A Nighttime of Forever

by Matthew S. Cox

  The two stone platforms along the walls don’t look comfortable. I suppose I should be happy they aren’t holding caskets… but it’s not like the floor has cushions. At least the slabs are dry. I ease myself down to sit on the edge of one, expecting a shock like a cold toilet seat, but it’s neutral.

  “Argh!”

  Head hanging, elbows on my knees, I stare at my dirt-smudged feet. My toenails look grey instead of pastel blue. Weird. Guess that happens in the dark? Is my night vision only black and white? There’s no way I drank blood a little while ago, and yeah right to flying around. I’m most certainly not dead. I’m dreaming. And if I’m not dreaming, I’m tripping. Someone told me the first trip is the weirdest. It never bothered me what other people thought of me, so I’m the square good girl who didn’t drink (much) or do drugs because that’s what my parents wanted.

  I mean, okay, I admit I’ve passed out drunk twice―but it’s not like I wanted to get ruined. The first time, I only had two bottles of this blue stuff at a sleepover party and woke up headfirst in Tiffany Hoffman’s clothes hamper. I can’t even remember what I drank. The second time was a bigger party with like half the senior class there. Figured I’d be okay if I stuck to beer. After three, I had a soda, but some jackass put Jack Daniels in it. Yeah. That time I woke up draped out of a window staring down at a puddle of barf in Jordan Edwards’ bushes. I haven’t touched alcohol since.

  I sink into a spiral of sadness, thinking about Mom and I having ‘the talk’ about alcohol when I was around thirteen. She let me have wine and a beer that night to see what tipsy felt like. S’pose she figured taking the taboo out of it would make me less tempted to go crazy when she wasn’t there to watch me. It worked somewhat, since I’ve never snuck off at night to go binge drinking at the waterfront and I’ve never been picked up by the cops. Even at those parties, I tried to ‘only have one or two to be social.’ Getting oblitificated was not my plan.

  The memory of her voice drowns into a meaningless murmur in the back of my mind. I can’t think of anything but what she’s going through if this nonsense is real. Her voice screams for me, the same way she shouted my name right before that car almost hit me as a little kid. I sniffle and roll back onto the stone slab, curled up in a fetal pose. Had I heard my mother screaming over me when I looked dead?

  Nightmare or not, the mental image of my parents’ reaction to that gets me bawling.

  “I’m sorry, Mom… Dad…” I mutter between tears. “I’m sorry.”

  I cry myself to silence and lay there sniffling, focused on the sense of my heart beating. It sounds normal enough, so I latch on to the hope I’m still having a wicked bad dream. Out of nowhere, a strong sense of vertigo hits me. An irresistible force drags me down through the earth, my consciousness plummeting into a bottomless void.

  Though I want to scream, I can’t even open my mouth.

  Homesick

  6

  My eyes flutter open.

  I’m lying on my side upon a stone slab, still locked in a small mausoleum.

  It takes me a while to find any desire to move, but eventually, I push myself up and sit with my back against the wall, toes curled over the edge of the slab, face hidden against my knees. This can’t be happening. Dreams don’t last this long, do they? I’ve never once before had a nightmare where I did stuff, then went to sleep and woke up still inside the same dream. The only thing that makes any sense doesn’t make any sense.

  My fangs extend.

  “I’m a goddamned vampire.”

  That, I can deal with. Hey, it beats being dead, right? But more than anything, I need to go home. I have to tell my parents I’m okay. The impossible thought that everything Dalton told me might be real would also mean that my family is a complete mess right now.

  Memories of my parents and siblings come and go. Old Christmases, birthdays, tantrums, fights, happy times, and sad moments―everything floods over me at once. Our parents had this stupid idea to give us all S names. I’m Sarah. My sisters are Sierra and Sophia, and my brother’s Sam. Sierra’s the next oldest after me at eleven. Normally, she’s like totally unfazed by everything. The girl’s got balls of steel, the exact opposite of Sophia, who’s ten and as girly as it gets. If they think I’m dead, Sierra might be too broken up to even play video games. I’m sure Sophia has been nonstop wailing.

  Thinking of that gets me crying again.

