A Nighttime of Forever

by Matthew S. Cox

  Am I losing my color vision or am I just having a weird trip? Ugh. My parents are going to kill me. I don’t even smoke. One hit of pot doesn’t count, does it? Gawd. I choked so bad on the smoke I never tried it again. My lack of tolerance has gotta be why I’m seeing stuff. Whatever that guy roofied me with hit me hard.

  I stop and look down at myself. Nothing’s sore. The fear that I might’ve been raped grabs the back of my neck like an icy hand. Why else would someone drug me and take all my clothes? Still, it doesn’t feel like anything happened. Even if I’d been out cold at the time, there ought to be some pain if I was attacked. But, there isn’t… so I let myself breathe again.

  Either this is a weird-as-hell nightmare, or I have extremely sick friends. Wait, no… Ashley wouldn’t do this. She might try to sneak a peek of me in the shower, but she wouldn’t do anything like this. Michelle might pull an elaborate prank, but this goes too far into ‘could cause mental trauma’ territory for her. And Ashley would never let anyone lock me in a morgue cooler. She hates that morbid stuff.

  I pad down the hall, scraps of moonlight passing over me on my way toward a set of double steel doors. Every few steps, I whip around, sensing someone behind me. Ugh. I’m in a morgue. Stop thinking about ghosts.

  Oh, that did it. Now I’m convinced there’s a ghost following me, so I step it up to a jog. Going outside bare-assed no longer scares me more than being inside this place. When I get within a few feet of the exit, a faint click comes from the knob. Some sensor in the ceiling must’ve picked me up.

  The door opens without a sound. I step past it into a short hallway with a few small rooms containing tables and chairs. Ignoring them, I hurry down a carpeted section, momentarily confused at feeling the individual piles under my feet, like I’m walking on the ends of spaghetti noodles. Okay, that’s weird as hell. This place has some funky rugs.

  The hall corners to the right at the end, goes past another bunch of locked doors, then opens out into a lobby with a waiting area. My spooky spirit stalker is right on my heels, and I don’t care about anything but getting the hell out of here, so I head straight for the exit. Lettering on the glass doors stalls me in my tracks:

  Snohomish County Medical Examiner

  No way…

  I push on the door, but it won’t move.

  No, I am not trapped inside a morgue at night! My breathing falls shallow as trembles take over my muscles. A sense like a thousand demonic creatures are rushing up behind me comes out of nowhere, but all I can do is cling to the door and shiver. My attempt to yell for my parents emerges as a tiny little squeak.

  Where am I? Did someone drug me? Am I still dreaming or is this really happening?

  Fear, worry, confusion, and anger explode out of my mouth in a shrill scream. I take a step back and hurl myself into the door, pushing the bar, ramming my bare hip into the cold glass. A loud pank breaks the silence. The door flies open like it got hit by a car, its glass panels shattering all over the sidewalk. Behind me, a metal object clatters to the ground.

  I rush outside, stepping around the broken glass as best I can. The concrete ends at a row of empty parking spaces but keeps going to the right, wrapping around the building. Cars rush by to my left, where a steep gravel-covered incline leads up to a road. I’m not quite tall enough to see over the top, but the flash of headlights is unmistakable. Instinctively, I shy away from the activity, not wanting anyone to see me outside with nothing on. Heading right, I follow the sidewalk down the side of the building past a grassy field. Small, decorative trees form a living fence between it and a smaller road beyond.

  The narrower path heads straight to the fenced-in parking lot behind the building. On the far side of the lot, a swath of open field ends at a crossing road with forest on the other side. For whatever reason, running into the trees to get out of sight seems like the best option. I need to find a place away from dead things where I can take a few minutes and collect myself.

  Meadow grass whips and scratches at my stomach and legs as I dash across a couple hundred feet of greenery. A few times, I run across tire marks where some big truck flattened its way through the field, but I can’t imagine who would gouge donuts into an un-mowed lot behind a morgue. At the end of the meadow, I spot a street sign at the corner on my left, reading 94th ST SW and 29th AVE W. That doesn’t help me much. Other than knowing I’m in… probably Everett, I have no idea which way to go to get home.

