Before his eyes he saw the frost-covered frozen mug begin to fill with a dark liquid. It rose up from the bottom and filled the mug. When he peered in it he saw that it wasn’t Cherry Cola but rather a thick, red liquid that he knew was blood.
Jason glanced around the room; everybody was staring at him. The girl’s grandmother was smiling at him as she sat at her table behind the girl.
“Why are you staring at me?” he shouted in frustration, looking around the room.
The mug began to overflow, covering the table with blood. It spilled off the table and onto him. He felt it flow onto the front of his pants as it soaked in, warm and wet. He reached for a napkin to clean himself, but the napkin was soaked and dripping blood. He looked up at the girl and the man on the floor, both of whom were covered in blood and staring at him.
That’s when he suddenly awoke; sitting up in his sweat-soaked bed and came to the realisation that he had pissed himself in his sleep.
“Fuck me!” he exclaimed as he pulled the wet boxer shorts away from his body with the tips of his forefingers and thumbs. His mind raced through the memories of his childhood and stopped when he was thirteen. The last time he had wet himself in his sleep which was also the first time he had smoked weed and then binged on ice cream afterwards.
“Fuck,” he said as got up and pulled the sheets off his bed and placed them into a blue plastic laundry basket.
6
Early that morning he had the Laundromat all to himself. The sound of the three washing machines all running at the same time would have made his mother proud. A load of light colors, a load of dark colors, and a load of bedding that needed washing after last night’s incident. The smell of urine now being overpowered by fabric softener was a relief to the young man. It would save him from a potentially embarrassing situation if other customers would arrive, especially if it was someone from campus that might recognize him.
With the washers set and beginning to fill up, he sat at the long folding table in the middle of the room and pulled out the battered laptop from his backpack. Being so close to campus they had Wi-Fi available for the students, who were their best customers. Quickly he opened a web browser and typed in “random murders in Stonevalley”. His search quickly found the latest incident, which had happened off campus. A young, fifteen year old girl beat her younger, thirteen year old brother to death with a cast iron skillet in their own kitchen. A picture of the crime scene was leaked online and the media had posted it on their website. The picture had been taken from outside the house through the glass of the patio door. It showed a blood-spattered girl curled into a ball against the door of her parent’s house. She was obviously in hysterics and a female paramedic knelt before her trying to calm her down. The one fact that might escape the detectives on scene, but that Jason noticed right away was the iPod that was in her pocket with the ear buds now draped on the floor. Jason knew that not long ago they were in her ears and she had heard his song one too many times.
Seeing this made his heart race and beads of sweat appear on his forehead. The look of shock on her face and the bloody hand print smeared on the glass. That’s when he noticed the foot of the victim behind the paramedic. The sight of all this brought on feelings of guilt as he noticed that in the background. This boy was dead because of his experiment, and he knew it. Was what he was doing wrong in some way he wondered to himself as he zoomed in the picture and could see blood on the boy’s dirty white sock?
He read the headline again. “Police baffled by series of random killings.”
Logging into the “Ramstunes” website he checked his stats and the song now had been downloaded 1,412 times. That’s when he noticed a few more comments on the song. One of which read “Awesome song dude!! Ya gotta post some more stuff.”
Another girl, whose profile picture was of a Japanese animation character wrote “Simply awesome, dude!”
The sense of pride he got from these comments made him forget the guilt. He reminded himself that this was a scientific experiment in psychology that had never been done before. He would be a pioneer in the field before even ever graduating. Reaching into his backpack he pulled out his red note book and his energy drink and started working on his paper titled “Subliminal, a journey into the subconscious by Jason Donavan, also known as The Sublime Rocker.”
7
The squealing of a few chairs being slid back and the shuffling of feet could be heard from all over the room as a few people got up to leave. Then silence fell again across the campus library, just as it should be. All the usual people filled the place to cram for the next day’s test. The place was silent to most, but not to all, as many sat with their earbuds crammed into their ears; their own soundtracks playing. Jason looked around the room and couldn’t help but wonder how many of them might have his song on their personal Playlists.
Smiling to himself, he pulled out his red notebook and the largest can of his favourite energy drink he could buy. It was going to be a long night and he had lots of work to do. He tried to stifle the sound, but it opened with a loud crack that echoed and made a few heads turn in his direction. A female sounding “shhhh” was heard from behind him and then silence dominated the room again. He put in his earbuds and turned up his iPod slightly. He took a large gulp of the energy drink and then started compiling the stats from his notebook into charts and graphs. He set his iPod onto the table next to his laptop and tuned everybody out. Jason was lost to the world around him as he began typing up the introduction to his term paper.
Completely engrossed in his work as he glanced at his note book, typing away, he never noticed as someone walked up behind him. He noticed a slight reflection in the screen of his laptop and when he turned he saw Christina Bellford; the barefoot young blond from his psychology class holding a huge, heavy book over her head with a completely blank expression on her face.