  Sam’s only nine, and he doesn’t do the burst of emotion thing. He’s probably sitting alone in his room staring into space. That’s how I know he’s sad―he stops talking. I can just see him in his room now, listening to Sophia in the living room with our parents, bawling. I can’t imagine what Mom’s going through. Dad’s probably pacing all over the house fixing or cleaning random shit. He can’t sit still when he’s emotional. Good or bad mood, he’s gotta keep his hands doing stuff.

  At least something good will come of my death. Maybe he’ll clean out the garage.

  I stare down at my knife scar, unable to tell if it’s gotten smaller. Honestly, it’s pretty hard to see anyway, and unless I go running around topless, no one would ever notice it. An intense wave of homesickness slams into me. My family thinks I’m dead. It’s gonna tear them apart. I saw Dead Like Me. I’m not gonna be that girl. Her family couldn’t handle losing her and they started going after each other and melting down. I don’t want to be responsible for my family imploding.

  Sniffling, I lift my head away from my knees and look around at my new prison. Not a scrap of light leaks in anywhere, yet I have a feeling it’s dark outside. Curled up naked on a huge block of stone is not how I wanted to spend my Friday night. Is it Friday? Argh! I hate not having my phone.

  I don’t know when I am.

  My phone’s probably in a ‘box of effects’ given to my parents.

  The urge to sob wells up again, but I stomp it back down. I’m not dead. There’s no reason to be all emo and weepy. Sure, my family’s all kinds of messed up right now, but I can fix that. All I have to do is go home and show them I’m fine.

  I repetitively curl my toes over the edge of the slab while thinking about my situation. Dalton seemed relatively friendly―until he locked me in here. This is somewhere between a kidnapping and keeping a slave. He didn’t touch me or anything, but what kind of asshole won’t give a girl clothing? Maybe he’s just kidding and being a douche? He did say he’s usually a bastard. When he shows up to let me out, he’ll probably have some clothes for me.

  Maybe.

  My family’s out there thinking I’m dead. To them, I could’ve been gone for days or weeks. The need to go home pulls me to my feet, and I pace back and forth in the aisle between the slabs, feet squishing on wet stone. Dalton’s wrong about one thing: my not having anything on isn’t going to stop me from trying to get home. I’m shy, but I’m not that shy. It’s like expecting a kidnap victim to stay put because they’re ashamed of getting caught with their boobs out. Sorry, pal. Dignity can take a back seat to freedom.

  Grr! That asshole kidnapped me.

  Enraged, I hurl myself at the door and shove as hard as I can. My feet slide over the slimy rock. I keep trying, but no matter how I stand, all I manage to do is push myself away from the door. By the time I give up, my fangs are out due to sheer anger.

  Yeah. Okay, so I have fangs. And… as long as I’ve been awake, I still don’t need a bathroom.

  Well, I guess I’m a vampire after all.

  Do I have claws, too?

  I curl my hands in a stereotypical ‘clawing vampire’ pose, staring a challenge at them. My fingertips tingle, so I mentally push at the sensation… and my nails grow and thicken into three-inch claws.

  “Wow. I’m going to burn through polish.”

  Doubting they’ll do much to a stone slab door, I experiment until I figure out how to retract them back into normal-looking (but slightly pointy) fingernails. Okay, those won’t help me now, but so far, this vampire stuff is kinda interesting. Good thing I’ve never been much of
a beach person, right?

  I squat by the door and scrape the slimy muck aside, creating a little space for me to stand. A little fanning with my hands dries it a bit. My second try to shove the door open goes a little better: it wobbles. I’m evidently strong enough to move the door, but it’s locked.

  Bastard.

  “Ooh!” I fume and pace for a few minutes.

  As soon as he lets me out of here, I’m gonna make a run for it. I have to get back to my family. The thought of them grieving for me when they don’t have to has gone beyond depressing―I’m pissed off. My fists shake at my sides as I glare at the door. That asshole locked me in here like some kind of helpless baby… or pet. Bastard probably could’ve saved me if he wanted to, but I bet he enjoyed watching us fight like some kind of daytime drama.

  “Grr!” I ram my shoulder into the door, but it still doesn’t give way. The damn stone’s a bit too beefy for me to break.

