downstairs and cleaning up after dinner, my room feels isolated and silent and cold, like it exists in the far reaches of the Arctic. My family feels thousands of miles away.
Maybe I should text Kyle. But no, I don’t want to be the annoying friend who always wants to hang out.
I do all the things I normally do before bed. This time, after brushing my teeth, I don’t turn on the computer to play video games. I prepare for the dark.
I’ve read a lot of books and watched a lot of movies. I might not know what we’re dealing with, but I’m prepared to deal with almost anything.
I form a ring of salt around my bed to protect me, a thick white line on my hardwood floor; I just have to remember to clean it up before my parents wake up in the morning. I light some incense that the package says is for “purification and protection” and hope my parents don’t smell it and think I’m burning the house down. Tomorrow I’m going to try to get some holy water. And maybe garlic, though I don’t think it’s a vampire. I just want to have all my bases covered.
I throw a blanket over my computer and unplug it. To be safe.
When I’ve done everything I can think of, I sit there, as uncomfortably as possible to keep myself awake, and read a sci-fi book, and nothing happens.
I mean, nothing has happened all day. No moved objects. No mysterious voices. No writing on the wall. It has my nerves on edge. All day, I’ve been able to think of nothing but what we released last night, and what it wanted, and what it was waiting for. Because if I was a ghost, that would be precisely what I’d do to my victim—I’d make them think that they were safe, that it was all their imagination. And once I had them certain everything was okay again, I’d strike.
I swallow hard. Everything seems okay right now.
So why is nothing striking?
I refocus on my book.
The words seem to swim on the page. My eyes are heavy, and my head throbs from all the bright lights. Maybe I could rest for just a moment. Get rid of the headache.
Words dance. My eyes flutter closed. It can’t hurt. Just for a moment.
“Deshauuunnnn.”
I snap open my eyes.
I nearly yelp.
Everything in my room is rearranged.
My closet door is open and all my clothes are on the ground.
My toys have all been turned upside down.
My posters now face the walls.
Everything, everything, has been changed. How is that possible? I didn’t even fall asleep. I should have heard something. I should have …
My heart hammers loudly in my ears. I set down my book.
I crawl
to the edge
of my bed.
And look down.
To the ring of salt protecting me.
The ring of salt that should have been protecting me.
Only it’s no longer a ring.
It’s been broken.
No, not broken—
rearranged
into four words, crisp white and
bold on the wooden floor.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face.
Every time I close my eyes, I choke on dirt.
I stop closing my eyes.
I sit in the dark and wait.
I know I’m supposed to be angry at Andres. But as I lie in my bed, comforter pulled up to my chin, I stare at the open closet door with fear hammering in my veins, and I want nothing more than for him to be here with me. Even if he doesn’t believe me, even if he thinks I’m losing my mind or making things up, at least it’s another person here. Another person between me and the clown.
I convince myself that if I have someone else here, the clown can’t get me.
That’s how it always works in horror movies, right? The evil monster only targets victims when they’re alone?
Right now, I’m alone.
Right now, I feel like I am in the perfect spot to be a victim.
I can hear my mom getting ready for bed in the bathroom. I can hear Freddy’s audiobook nursery rhyme playing, putting him to sleep. I can hear every creak and groan of our old house.
What I can’t hear is the clown.
That scares me more than anything.
After that weird incident downtown, which I’ve convinced myself was all in my head anyway, the day was quiet. Too quiet. I played video games with Freddy. Ate more candy than I should have. Did my homework. Watched a movie with Mom. And through it all, I was very aware that something should have been going wrong. I was being hunted by a phantom clown, right? So why was everything normal?
Why was it that every time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was back in the graveyard?
By nightfall, the stress of not seeing anything was getting worse. Because by nightfall, I’d started to second-guess myself. I’d started to understand why Andres would have such a hard time believing me.
After a day of not seeing the clown, I was beginning to believe that maybe what I saw last night was a dream. A stress dream carried over from a stressful night in a creepy graveyard. Completely understandable. Completely rational—much more so than a phantom clown.
And yet, now that I’m here, in my bed, in the dark, all that rational logic is swallowed by fear.
What if I’m not making it up?
What if the clown only comes out at night?
What if the clown is only toying with me?
Making me think it isn’t real so I’ll let my guard down.
Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I swallow, and I’m so alert I can hear even that small noise.