“Fuck!” He barely had time to say a single word as she quickly slammed the book down on his head as hard as she could. Stunned he leaned forward over the table knocking over his large energy drink with his left forearm. She hoisted the book again and struck him for a second time. The second blow completely dazed him and made him very aware of the sudden taste of blood in his mouth as he bit his tongue hard. The third blow made the blood flow from his nose and his legs turn to mush from under him. Bewildered, and trying to get away from Christina, he started to stand and fell forward and with one more blow of the now bloody hardcover book he fell sideways sweeping his laptop to the floor with him. The already battered laptop smashed and broke in two, scattering bits of electronics and keys from the keyboard. The screen part skidded under the table while the other half smashed open like a cooked clam’s shell and settle next to Jason’s twitching body. Energy drink pooled on the table engulfing his red notebook in the dark, thick syrupy goo, causing the ink from his gel pen to run, before it started dripping off the table and onto the floor. Jason twitched a few times before Christina brought down the book one last time as the room echoed with the sound of his head rebounding off the hard tiled floor. She stood, hoisting the book again and stopped when she saw that he lay perfectly still. Blood pooled around his head and engulfed the half of his laptop the lay next to him.
Christina lowered the book in her white knuckled hands as she watched the body, as if waiting for it to move. It didn’t. Her hands relaxed and the blood stained book fell to the floor with a loud thump. She watched the blood cover the floor around his head, the crimson liquid swallowing bits of electronics and keys from the keyboard and the dead computer. As if just realizing what she was staring at, she help up shaking arms and screamed.
8
In the days that followed, there were three more of the mysterious random killings. A freshman named Darrol was killed by his girlfriend Chloe when she beat him to death with the handle of his own sword he had hanging on his wall. She had grasped it by the dull blade and beat him with the brass handle
using it as a club.
A young friend of Jason’s named Tony killed an old lady named Mimi while riding the bus on his way to Pickadeli’s. He beat her to death with her own cane and then threw up on her when he came out of his trance and saw the bloody body before him.
A student named Caleb killed his teacher, Harold Ramsey, beating him to death with a large basketball-sized steel globe. A gift he had gotten from his wife that the teacher had proudly displayed on his desk. Even if the globe was so old that Zaire had yet to change its name to Democratic Republic of the Congo. And what baffled the detectives the most was that after a few days, there were no more killings. The mysterious beatings stopped as suddenly as they had begun.
9
A purple and black spandex clad Debbie Carson from the cheerleading squad stood next to a treadmill. She was looking down at her iPod with her usual not so bright confused look that always pissed off her exceptionally bright best friend Anna McPhee.
Anna had to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know why but my favourite work out song won’t play anymore.”
“What song?” inquired Anna.
“Subliminal,” said Debbie. “It’s the best work out music. I tried to download it again last night but can’t even do that either.”
“I love that song too. But pick another song, Deb and get cracking. We got classes later,” said Anna as she started her treadmill and got on.
The Statues of Pine Glen Forest
The rising sun shone through the trees, casting dancing shadows everywhere. The breeze stirred about the tall canopy of multiple shades of green that was ever-present overhead. If one stood still at this very spot, and made no noise, you could hear nothing but the swaying of branches full of new leaves freshly grown in the early spring. They flowed gently in the wind with a hypnotic sound that was very soothing. If you were quiet long enough you could also hear the occasional chirping of birds. This was the entire reason that Gary Chapman found himself out here wandering in Pine Glen Forest. The doctor’s advice finally sinking in after all these years, a lesson he had learned the hard way, having been repeatedly told to slow down. Learn to relax before he found himself having a real heart attack instead of angina.
A month ago he had found himself lying in a hospital bed struggling to breathe, making the same promises to himself that countless others have done before him. “If I get through this I am going to start exercising and eating better. I will take better care of myself”. He vowed this out loud, as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else. This was just the scare he needed to make what Doctor McCormick had been telling him for years finally make sense. He was not indestructible as he had previously thought, especially not at his age of fifty-two.
He had wanted to take more time to himself and enjoy life’s simple pleasures. But sadly golf had always been more stressful than relaxing to him. The constant competition between himself, his friend Jack, and the other members of Bear Lake Golf Club had gotten out of hand many times before. That would not likely change anytime soon, so better to find another hobby that could help him relax instead of adding to his anxiety.
A few days after his ordeal, while sitting in Doctor McCormick’s waiting room, he came across a book on the perfect subject. He had heard much on the subject in the past but today, in this very waiting room, Chapman decided he would take up bird watching. He could jump into his soft beige Lexus at any time and just drive out to the beautiful, serene countryside and find the tranquility he suddenly found himself craving. After all these years of owning his own company in the fast-paced, deadline oriented shipping business he needed to find time for himself. “Find ways to relax or die,” the good doctor had so bluntly said to him not so long ago. It would be hard for him to do but it was time to ease up and leave the worries to Dwight, whom he had been grooming for this very reason. He knew someday he would pass the torch to his only son and now would be as good a time as any.