  For a few minutes, I pad around in circles like a caged tiger, claws, fangs, and all. The metaphor is a bit too apt since tigers don’t have clothes either. Great, like I needed to get even angrier. A snarl starts deep inside me, a sound way deeper than my skinny neck should be able to produce.

  Okay, think, Sarah. Vampire. Really strong and fast, right? Oh, sure, that’s what movies say, and they also show stakes killing them instantly, and garlic repelling them and… right.

  I drop into the best stance my memory has from karate lessons. It’s been five years, but I try a couple shadow punches as fast as my hands will move. Doesn’t feel much different than I remember, but maybe supernatural speed wouldn’t look weird to my supernatural eyes. And karate makes me think of my little brother. He’s really into it. Sam probably won’t quit when he’s thirteen like I did.

  Dammit! My little bro thinks I’m dead.

  Those cuts and scratches faded away, which means my body will probably heal itself. If I break a bone, no big deal. Stop being afraid of pain, Sarah. This is my family. I back up to the wall, shoulders pressed to damp stone, eyeing the door. Pushing on it didn’t work, but I’ve been too hesitant. I’m not waiting around for Dalton to come back and do whatever he wants with me, and I’m not going to let my family fall apart.

  That door is standing between me and my family. Okay. Time to put this supernatural thing to the test. For a minute or so, I focus on wanting to be strong like a movie vampire. Then, shrieking in rage, I launch myself at the exit. The opposite wall flies at me in the blink of an eye. A distinct crack comes from my left arm as I crash into the slab, but it gives way and swings open. I stagger out onto wet grass and slip over backward, landing on my ass and sliding a few feet.

  “Ow.”

  A dull ache in my arm a few inches down from my shoulder tells me where the break happened, but before it really starts hurting, a faint, splintery crunch happens. Wow. That was fast. I roll the arm around, testing it, but the pain’s gone, replaced with an overriding sense of being tired―and hungry.

  Cool. My arm just like healed itself in seconds, and I broke a big-ass door. I might be okay with giving up daylight for this.

  So, bigger problem. Where the hell am I―other than sitting naked on a lawn amid a group of tiny buildings. Some trees to my left stand in a thick cluster at the corner of a rectangular cemetery. The relatively small size of the space inside the surrounding wall makes me remember seeing civilization on the flight in. I’m sure this little graveyard is tucked in the middle of some town; I’m just not sure which one. The frequent whoosh of passing cars behind me confirms that. The cemetery’s got a huge wall of pointy trees to my left, but I can kinda make out a couple buildings on the other side.

  Well, nothing to do but go the hell home, right?

  Imagining my family’s overjoyed reaction to seeing me okay crushes my embarrassment into nothing. I spring upright and jog straight away from the mausoleum toward the sound of traffic, across a grassy field littered with gravestones and a couple small trees. Eventually, I reach a tall iron fence with ‘Woodville Memorial Mead’ across the top, built right into the ironwork.

  Okay, Woodville. I’m not actually that far from home. Cottage Lake is a little over a mile east of here. I glance up and think about flying, but the mere idea makes my everything hurt. Not like actual pain… more a feeling as though I’d run fifteen miles and got the bright idea to run another five. The body is non-cooperative.

  Damn. I frown at the street outside.

  Oh, screw it. If I’m strong enough to break a mausoleum door, I can jump. I hop over the maybe twelve-foot-tall fence and land on the sidewalk out front. I’m beyond caring if anyone sees me streaking around. Maybe they’ll call the police and I can get a ride home with a blanket. Of course, if the police currently think I’m dead, that might cause some real awkward questions.

  Hmm.

  Whatever. I’ll worry about that later. People don’t want to get involved. They’ll probably stare at me, but stay out of my way.

  I head to the left, walking fast down to the end of the block and over a crossing. Act casual. I’m just a Terminator sent back from the future. Nice night for a walk, right? Woodville Bicycle goes by on my left. It’s still open, so it must not be too late. Intense lights inside hurt my eyes, like I’m staring into a huge nuclear furnace. I squint at a few shadows of people moving around, but it’s doubtful anyone inside could even see me out here in the dark. Or at least, I think it’s dark. Looks like late afternoon to me, but there’s no sun out. Still, I hurry it up a bit and jog past the bank.

  A man in a tank top, shorts, and flip-flops walking out of the O’Reilly Auto Parts store next door stares at me and almost drops his bags.

