Sleep Revised

by Wright, Michael

  What had he been dreaming?

  He also smelled Samantha, she smelled lightly of peaches and gardenia. The peaches reminded him of Carol. She had always loved them.

  “Let me look.” He worked his way over to the window, and peeled apart the blinds. They were thick and old, the kind that blocked light very well. He could see a dim glow outside, the moon in it’s almost full glory beaming out from a clear night sky, despite the storms that had occupied the day.

  The parking lot was empty except for his car and one other on the far end that he didn’t remember seeing before, but he was sure that it had been there. It had to have been there, hadn’t it?

  “I don’t see anything.” He reported.

  But he kept staring at their car. Part of it was shadowy and dark, as if the light from the moon was blocked by a tall tower that stood over the small Honda. There was something different about it though.

  He looked closer.

  Someone was sitting in the passenger seat.

  He jerked his head back, extending his arm behind him in a bar, feeling the tips of his fingers tap Samantha’s thigh. “Back up.”

  “What?”

  “Quiet!”

  “What is it?”

  “Someone is in the car.” He reached for something to hold on to.

  “Crap!”

  The word had flown out of her mouth louder than she had intended he was sure. It was enough that he was afraid they may have been heard if someone was perhaps waiting outside for them, waiting for them to notice the strange noise and go to investigate to find the strange person in their car. Drawing them out like bait.

  “I think, anyway.” He added.

  “What do you mean you think?” She grabbed his arm. “Is there someone out there or not?”

  “I think so.”

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “Because it’s dark!”

  “Well?”

  “I’m going to check it out.” His hand found an umbrella that seemed to have been left there by a previous tenant. It was a cheap one, and would probably break on the first blow if he tried to hit someone with it. Better than nothing. He stepped forward, holding her back still with his hand, and reached for the lock on the door. It clicked loudly as he turned it. Old and loud, a good giveaway when trying to be stealthy.

  He eased it open, peering out into the vague blue light that illumined the walkway and the parking lot beyond. He noticed in the lighting that you could see every pit and hole that was in the old parking lot. It hadn’t been paved in some time. Water still stood in it from the rain that had fallen, sitting in dull, dead puddles. The rest of it was cracked and peppered with gravel as a means to cover up the damage. It was strange how he hadn’t noticed that before.

  He saw his car, but there was still a shadow hanging over it, and he couldn’t quite make out the shadow in the passenger seat. It was there, he was sure, but it was just a shadow. Possibly just the seat backing. It seemed more animate however, as if it were pulsing and moving as it sat there. Waiting for him, perhaps.

  The wind whistled around him as he stepped out, further chilling him. He glanced back and saw Samantha standing in the open doorway, staring at him. Her rock band T-shirt and a pair of boxers that served as pajamas.

  “If you’re going to come out here, put some pants on at least.” He whispered.

  “You’re not wearing a shirt!” She answered back.

  He ignored it, and continued toward the car, checking on either side of him to see if anyone else was walking around the motel. He looked up for a second and saw the moon, almost full, only another night, he supposed, shining down on him. It seemed to be watching him. Like an eye.

  He sidestepped and tried to look into the car. The reflection from the moon obscured his view, blocking him from seeing any further than he had in the motel room behind him. He took a careful step forward, hearing the walkway squeal beneath him, old wood held together with old nails that had long ago seen the limit of their flexing in the hard colds and hot weather. Clark hefted the umbrella in his hand and took a final step toward the car, raising it up to level with his stomach and peered into the dark cabin.

  Something stared back at him. Wispy and unsettled like static, but made totally of blackness. He could make out on the features that made it vaguely humanoid. It seemed disconnected, unnatural. He knew what it was. He had seen it before. He tried to remember back to how he had gotten there, trying to make sure that he was in fact awake. He looked around the parking lot again, looking for more of them standing in the corners and dark crevices of the place.

  The one in the car looked at him, eyes that were not there piercing into his soul. He could feel the heat of it’s gaze coming toward him, burning him like heat from the sun. At the same time he felt a chill dance along his back, raised like the hackles of a dog when it is threatened. There was a looseness in his stomach that he felt drop, and at the same time the shadow raised it’s arm, reaching out a finger toward him.

  What is it doing?

  The mouth on it opened, a deeper, blacker void. Not shifting or static like the rest of it, but deep and thick. It seemed to pull all light into it, sucking away the very life of the world into itself. He felt himself being pulled into it, his mind reeled as he stared. Slowly, the sides of his eyes grew dark and heavy. He felt something click in the back of his head and he fought back against it, pushing his mind to shove against the shadow, and he felt blood begin to flow in his head. He had not noticed that it had gotten light. Breath escaped that he didn’t remembering consciously holding.

  He stepped back and wetness was on his lips.

  The shadow closed the mouth, and dropped it’s hand. But it remained watching him, those cold and unseeing eyes burning into him fiercely. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and he turned and walked back to the room.

  Sam was still standing there, in her boxers and T-shirt. She looked up at him, frightened. “What happened?” She said from miles away, “You’re bleeding.”