“Why yes, sir. We have some great books on bird watching,” said the nice young lady at the local book store. She leaned in, softly touching his arm with her hand and whispered. “The fanatics call it birding, just so you know.” Smiling, the clerk stepped on a stool reaching up on a shelf to grab a copy of the best bird book in the store. His thinning and greying hair that was often covered by his beige, wool packer hat and the worry lines often got him this kind of “respect your elders” treatment from the younger people. Something he had not gotten used to since he started going grey in his early forties. He had grown to accept that he looked a bit older than he really was a little bit at a time. He was often being offered a seniors discount, which he found himself taking advantage of on a few occasions.
Chapman soon realised that he had much to learn about relaxing as he snapped out of his daydream and found himself lost in thought about the last week’s events. While standing under a tall oak tree with his mini atlas of birds almost falling out of the back pocket of his tan cargo pants, he had all but forgotten the binoculars hanging almost at his waist by the band that looped around the back of his neck. He could barely feel them through the light jacket he had been wearing all week. The new medications that thinned his blood also left him constantly feeling chilled without it. He had his hands in his pockets while unconsciously fingering the pocket lint as he often did when he was deep in thought. He was so focused on his thoughts that he never realised that right above him was a sight that would have many a bird watcher frozen in their tracks. It wasn’t often one would see a Blue Warbler in this area and he was standing under not one but a pair of them. That was a fact that would go completely unnoticed to this novice bird watcher on his first venture out.
I wonder if the shipment of sheet metal coils made it to Quebec, he thought to himself. Frustrated at his failed attempt to leave work behind he aimlessly wandered off again, blissfully unaware that he had no idea where he was heading as his shoes sunk slightly in the softness of the forest floor.
He had told everyone at the office he was going golfing to save himself the ridicule he thought he would get if he told them he was going to take up bird watching. Instead of going to Bear Lake Golf Course like he had told his secretary he ended up in Pine Glen Forest, which stretched out for a great many unfamiliar miles. The entire area was filled with a healthy mix of coniferous and deciduous trees broken up only by streams, rivers and was full of many types of bird species. But Chapman, wandering without a care in the world, hadn’t even removed the lens caps from his binoculars yet and had not seen a single bird. Even though they were all around him at times, his mind was clearly not focused on this task on his very first outing. He was more enthralled by the wondrous amount of nature and its contrast to the city life he was so accustomed to.
But something eventually caught his eye though, in a small clearing deep in the woods in the tall grass stood an animal near a tree. From the shape of what he could see of its body and head it looked to be a deer. Crouching down in a small patch of tall grass he watched it for a while, waiting for it to hear him and bolt.
After a good few minutes Chapman stood up abruptly, his old stiff knees making loud popping noises that almost echoed as he straightened up but the deer still never moved. Perplexed at this he began to slowly walk, trying hard not to make sounds that might scare it away. Finally, as he felt them sway like a pendulum he remembered he had binoculars hanging around his neck. He quickly put them to his eyes only to see complete darkness. Cursing under his breath he fumbled to remove the lens caps and for a second time put them to his contact lens enhanced eyes.
Without realising that it was out loud he muttered “What the hell?”
He looked through the binoculars at what he thought to have been a deer. To any onlookers, if there had been any, it would have looked as if suddenly without a care he began to walk toward the animal. No longer worried about making noise he crunched though the debris on the forest floor without trying to avoid it
like before.
The first thing he did in his haze of confusion when he was a mere few feet from the deer was to reach out and touch it, out of disbelief. He had never seen a statue of a deer before and one of such amazing quality at that. The detailing was simply amazing that it was no wonder that from a distance he thought it to be a living deer. It looked to be made of some sort of grey plastic at first but up close it became apparent it was granite or something. Really, he couldn’t tell what it was as he knew nothing of such materials. Giving it a nudge he realised that the deer was not hollowed out either and would not be easy to move or ship. The thought of how somebody got this out here crossed his mind from too many years in the shipping business. Why would such an amazing statue be here in the middle of the woods, he wondered? He ran his hand over its head, which was turned a bit looking away, and he felt the small stubs of antlers. Female he thought to himself as he marveled at the attention to detail.
While examining it he noticed that he was not the only one to ever mistake it for a living deer. There were two marks on its hindquarter on the opposite side from where he had come from, which could only be where a hunter had mistaken it for his next kill. The deep gouges were the only imperfections on this otherwise flawless work of art. For the first time he regretted not having brought his digital camera. The same one he had gotten as a Christmas gift from his son three years ago but had never used for anything other than business. He remembered now that it sat in the drawer of his office desk with dead batteries inside it. Something he had never even though about until this very moment since he realised that nobody would believe any of this without seeing pictures and even then.
Sleepless Nights Page 2