Down the hall, Mom closes her bedroom door with a click.
Freddy’s audiobook starts playing a faint nursery rhyme, filled wi
th children laughing and jingling bells.
Bells.
I clutch the comforter tighter.
I hear jingle bells.
Cling cling cling.
“It’s just the nursery rhyme,” I whisper to myself. “Just a song, and a song can’t hurt you.”
“It’s just the nursery rhyme, April,” comes a high-pitched voice.
It’s coming
from
my
closet.
Goose bumps race across my skin and I sit up straighter. But I am frozen in place, either by fear or dark magic.
“A song can’t hurt you,” it parrots.
The nursery rhyme in Freddy’s room goes quiet.
So quiet I can hear my frantic breathing.
So quiet I can hear the
tap
tap
tap
of footsteps in my closet.
Something coming out from the shadows.
A shadow itself. So tall it touches the ceiling, so dark it seems to suck in darkness.
Pitch-black.
Save for two
glowing
blue
eyes.
“A song can’t hurt you,” it growls, its voice so deep it makes my bones rattle.
The clown’s last words are a roar. It shakes my windows and rattles the dolls off my dresser.
I scream. I close my eyes.
And then, there is nothing but silence.
Silence, and Freddy’s tape, playing its final nursery rhyme.
I open my eyes.
I see:
No clown in the closet.
No dolls dropped to the floor.
Just the dark
and the quiet
and the closed closet door.
Closed?
In Freddy’s room, I hear the audiobook whisper, in a singsong voice,
I can’t sleep.
I’m starving. Dad must have forbidden Mom from sneaking me dinner, because I’ve been locked in my room all night without anything.
Thankfully, I had some leftover Halloween candy.
I want to convince myself that that’s why I’m still awake—too much sugar. But the truth is, I can’t sleep because I hurt deeper than just hunger. I want to text Deshaun, but he doesn’t know how angry Dad can get. Dad doesn’t yell as much when other people are around. But I also don’t bring other people around much. Why risk it?
But still, I wish Deshaun were here. I want a friend here. More than anything, I want someone to tell me it’s going to be okay. Things will get better.
It makes me think about Andres. And even though I know it’s stupid, even though I barely know him, that’s enough to make the hurting stop. Just for a little bit. To know there’s someone out there who seems, if nothing else, kind.
I slow my breathing. Try to feel heavy, try to turn off my thoughts.
I try to sleep. At least when I wake up, this terrible day will finally be over.
* * *
Darkness slithers around me.
I wake slowly, whatever I was dreaming about falling from my brain like a blanket. I’m awake, and my bed is cold. So very cold. The light from the streetlamp outside washes pale white over my bedspread. I turn over and pull the covers tighter, closing my eyes. I think I was dreaming about flying. And magical powers.
Whatever it was, it’s definitely better than being awake in my crummy house with my crummy father.
I feel sleep sliding in.
And something
slithers
over my fingers.
I jerk my hand back. My heart immediately pounds in my chest and my eyes snap open. I reach around, but there’s nothing there. Phew. A dream. One of those strange feelings you get when falling asleep. There’s no way there’s a snake in my bed. No way …
I close my eyes again, try to force out the image of snakes because that’s just stupid, it’s just my mind playing tricks. The snakes can’t get out of their cages. And they definitely can’t make it out of the basement and up two flights of stairs.
Another cold
coiling
something
slides over my shins.
I yelp and sit bolt upright.
I throw back my covers.
Snakes
swarm
the foot of my bed.
Black and red and green, poisonous and angry, they curl and coil over themselves in the pale streetlamp. They seem to wince back when the light hits them, hissing ominously. But that lasts only a moment. Because now I have revealed them. Now I have revealed myself.
As one, their beady black eyes
all
turn
toward me.
Snakes I’ve never seen before swarm my bed. Cobras unfold and rise to meet my eyes. Vipers hiss and coil, ready to strike. Anacondas drape over the bed’s sides, thick and ready to crush me whole.
Adrenaline shoots through my veins. The only thing I can think is RUN!
I leap from my bed.
But rather than hitting the soft carpet of my floor,
my feet
sink
in snakes.
I let out a scream as I topple to the ground. Lightning fast, the snakes are on top of me. Twisting around my thighs, coiling around my neck, heavy and cold, and all I can think of is the grave we dug up, the weight of cold earth on my chest. All I hear is the hissing. The hissing.