  I crouch low in the grass, watching an approaching pickup truck. Maybe I should jump out and flag them down. Or maybe that’ll get me killed. This dream is going on kinda long, which is scaring me even more than a nightmare. Nope. Forget that. I’m not even processing the idea that I could be awake for real right now.

  Once the truck passes, I wait a few seconds more so he won’t see me streak across the road. It’s oddly bright out for three in the morning, almost four. Other than the lack of sunlight glaring off things, it’s an eerie kind of daylight. Yeah, there are stars overhead, and the usual night sounds of bugs and such, but it’s too bright to be real. Darkness doesn’t lurk in the trees. There are no shadows. I can see for miles like the world’s lit by a magical sun that doesn’t care about things like solid objects.

  I’ve never been outside naked before either. Some of my bathing suits come kinda close, but I should be cold at night. This is still Washington State. It might be summer, but it’s almost four in the morning. It should not be comfortable.

  Right. I’m having the strangest dream of my life.

  So, it doesn’t really matter what I do. The dream will run its course. It won’t change a thing if I find clothing, flag down a motorist, or just keep running until whatever monster is going to chase me shows up. At the first gap in traffic where no one will see me, I sprint across the road, my feet clapping on the pavement, and push past the underbrush, not stopping until I can’t see the road behind me for the trees.

  I wander for a little while, not really sure which direction I’m going until I approach a tree line, beyond which lies a huge lot full of airplanes. Oh, crap. I’m near the Boeing plant. Mom works for them in the legal department, so I’ve been here for a couple take-your-kid-to-work days. My sisters and brother go without me now, since they’re younger.

  Since there’s no way I’m stealing a jet to get home, I retreat into the woods and wind up pacing in frustrated circles. I’m not that far from home―if I had a car. Cottage Lake, where we live, is a couple miles southeast of here. But… I can’t think of any way I’m going to walk home without being caught.

  I sink into a squat and wrap my arms around my legs. Being afraid of that, like this dream, makes no sense. Getting caught is a good thing, right? Someone sees a woman running around naked, they’re going to assume something bad happened to me, call the cops, be helpful, right?

  Or I could find a creep.

  Ugh, maybe I’ll just stay here until the dream’s over.

  Pale Moon

  3

  My hair, draped almost to the ground, forms a tunnel of dark chestnut brown around my vision. Dirt’s gathered atop my feet, my toes hidden in mulch. It’s too ridiculous to think that I’m stranded with no clothes in a small patch of woods. I should be running out to the nearest road and flagging someone down for help, but I’m too embarrassed.

  If not for being trapped in the weirdest dream ever, I’d be completely flipping out.

  And if this is really happening to me, I’d rather be stuck here naked with my cell phone than have clothes and no iPhone. I can’t remember being without one since I turned twelve. Talk about feeling exposed. Not being able to call home―or anyone else―is worse than someone stealing all my clothes. I’m cut off from everything in the world.

  Don’t worry, Sarah, I tell myself. This is all just a dream.

  Of course this can’t be real. Sure it’s almost four in the morning and I should be uncomfortably cold, but I’m not. And the woods are a lot brighter than they ought to be, but the sun’s not up. And, yeah,
I bashed open a steel-and-glass door. Speaking of which, I check the bottoms of my feet for cuts, but find none.

  Unease comes out of nowhere. For no obvious reason, I get the sense that remaining here to wait out the dream is not only a bad idea, but fatally dangerous. Probably because whatever monster I’m supposed to run away from is about to show up.

  A faint snap comes out of the trees behind me and to the left. I whip around, covering myself with my hands as best I can, but there’s no one there. This is an isolated patch of trees near the Boeing facility, so I highly doubt a bear is going to come after me…

  Oh, hell.

  Maybe I’m not dreaming. Memory loss is a pretty typical side effect of getting roofied, right? What if someone at that party slipped me something but used too much, and they thought it killed me? The prank idea runs out of credibility. How would kids my age pull off breaking into a medical examiner’s office and stuffing me in a cooler? I stand, rubbing a hand up and down my stomach in thought. Could it be that actual medical people took my clothes, and not some serial killer/perv? I picture myself passed out on the floor at a party, overdosed on whatever, and mistaken for dead.

  That still doesn’t explain the strange lighting in the woods. And I’m pretty sure I’m nowhere near strong enough to kick the door off a body cooler. So, yeah. Dream.

  Whatever.

  Grumbling, I set off again, heading for the whoosh of traffic. I bet this dream wants to embarrass the hell out of me, so I might as well just streak the highway. Yeah right. I’m going to freeze up at the forest edge and keep hiding. What kind of sense does that make? My dad practically dropped dead on the spot when he saw my new bathing suit. String bikinis don’t really cover much. Wearing my hands isn’t much different. I can do this. Cops have blankets in their cars, right?

  Branches and leaves scrape the shit out of me, but I don’t slow down. I’m used to being outside barefoot―I got that from Mom―but naturist hiking is a new one, and I’m not really liking it at all. If I’m dreaming, my brain’s doing a good job imagining what it would feel like to have random sharp plant life touching me everywhere.

  Ugh. The underbrush is heavy, and there’s nothing between me and ticks. Thinking of bugs is a mistake. Cringing and squirming, I force my way past branches and shrubs, trying to get to the highway as fast as I can get the hell away from insects. If someone gave me a choice between walking through a cave of spiders in a beekeeper’s suit or streaking the mall, I’d take the mall twice.

  My heel comes down on something hard and painful, my leg gives out, and I get a face full of dirt. The next thing I know, I’m log-rolling down a hill. Snapping leaves and whipping branches go by in a rapid blur of pain from everywhere. My shoulder and head hit the ground. My shin bounces off a tree. A root nails me in the boob like a dagger. I kiss the ground again and sail off the edge of a cliff―straight toward a pool of disgusting water.

  I wind up staring at the pool, maybe ten feet below… and it’s not getting any closer.

  I’m floating in midair, my hair hanging straight down past my face. My jaw aches. My shin and chest throb, and I feel like I’ve gone two rounds of full contact with a giant cheese grater.

  “Ow.”

  For a moment, I mentally set aside the oddity of floating facedown above a brackish pool and grab my boob, which has a nice bruise from the root, rock, or whatever I crashed into. Small cuts and scrapes cover me, but in a twist even weirder than my present objection to gravity, they start disappearing.

  All I can do is stare in shock at all the little scratches and wounds shrinking away. In under a minute, I’m left with only a few smears of blood where the nastier slices had been.

  “This is too freaky.” I knock on my skull. “Hello, Sarah. Do you realize you’re floating in midair?”

  It’s like my complete disgust at the idea of touching water that shade of brown has affected reality in a physical manifestation of nope! I hang there for a while, waiting for the cartoon effect. Like, once the gorilla realizes gravity is supposed to work on him, he falls. But, I keep on floating. Hmm. Okay. This is a dream, right? So, since I know I’m dreaming, that means control.

  When I think about righting myself, my body rotates vertical, like I’m standing on nothing. Well, that beats facedown. Score one for dream control! I spin around a couple times before orienting myself toward solid ground on the other side of the nasty artificial pond. As soon as I want to, I glide forward.

  My little sister, Sierra, is the comic book geek. Me? Not so much. Why am I dreaming about being a superhero? This of course, makes me curious. I lean to my left and go that way. A bit more thought adds speed. I lean back and stop, once more hovering.

  “This is beyond messed up.”

  On a whim, I zip straight up and pop up above the trees. There’s a lake nearby, right next to the Boeing property. I had to have been going in circles since this isn’t a large area of woods. There’s more forest on the other side of the highway, sandwiched between buildings, but that’s not going to help me.

  Hmm. Since I’m not really here and not really awake, I decide to take a wild chance. Home, Cottage Lake, is a couple miles away. The dream is giving me the ability to fly, and that means I don’t need to let anyone catch me streaking. If anything like this happened to me for real, I’d call the police right away, but there’s no point being rational in the middle of a nightmare. What’s going to happen is going to happen no matter what I do. And I don’t have my iPhone.