  “You need to sleep,” he said. “We leave first thing in the morning.”

  “But, Clark, you’re bleeding. Your nose.”

  He wiped away the blood that had been leaking out of his nose. “Don’t worry about it. We leave here as soon as the sun comes up.”

  “What happened? Was someone in there?”

  He sat on the bed. “No.”

  5

  Sam sat in the darkness. A foam cup that had long ago lost any heat in it sat in her hands. Full of what passed for coffee. She swirled the cup, and felt the liquid slosh in a slow, lazy circle. She liked the way it felt in her hands. She liked the control.

  Clark was on the bed behind her. He was not asleep. She had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep after whatever it was he had seen outside the hotel room. She leaned her head against the mattress and slid her feet and haunches deeper into the carpet. The mattress was thick, but hard and unforgiving. Springs pushed back against her tousled hair, into her skull.

  She couldn’t go back to her room. She couldn’t be alone. Not after what she had seen. That man by the car, staring at her, watching her. The look he had given cut through her, digging deep. It defiled her. Even more than the kid at the motel had before, staring into her window as she emerged from a shower, trying to gaze on her nudity. That didn’t bother her as much as the shadowy man did. One only saw her naked on the outside, the other one had stripped her soul. She had not felt that naked in a long, long time. In a kitchen, watching her mom being raped by a madman.

  The thing outside had violated her deeper than anyone else ever had.

  “Clark?” A whisper to darkness.

  Moan, and then: “Yes, Sam?”

  She swirled the cup again. “You asleep?”

  “No.”

  She nodded, knowing he couldn’t see it. “Did you ever talk to Jon about our mom?”

  He paused. She could hear a breath slowly letting go from his lungs, drifting through his mouth. “Yes.”
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  “Did he tell you about what happened?”

  Another pause. “Yes.”

  She looked back down at the slim reflection of light on the surface of the coffee. For a moment she was staring back in the face of the man in the kitchen, his pants around his ankles. His hairy body over her mother, who was bent over the table, being treated like an animal or a cheap whore. Blood ran down her legs, dripping onto the wood floor. Blood the man had caused. Raping her. Tearing her. Then the reflection of the gun, pale light bouncing off of the surface of it, bouncing it back to her.

  “I didn’t want to do it.” She said. “I hope you know that. I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t want to shoot him. It just happened.”

  He responded with a small sound of affirmation. Understanding.

  “You know that, right?”

  “I do.”

  She looked back at the window. Staring into the thin slats of the blinds that hung there, trying to see if someone was out there. Waiting for her to look out, so it could look in.

  “I also know,” he said, “that the whole thing was not your fault. You only did what you did to protect your mother and your brother.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what am I doing right now?” Her hand rubbed up and down her arm, feeling the lines of her tattoo. The skin flexed beneath her fingertips, pushing down into the ink.

  “Saving your brother.” He said. “The only way you know how.”

  Sam took the words with silence, and sipped the cold coffee. She held the words until morning.

  6

  They rode in complete silence. Clark looked over to see Samantha leaned over in the seat, her head tucked between the crook of her arm and the back of the seat. He didn’t blame her, she hadn’t slept after waking him in the middle of the night. Neither had he.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that gaping mouth and those sour eyes. He could feel the finger being pointed at him, as if with it was a weight of judgment that was pouring out at him. He could still feel the tingle of lightness inside, the part of him that had been sucked in by that gaping black hole.

  He blinked it away.

  The GPS said he was getting closer. The sky outside was cloudy again, the cloud had moved in during the twilight that he had spent awake, listening to Sam.

  The road was just as deserted as before. When he had plotted out the course on the GPS after tracking down the location off of the map, he had tried to pick the ones that would be the least heavy with traffic, but he had not expected it to be so empty. The road itself was well cared for, and clearly well traveled, but not that day. That day it was hollow.

  He reached for the cup holder, wishing for an energy drink or some coffee. Something that would break the fog that was trying to develop over his eyes. It felt heavier than it had before. It seemed the farther they went, the closer they got, the more he felt a hush coming over his mind. He hadn’t noticed it as much before. He supposed it was the weariness from the road, but there was something about it that gave him a terrible feeling of dread. The same kind of feeling that he had the night before, staring into the car, waiting to see what the shadow was going to do. The further he went, he felt more like when the shadow had opened it’s mouth, and tried to swallow him up.

  Clark moved to turn on the radio, looked again and Sam and thought better of it. Music would have been good for clearing his head, but it would also wake her up. They needed at least one, clear, well-rested head in the situation. They only had a few hours left to go. The mystery that had begun almost a week ago would be over in a matter of hours. It seemed so strange and alien of an idea to him that he had to keep reminding himself. Jon had not died that long ago. He hadn’t seen him all that long ago either. It seemed such a strange thought.

  He looked ahead and saw a figure in the distance, rapidly approaching.

  Clark turned to check on Sam again, and out of habit looked in the rear-view mirror. Nothing.