I thrash and flail. I yell out, but the snakes wrap over my mouth, cutting off my cries. They tighten. Crushing my chest. Constricting my lungs.
The dark room goes black as snakes cover my eyes. As they squeeze the life out of me—
“What the heck is going on?” my dad roars.
I jolt. The light flips on. Light floods the room.
The empty room.
No snakes.
Just me on the ground, wrapped tight and fighting against my comforter. Just me, and my dad in the doorway, staring down at me like he doesn’t understand how he could have such an idiot son.
“I—I …” I stammer. I can’t even choke out had a bad dream. I can’t say anything at all.
“Pathetic,” Dad growls. “Some people in this house are trying to sleep. Do you understand that?”
He doesn’t help me unravel myself. He just flicks off the light and slams the door shut behind him, muttering that if I wake him up again, he’ll really give me something to lose sleep over.
I close my eyes and listen to his footfalls fade through the floorboards. I try to slow my breathing, try to calm my frantic heartbeat.
I don’t get back up.
I lie there on the ground, still wrapped in the comforter, and wait for morning to come.
I wake up Sunday morning drenched in sweat, dreams of being lost in the middle of the ocean still haunting me.
My heart races so fast I feel like I’ve been running.
It takes a few minutes to blink away the dream. To see my bedroom, rather than an endless expanse of churning blue-gray waves.
Unbroken waves.
Unbroken, save for the very end. When a gray fin sliced up toward the sky and raced straight toward me.
Even awake, the thought of that shark fin is enough to make fresh sweat break out over my skin. I take a deep breath and wipe off my forehead.
I need to shower. But being around water is the last thing I want right now.
Instead, I run to the bathroom and grab a rag and wipe off my sweat that way. It’s not as good as a shower, but no. Just no.
I stare at my phone after getting dressed. No messages from April. Or anyone else, for that matter. I want to call her, because we normally hang out on Sundays to do homework and watch bad movies. But I don’t. I can’t. And I don’t know why.
After the bath last night, I sort of feel like I’m losing my mind.
Had she experienced something similar?
Should I apologize for doubting her?
I tell myself I fell asleep in the tub and had a nightmare. And that nigh
tmare stuck to my brain and followed me when I fell asleep. Totally normal. Especially after the graveyard.
If anything, I probably had the bad dream because April had a bad dream, and I was worried about her.
Yeah, that’s it.
I tell myself that it’s not worth worrying anyone over, and that April was overreacting yesterday and it’s not my place to reach out first. I can see why she got freaked out, yes. But that doesn’t give her an excuse to ghost me like that.
I spend the rest of my morning with my family—a breakfast of scrambled eggs and orange juice, a few hours of doing homework at the kitchen table while my brothers run around me like wild men. And before I know it, it’s lunch, and I still haven’t gotten a text from April or anything. It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.
I decide that there’s no way I’m going to spend the rest of the day inside, waiting for my best friend to call. It’s nice out, and my brothers are starting to give me a headache. So I grab my coat and head out the door with some of my allowance money jingling in my pocket.
The day is crisp and clear and everything looks so, I don’t know, peaceful, that it’s hard to believe I had a nightmare last night. It’s hard to believe that I woke up covered in sweat, and that just two nights ago I crept through a graveyard and then had my best friend freak out on me. I mean, it’s sunny and there are still scarecrows and pumpkins in people’s yards, and kids are out jumping in piles of leaves and laughing. It’s a very Midwest sort of afternoon, and it makes it impossible to think that anything bad could happen here.
I head toward our one little café at the edge of downtown. There are paper skeletons in the window and toy bats hanging from the ceiling fans, and when I step inside it smells like coffee and spices and burnt cheese. I order a hot chocolate and a panini and go grab a seat at the bar along the window, watching some little kids across the street play tag. They’re all in their costumes, even though Halloween is over, and their costumes are all onesies. They remind me of Freddy, which makes me think of April, which makes me want to call her again …
“Andres?”
I jolt, thinking maybe it’s my order, but it’s not. It’s Kyle.
He stands nervously in the doorway, like he isn’t certain if he wants to come in and order something or run the other way. Just seeing him makes my chest go warm. I pat the stool beside me.
The Fear Zone Page 6