  Okay, time to play.

  I launch myself up into the air, zooming skyward way faster than I can run. Having nothing between me and the wind is a strange sensation, though honestly, it’s not that much different from my swimsuit. Hair whipping at my back starts to approach painful, which gets me questioning how fast this dream is letting me fly. I climb higher to stay out of sight from the ground, and aim for a distant body of water.

  It doesn’t even take me a full minute to reach Crystal Lake. Right as I go out over the water, a heavy sense of exhaustion comes on, like I’ve sprinted until the point of collapse. Jaw clenched, I manage to scrape up enough energy to make it into the trees a safe distance north of my old grade school, Bear Creek.

  As soon as my feet hit the dirt, I collapse to my hands and knees, out of breath.

  At least, it sorta feels like I’m out of breath. I’m not gasping for air, but my arms and legs don’t want to move anymore. After a moment or two, I sit back on my heels and pull my hair out of my face. I want to curl up right where I am and sleep but feel like I’d be in deep trouble if I do.

  “I’ve got to be dreaming. This”―I gesture at my bare chest―“is pretty typical bad dream type stuff. And… flying? Really? Ugh.”

  I bury my face in my hands, shaking my head. Someone gave me some wild stuff at that party and I’m high. That flight? Yeah, that didn’t really happen. In reality, I’m walking in circles around someone’s backyard with my arms held out to the sides making airplane noises. I’m gonna wake up with stupid crap written all over my face in sharpie marker or something, and there’ll be a million stupid pictures of me on Instagram. Maybe my brain’s using naked because I’m terrified at being so vulnerably unconscious in a room full of my former classmates, and the flying and other weird stuff is coming from the roofie?

  “Wake up, Sarah.” I slap myself across the face.

  Ow. That hurt.

  “Come on. Enough.” Another slap.

  Looking around at the forest I’m kneeling in makes it pretty clear the dream isn’t done with me yet. I’m not waking up. Or I’m not really dreaming, but that’s laughable. I can’t fly.

  Twigs and leaves crunch behind me.

  Crap!

  I drag myself to my feet and take off running, not even aware if I’m afraid of being attacked or merely embarrassed at being seen. Trees whoosh by on both sides, and I have to raise my arms to guard my face from low-hanging branches. Snaps and rustling continue and don’t seem to be getting any farther away.
>
  Someone’s chasing me!

  Pouring on speed, I swerve down a hill, running as hard as I can. For a few seconds, it feels like I’ve gone off the road in a car. The trees are coming at me so fast it’s scary, but I can’t stop. I catch myself against a trunk, push off, and dart the other way, refusing to believe I left a tree shaking. Focused only on escaping, I sprint harder than I’ve ever run in my life. I don’t expect to get away―nightmares never let me―but the sounds of pursuit stop. I keep going for a while longer, until the thump of my feet on dirt is the only sound other than chirping crickets.

  A thick patch of branches offers a good hiding spot, so I duck in there and cling to a tree, crouching low and peering back the way I came. Whew. I made it.

  Or am I an idiot?

  I bite my lip, thinking. Despite what the news makes it sound like, most people finding a young woman running around the woods with nothing on would probably think something bad’s happened to her and want to help. Though, with my luck, I’d be the girl who stumbles across a creep. Maybe I shouldn’t have run away?

  My eyes narrow.

  No… someone who wanted to help me would’ve called out ‘Hey, are you all right?’ or something, not just tromped after me like Jason Voorhees. And… crap. Maybe I’m not dreaming. I didn’t trip and fall while running away from a killer. No wait, that’s not a sign of dreaming, that’s a sign of not being in a shitty movie.

  The wind rustles in the leaves overhead, but only a faint breeze reaches me. I look down at myself, and don’t know if I should laugh at how ridiculous I feel or freak out again. I’m filthy, bloody, and I look like some hippie girl tree hugger.