  “Hey kid!” he yells, then runs over. “Are you okay?”

  Oh, wow. I think my face is on fire from blushing. “Yeah. Thanks. I, uhh, lost a dare.”

  He shakes his head, sputtering. “You really shouldn’t be runnin’ around with nothin’ on like that.”

  “I’m fine. Really.” I’d beg for his tank top, but it wouldn’t be long enough to cover much―and I don’t want those shorts. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me.”

  The man blinks, staring at me for a few seconds like his brain rebooted at random or something. “Oh, hi. Sorry. Need to get this stuff home. Fixin’ up the old beater.”

  He walks off, heading for a car in the lot.

  Okay, that’s odd. He completely forgot I’m naked.

  I hurry past the auto parts place and get catcalled by a bunch of guys getting out of a car by the Mi Tierra restaurant. I can’t help but think of that bullshit about what a girl’s wearing being justification for attacking her, specifically the argument that even going naked isn’t asking for it. Though I did break the door of a mausoleum… If some guy tries any shit with me, he’s going to seriously regret it.

  The strangest feeling comes over me, and I find myself stopping to glare at the four dudes by their Audi. For the first time in my life, I’m not the least bit worried about walking somewhere alone. I almost don’t know how to process that. Ever since I was like thirteen, there’s been this constant fear that followed me everywhere. Even with Ashley and Michelle along, we had this communal prey instinct like a pack of mice trying to sneak unnoticed through a world of cats. I had a guy say ‘nice ass’ at me when I was twelve. If I ever found myself walking somewhere alone, I’d always kinda jog.

  Now, standing stark naked on the street staring at a pack of ‘gentlemen,’ it hits me that I don’t have a damn thing to be afraid of. If I can dent the door of a body cooler, what would my fist do to a perv’s jaw? Is this what it’s like to be a guy, being able to go outside and not be in a perpetual state of worry?

  Okay, Sarah, get a grip. The girl who can’t stand short shorts because they’re too mortifying has gone full nudist. Stop standing around.

  One of the guys mutters something like “I think she’s into us” to his buddies.

  Yeah effin’ right.

  That’s my cue. I roll my eyes and walk off
. Fortunately, they don’t come after me, but I’m not relieved out of fear… Explaining how little me managed to kick the asses of four dudes at once to the police would delay me getting home. I storm past a U-Haul place on my left, and no one inside notices me. When I reach the Chevron, a heavyset woman pumping gas into a maroon minivan spots me, gasps, and abandons the pump to run at me.

  Ugh.

  She’s wearing a shin-length dress the same shade as her van, big enough for three of me to squeeze into.

  “Oh, sweetie, what happened?” The woman waves her arms for balance as she comes to a halt by the sidewalk. “Are you okay?”

  I put on an annoyed expression. “My asshole ex-boyfriend stole my clothes. I’m fine, just going home.”

  “All right.” She smiles at me. “Have a nice night then.”

  Weird. I shake my head as the woman trots back over to the gas pump. I’ve gotta be doing something mental to these people. No one just walks away from a naked person like it’s no big deal―at least not here. Maybe on a Jamaican beach somewhere…

  Soon after I pass a dry cleaner and Jiffy Lube, I notice a car rolling along behind me at a walking pace. Wow, creeps really still do that? Is this guy gonna offer me candy or just pull up and grab me? I start walking faster, and the car accelerates enough to keep pace. Sure enough, when I step it up to a jog, the car stays with me.

  A few seconds after I break into a full run past a Wendy’s, the sidewalk lights up with flashing red and blue. Oh shit. It’s a cop. I skid to a stop and whirl around, staring at the police car that had been tailing me. I can’t see a damn thing other than bright lights. The roof looks like it’s covered in purple plasma. Ouch. I turn my head to lessen the glare. Should I be relieved or worried?

  The police car pulls up beside me and a stocky man hops out, giving me a one-eyebrow-raised look. “Miss? Are you all right?”

  I stare up into his eyes. Dude’s kinda tall. “Nothing’s wrong, officer.”

  “We got a report of a young woman who appeared to be in distress. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything unusual?” His concerned expression goes casual, like there’s nothing at all weird about me walking down the street in the nude.