Dark Little Wonders and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  “Man, you have to run!” the cop hissed, grabbing Colin's arm and hauling him up.

  “Do you see her?” Colin stammered, turning and looking back toward Monica. Sure enough, she was still making her way along the street.

  “M'am!” the cop yelled, letting go of Colin and stepping toward Monica. “Are you hurt? You can't stop here, you have to keep moving!”

  “Can you see her?” Colin whispered, before reminding himself that the cop, like Monica and like all the carnage, was still just part of his reality busting fantasy. The whole world, in fact, with its smoke-filled burning sky, existed entirely in his head while he was sitting on a bench in the plaza, and finally he took a step back as he watched the cop hurrying straight past Monica and rushing to the aid of another woman, just a few meters further back.

  And still Monica kept walking, with her eyes fixed on Colin.

  “This is my fantasy,” he stammered, stepping back as a sense of panic filled his chest. “This is my escape from...”

  His voice trailed off as she got closer. He could see the glistening wound on the side of her head now, and for a moment he replayed the moment when she'd hit the shelf and fallen limp in his hands.

  “Get out of here,” he sneered, trying to hold his ground but finally taking some more steps back. “You can't be here! You're in...”

  Suddenly he saw the stationary closet being opened, and he imagined Bob from the accounting department stepping inside to find some paperclips. He saw Bob's blank, expressionless face scanning the shelves, and then he saw a faint glimmer of shock on Bob's face. That hint of shock grew and grew, until Bob turned and stumbled out of the closet, shouting for help. Down on the floor, Monica's body was still bleeding from the wound on her head.

  “That's what's happening,” Colin said out loud, his voice trembling with fear as Monica continued to advance. “That's the real world, not this. This is just...”

  Another fire engine raced past with its sirens blaring.

  “This is all in my head,” Colin whimpered, stopping finally and staring into Monica's dead eyes. “What do you want?” he screamed. “Do you want me to wake up? Is that it? Do you want me to wake up and face the truth about what I did to you? It was an accident, you stupid bitch! No! I didn't mean that! I didn't mean to...”

  She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he pulled back.

  “I didn't mean that,” he continued, stumbling away so that she wouldn't be able to try again. “Don't be angry, please don't get -”

  He watched as she stepped closer.

  “You're not real,” he stammered. “Why am I apologizing to you? You're just a figment of my imagination, you're part of this fantasy world I've retreated into. I can... I can make you go away.”

  He took a few more steps back, before stopping and taking a deep breath.

  “I will make you go away,” he continued as she stepped toward him through the swirling dust. “I'll cast you out of my fantasy. I might have to deal with reality when I wake up, but while I'm in this dreamworld, I'm damn well not going to let my mind take control like this.”

  He squeezed his eyes tight shut, as more sirens and screams filled the air nearby.

  “You're not here,” he said firmly, focusing on the effort to make her disappear. “You're an unwelcome part of my fantasy, and I refuse to accept you.”

  He waited, convinced that she'd already be gone, but still he didn't open his eyes.

  “You're an expression of my guilt,” he continued, struggling to keep from trembling. “You're a symbol of my subconscious mind intruding into my thoughts, trying to make me face the horror of what I did. You're a fragment of a fiction, and I refuse to -”

  Suddenly he felt her hand on his shoulder.

  “No!” he shouted, opening his eyes and stepping back.

  “You killed me,” she whispered, her face caked in dust and blood as more dust swirled behind her. Slowly, she tilted her head so he could better see the gash on her forehead. “You murdered me to shut me up.”

  “No!” he sneered, taking another step away.

  “And you think you're going to get away with it,” she continued, taking a limping step closer, “just because your crime has been covered up, just because the evidence is gone.”

  “You're lying!” he yelled, recoiling as she tried once more to touch his arm. “You're not here! Get out of my dream!”

  “You don't get to walk away from this,” she sneered, as thick, syrupy blood began to dribble from one corner of her mouth. “I'm going to -”

  “No!” Colin screamed, turning and running along the street, desperate to get away.

  Five

  “Please write your name and address on the form that's being handed around,” the cop said as he made his way along the sidewalk, stepping around the shattered and shell-shocked figures that sat cross-legged with blankets over their shoulders. “We're going to try to get folks home as soon as we can.”

  Sitting on the grass, Colin stared at the vast plume of smoke that was rising above the city from the spot where the towers had once stood. Some of the dust had begun to disperse, and he could finally see a hint of blue sky above.

  “Sir?”

  Feeling someone tapping his shoulder, he turned and looked up.

  “You look like you have a knock to the head, Sir,” another cop said, leaning closer to get a better view. “Have you been to the medical station yet?”

  “I'm fine,” Colin stammered.

  “I think you should get that looked at, Sir.”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Sir, you're bleeding and -”

  “It's not real,” Colin said firmly, interrupting him, “so what's the big fuss?”

  “Not real?” The cop stared at him for a moment, before patting him on the shoulder. “I'll get someone to come over and take a look at you.”

  “Don't bother,” Colin sneered as the cop wandered away. “I want to wake up now,” he continued under his breath. “I'm ready to face reality.”

  All around him, people were weeping and sobbing, although a few were shouting and yelling at one another. The scene was one of chaos, as fire trucks, police cruisers and ambulances sped past every few seconds on their way to another part of the city. Colin couldn't help looking around, watching in case there was any sign of Monica showing up again, but in truth he was certain he'd outrun her earlier and, besides, he was reasonably confident that he'd be able to force her out of his fantasy world if she showed up again.

  “I want to wake up,” he said again, trying to figure out how to go back to the bench in the plaza. He'd already tried pinching his arm several times, to the point that he'd made himself bleed, but none of that had worked. “I want to wake up. I want to wake up. I want to -”

  “Me too.”

  Turning, he saw an older man in his sixties or even early seventies, sitting cross-legged on the grass just a few feet away.

  “I keep telling myself this is a dream,” the man continued, his eyes filled with shock, “and I keep expecting to wake up. I mean...” He looked toward the distant skyline, where the towers had once stood. “This can't be happening. Not here, not today. Who would do something like this? Who would kill so many innocent people? What kind of world are we living in, that there are people filled with such hate and fury?”

  Colin stared at him for a moment. “This isn't real,” he said finally.

  The man turned back to him.

  “It's all in my head,” Colin explained. “Even you. I'm trying to avoid facing something, so my mind has constructed this elaborate fantasy. The truth is, the towers are still standing, and it's still only around 9am, and when I wake up either they'll already have found Monica, or I'll have to walk back in there and...”

  His voice trailed off for a moment.

  “And I'll...”

  For a few seconds, he imagined himself opening the door to the closet and leading his line manager inside, to show him the corpse on the floor.

  Closing
his eyes, he felt as if he was close to tears.

  “I wouldn't mind if you were right,” the man said after a moment. “This nightmare -”

  “Quiet!” Colin hissed, holding up a hand to shush him. “I think I might be able to wake up.” He focused, trying to imagine himself rising through the darkness and returning to his body, and for a few seconds he actually felt as if he might be successful. