by Tim Waggoner
She felt a sudden sharp pain in her shins, and she let out a squeal of fright. It took her an instant to realize she’d walked into the glass coffee table in front of the couch.
“Fuck,” she muttered beneath her breath. But despite the pain, she was relieved to have struck the coffee table. The pain told her that she was in her apartment and that everything was normal. Probably going to have a of couple bruises tomorrow. That was a small price to pay for a little reassurance, though.
She crouched and searched with her fingers until she felt the edge of the coffee table’s surface. Keeping one hand on the table to guide her, she walked around it until her left leg bumped into the couch. She stretched out her right hand and felt the cushions. No Larry. She kept her hand on the couch as she made her way around to the floor lamp sitting next to it. She found the switch and turned on the light. She forgot to look away and bright illumination stabbed into her eyes. She squeezed them shut and turned her head away from the lamp. Her eyes watered and tears slid down her cheeks. She felt a spike of pain behind her eyes, and she feared she might be on the verge of triggering another goddamn migraine.
Don’t borrow trouble, her mother always said. It was good advice, and she told herself not to worry about her head. Either she’d get a migraine or she wouldn’t.
She opened her eyes slowly to give them a chance to adjust to the light. She had to blink several times to clear the tears from her vision, but once she’d done this, she was able to see well enough. What she didn’t see was any sign of Larry. The front door was closed and locked, and that was a relief.
Whatever had caused those thumps, she hadn’t heard any more of them since leaving her bedroom. The noises had most likely been caused by one of the building’s other residents – as she’d suspected – and it seemed they’d stopped doing whatever it was they’d been up to. She was just on edge after everything that had happened tonight, that’s all. Best to forget about the mess, go back to bed, and try to return to sleep. She had work in the morning.
She glanced at the door once again. She was tempted to engage the chain lock for an extra measure of security, small though it might be. But if she did that, Larry wouldn’t be able to get in when he finally made it home. He might figure fuck it and go sleep in his car. It wouldn’t be the first time. But there was an equally likely chance he’d pound his fist on the door and call her name until she woke and came out to let him in. She didn’t want to deal with a loud, drunk, and angry Larry tonight. She’d leave the chain off.
She turned back to the lamp, intending to turn the light off, but she changed her mind. What would it hurt to leave the light on out here for the rest of the night? Maybe she’d sleep with her nightstand lamp on, too. She hadn’t done so since she’d been a little girl, but if having a light on in her bedroom helped her get through the rest of the night, she’d do it. Hell, she’d install a fucking spotlight in her room if it would—
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft clattering.
Her gaze was instantly drawn toward the sound, and she saw the vertical blinds over her patio door undulate slowly, stirred by a breeze.
She felt a fresh jolt of fear. A breeze meant the patio door was open. Had Larry left it like that when he’d departed for his gig? She hadn’t checked the patio door to make sure it was locked before she’d gone to bed, had she? She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so. If the patio door was open, that meant that someone else could be in her apartment right now. Maybe multiple someones.
She stood there, frozen, unable to decide what she should do next. She could call nine-one-one, but she’d left her phone on her nightstand, and she’d have to return to her bedroom for it. And if she did call for help, what could she say? I heard a couple thumps, and when I checked, I discovered my patio door was open. I’m scared. Can you send someone to check if the Boogeyman snuck in? She’d feel ridiculous if the police showed up, checked her entire apartment, and found nothing.
There’s no sign of an intruder, ma’am. You’re perfectly safe.
She imagined the officer saying these words with a slight sneer, as if he or she was angry with the overly nervous woman who’d wasted their time because she thought she’d heard something scary – upon awakening from a nightmare, no less. Then again, she’d be an idiot to continue investigating on her own, going into the small kitchen, stepping out onto the patio. That was the kind of dumb move people in films made, and more often than not, their stupidity resulted in their deaths. Better to be embarrassed than dead, she decided.
She started walking back toward the bedroom, moving slowly and quietly, continually gazing back at the patio door as she went. Another gust of wind stirred the blinds, this one stronger than the first, causing them to ripple and rattle more loudly than last time. The sound made her jump and she stopped walking and stared at the patio door.
That’s when she saw the first hand reach through the blinds. It was shadow-black, with long, multijointed fingers that ended in sharp, curving claws. It was the same sort of hand the shadow thing she’d glimpsed in the parking lot of FoodSaver had possessed. Was it the same creature? Had the thing somehow followed her home? She thought of the thumps she’d heard, and now she realized she knew what the sounds had been someone – or something – pounding on the glass of the patio doors from the outside. The door had been closed, and maybe the shadow creature had been trying to force it open, perhaps pounding the glass in frustration until it finally succeeded.
A second hand emerged from between the blinds, identical to the first. Then came a third, a fourth, a fifth…. Six, seven, eight, nine…. She lost count after that as hands continued thrusting through the blinds. Within seconds the rectangular space that marked the patio door’s opening was filled with ebon-clawed hands, all of them reaching toward her, fingers flexing, claws softly scratching against one another, as if the creatures were attempting to sharpen them before attacking. She’d been right about something blocking the light from the lamps behind the building, and now she knew what that something was.
She heard whispering then, a sound that might have been an autumnal wind, but which might also have been a chorus of voices speaking words that she couldn’t quite make out. Then one of the shadow creatures entered the apartment, seeming to slide between the blinds’ slats as if it were momentarily two-dimensional. But once it was inside the room, standing between the patio door and the dining table, it regained mass, like a black balloon inflating itself. This creature looked exactly like the one she’d seen at FoodSaver, might even have been the same one. It was impossible to tell. The thing had no apparent sensory organs, but its featureless face was pointed at her, and she had the impression that it was well aware of her presence. It stood for a moment, regarding her, and then it gripped the edge of the small round table with its clawed hands and flipped it over. The sound of the table hitting the floor shocked her out of her paralysis, and she turned to flee. In her peripheral vision she caught sight of the shadow creature heading toward her, claws upraised, as others of its kind entered the room, knocking the dining table’s two chairs over as they came.
She ran.
Her bare feet pounded on the carpet of the short hallway as she dashed toward her bedroom. She heard no sounds of pursuit coming from behind her, but she didn’t know if the shadow creatures made any noise as they moved – the one at FoodSaver hadn’t. But she wasn’t dumb enough to believe the things weren’t chasing after her, and she was damn sure she wasn’t going to look back over her shoulder to check. When she reached her bedroom, she dashed inside, slammed the door shut behind her, and locked it. She then hurried to her nightstand to snatch up her phone. Before she could start to input numbers, one of the creatures crashed into her bedroom door, hitting it so hard she heard wood crack. The creatures might look like shadows and move just as silently, but it seemed they could pack a wallop when they wanted to.
More pounding at the door now. She picture
d a mass of shadowy forms filling the hallway, clawed hands curled into fists, all of them pounding on her bedroom door, desperate to get at her. It wouldn’t take the things long to break down the door and flood into the room. She preferred not to be there when it happened.
She darted toward her bathroom and reached it at the exact instant that the bedroom door burst open. She spun around, shut the bathroom door, locked it, then plopped down on her ass in front of it. She turned, braced her bare feet on the toilet bowl’s cold porcelain, and pushed her back against the door. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to keep the shadow creatures from reaching her, but she hoped it would be long enough.
Heart pounding, head throbbing, breath coming in ragged gasps, she pressed nine-one-one on her phone’s screen and then held the device up to her head with a shaking hand. For an instant she feared that the call wouldn’t go through, that the shadow creatures possessed some kind of ability to block her phone’s signal, and she was relieved when she heard the sound of ringing as her phone tried to connect.
Before the dispatcher on the other end could answer, dozens of hands began pounding on the bathroom door, striking so hard that she could feel the impacts juddering through her bones and teeth. She experienced a draining sensation then, a sudden weariness, as if her strength was deserting her. Her legs began to tremble, and she feared she wouldn’t be able to keep the door closed much longer.
“No,” she said. “Please, no….”
And just like that, the pounding stopped. It didn’t taper off, one pair of hands stopping, followed by another and so on. All the hands discontinued striking the door at the exact same instant, as if the shadow things had received some kind of signal to break off their attack.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
Lori was so relieved she started crying, and when the dispatcher once again asked what her emergency was, she almost couldn’t speak.
“Someone’s broken into my apartment,” she said, voice soft and breathy. “I’ve locked myself in the bathroom and I’m hiding from them.”
“Hold on. Someone will be there soon. Give me your address.”
Lori did, and the dispatcher told her to remain on the line while she contacted officers closest to her location. Lori said she would, and while she waited, she listened, trying to hear if the shadow creatures were still gathered outside the bathroom, perhaps hoping to trick her into thinking they were gone so she’d open the door and they could get at her. She heard nothing, though. Maybe they were gone.
A soft rapping sounded on the door, and she screamed.
“Lori? Are you okay?”
It was Larry.
In an instant, she was on her feet. Still holding on to her phone with her left hand, she unlocked the door with her right, opened it, and threw herself into Larry’s arms. She hit him so hard, he staggered back a step before hesitantly bringing up his arms to hold on to her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She tried to speak, but all that came out was a sob, which was swiftly followed by more tears. She began trembling then, and Larry held her tighter as she cried.
* * *
Lori and Larry were sitting on the couch when someone knocked on the door. Lori held a mug of tea in her hands – Larry had made it for her – and while she’d drunk very little of it, she found the mug’s warmth comforting. She turned her head toward the door, but before she could start to get up, Larry gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then rose from the couch and headed to the door.
Larry was tall and thin, with a stubbly beard and thick black hair that was always in need of a trim. He wore T-shirts, jeans, and sandals, regardless of the weather, and tonight his shirt was black with the iconic red Rolling Stones lips on the front. His battered guitar case was propped up in the corner next to the couch, where he usually kept it. He tended to practice when she was at work, and it had been a long time since she’d heard him play. She was surprised by how sad this realization made her feel.
Larry unlocked and opened the door to reveal a pair of uniformed police officers, one man, one woman. The man spoke first.
“We got a call that someone broke into your apartment.”
Both officers looked Larry up and down, and the woman wrinkled her nose. After a night of performing, Larry always smelled like sweat, alcohol, cigarette smoke, and marijuana. Not exactly the best first impression to make on a couple of cops.
“Yeah,” Larry said.
He opened the door all the way and stepped aside so the officers could enter. They did so, immediately noting Lori’s presence, as well as sweeping their gazes around the apartment to take everything in. Once the officers were all the way inside, Larry closed the door. He didn’t lock it again, though.
The male officer looked to be in his thirties. He was stout, broad-shouldered, and his head was shaved. His facial features were unremarkable, his expression emotionless, almost bored. The female officer was about a decade older than her partner, as well as a few inches taller, and she possessed a runner’s build – lean and strong. Her brown hair was straight and cut short, and she wore minimal makeup and no jewelry.
“I’m Officer Rauch,” the man said. He nodded toward his partner. “And this is Officer McGuire.”
Lori and Larry gave the officers their names. McGuire took a notebook from her shirt pocket and wrote down the information.
“Which of you called to report the incident?” she asked.
“I did,” Lori said. She didn’t rise from the couch. She felt weary, although less so than she had earlier. But that wasn’t the reason she didn’t get up. She still wore only her oversized T-shirt and panties, and she’d pulled the shirt over her bare legs as far as she could to cover them. She felt uncomfortable at the idea of Officer Rauch staring at her legs, and he was bound to notice she was braless if she started moving around. Maybe she was being foolishly modest, but she didn’t care.
“As calm as you both seem to be, I take it that the intruder is no longer on the premises?” McGuire asked.
“I don’t think so,” Lori said.
“I got home right after she called,” Larry said. “I didn’t see anyone.”
McGuire nodded. “Okay. It doesn’t hurt to be thorough, though.” She looked at her partner. “Ralph?”
“On it.”
Officer Rauch gave the living room another once over before heading for the small kitchen. Larry looked at Lori and mouthed, Ralph Rauch? She knew what he was thinking. It sounded more like the name of a cartoon character than a police officer. She smiled briefly at the thought.
As Rauch headed for the kitchen, McGuire said, “Lori, tell me what happened here tonight.”
Lori nodded and began talking. Larry stood off to the side, listening, brow furrowed. She’d already told him a short version of what had occurred, but this was his first time hearing the details. Not that Lori provided all of them. She knew if she told the officers everything that had happened, they’d write her off as a kook, or worse, haul her in for a psych eval. She told McGuire about hearing the thumps, but she omitted any descriptions of the shadow creatures, and instead spoke of ‘someone’ who’d been in the living room when she’d left her bedroom to check if Larry had come home yet. As for the rest of her story, she told a modified version of the truth. The ‘intruder’ had chased her to her bedroom and broke through the locked door. She’d then hid inside the master bathroom, and the intruder had tried to break through that door as well. The next thing she knew, Larry was knocking on the door and asking if she was all right.
As she told the edited version of her story, Officer Rauch headed down the hall and into her bedroom, continuing his search of the apartment. She was uncomfortable with the idea of a strange man inspecting her bedroom and bathroom, but she knew he was only doing his job. Still, it was in its own way as creepy as the shadow things that had come after her.
&
nbsp; Officer McGuire made notes on a pad as Lori spoke, stopping her a couple times to clarify some points. When Lori was finished, Rauch returned to the living room.
“The bedroom door was forced open,” he said. “Caused some slight damage. I’m going to look at the patio door, see if there are any signs it was forced open too. Then I’ll check the deck and take the stairs down to the ground, see if I can find anything.”
McGuire nodded, and Rauch walked toward the open patio door. As he passed the couch, Lori noticed two things about him. One was that there was a trio of lines on the side of his neck. At first she thought they were wrinkles of some sort, although the man seemed too young for that. But when he drew in a breath, the lines parted, and she realized they were openings in his flesh, like a fish’s gills. They closed once more when he exhaled. The second thing she noticed was that the nail on the pinky finger of his left hand had been painted red.
She’d taken Fiorinal while she and Larry had waited for the police to arrive, but now she felt a sharp, stabbing pain between her eyes. She began trembling, shaking so hard that tea sloshed over the side of her mug. She tried to put the mug down on the coffee table, but her hand was shaking so badly that Larry rushed forward to help her. He gently removed the mug from her hand and placed it on the glass surface of the table. A small pool of spilled tea gathered around the base of the mug, almost as if it were leaking. Or bleeding, she thought.
She watched Rauch push the vertical blinds aside with the back of his hand, probably to avoid leaving fingerprints. He examined the lock on the patio door for a moment, and then stepped out onto the deck. When he released the blinds, they swayed back and forth, clacking softly against one another. She heard the heavy tread of his boots on the wooden deck, followed by the sound of him going down the stairs.