  The figure was not an oncoming car, it was far too small for that. But it was something, the person wasn’t walking. The form of it was black like shadow. Just like the shadow he had seen in the car the night before, but he knew it wasn’t. It was too far away. Moving instead of stationary, and in broad daylight. He never saw them in the daylight, they always appeared at night.

  He looked at it and he thought of Jon’s wall in his apartment. The dark figure with looping horns and leather-looking wings. It’s what the figure in the distance reminded him of. He could see something that looked like wings or arms extended, reaching out to either side, poising to wrap around something, anything, that would come into it’s path.

  Clark held his breath, wishing more and more for something to drink as his throat was deprived of all moisture, leaving cotton inside of his mouth. His saliva felt dry and tasted stale. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

  It’s nothing. He told himself. Just someone on a walk.

  The whispers in his mind continued, suggesting to him that it was the winged demon on Jon’s wall, out and hunting. That the map had existed for that one purpose alone—to lead them to their own ultimate end by the winged creature intent on devouring them..

  Clark hit the gas. He felt the car accelerate, watched the RPM’s skyrocket past three-thousand, approaching four. Then five.

  He heard Sam stir a little next to him.

  He had to know what it was at the end of the road. The rational part of him knew that it was not a winged demon, nor was it the shadow that had been sitting in the passenger seat the night before, it was just someone else out on the road, possibly out of gas, looking for help.

  But the knife in his stomach twisted again, and he knew that whatever it was it had nothing but ill intent for him. The feeling of paranoia buzzing in the back of his skull, sweat slicking down his spine and lapping his palms made him feel as if he were going mad. He didn’t care. He continued to gun the engine, pushing it harder than he knew it could take. He watched the thermostat climb, knew that he was pushing it too hard, that he could blow something, he could hit something, he would be out of control before long. The speedometer flew up in front of him, the needle waving erratically with the RPM gauge. The pedal felt fluid under his foot, and he continued to squeeze it.

  The figure was starting to take some shape. He could make out legs, a torso, a head. The wings that he had seen before were simply arms, reached out on either end to grab whatever it was they could. Beneath the arms were wheels. It was riding something. A bicycle. It was riding a bike and not holding on.

  He felt cold breath on the back of his neck, but he kept his gaze fixed on the figure. He didn’t dare look behind him. He knew if he did what he would see. He would see a shadow, reaching out from the darkness that it came from. Long, sinewy fingers reaching for him, preparing to wrap an arm around his neck and pull him back, pull him down there with it. With the Elder Ones who would feast on his flesh.

  The figure grew clearer, he could see it was a man, a young man. He was wearing a red jacket, with a black stripe going down the middle. With the jacket he wore jeans and a button up shirt. He was still too far away for Clark to make out his features, but he knew that he was staring. He was staring right at the car and he was smiling hell’s grin.

  He looked over at Sam. She was awake. She was staring not at the road, but at him, her eyes were locked in unrealized terror. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. He expected a scream, a yell, a sarcastic remark. Something, but she was silent. Only staring at gaping. He looked at the road again, the figure was getting closer and closer to him.

  The orb in the passenger side floorboard clicked again, he could hear the tiles clicking together like the sound of fingernails on a hardwood desk. There was a humming that accompanied it, a hum like he had never heard before. It sounded like something from a science fiction movie to him, the kind of thrumming a starship would make, but it pierced him, it cut deep into his mind.

  Sam was still staring.
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  The figure was close, smiling and staring, waving his hands in the air, letting free the handlebars in front of him. The grin that was fixed to his face was sadistic and unknowing. It was like someone had painted the smile onto his face, and left him there.

  The GPS was speaking, but he couldn’t make out what directions it was giving, the noise from the engine was too loud, the breath from the figure that he knew was behind him was too thick, He couldn’t look away from the figure on the bicycle as he grew closer and closer, moving to ram the car with his bike.

  Clark looked down at the GPS. The mile counter was going up and the estimated time was spiraling downward, minutes dropping like seconds.

  The man on the bike continued to get closer. He was no longer smiling. Instead, he was laughing. Thick and hearty belly laughs that vibrated his torso, tossed back his shoulders and rolled in his arms, exiting through his hands that were reaching on either side.

  Dear God please…

  He heard noise next to him, Sam was speaking, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. It was distorted and broken in the noise.

  The orb clicked yet again. The clacking of the tiles together was growing louder and more ominous. The humming continued.

  The breath grew heavy on his neck, moving, shifting slowly up to his ear. He could hear the parting of the lips and the whistle of leathery, tired lungs as the air went in and out, puffing into his face.

  The man on the bicycle pointed at him. He was still laughing those big belly laughs.

  He heard a whisper from the voice in his ear. “Don’t fight them.” It said.

  Sam was screaming at him, yelling, but he couldn’t make out the words, they were all broken and disjointed. He tried to look over, but he couldn’t, his neck was locked in place, staring forever out at the road in front of him. The breath in his ear had frozen him, along with the pointing finger of the man with the bike.

  “Welcome home.” The voice said.

  He could suddenly hear Sam clearly, her words were warning, screaming, filled with terror.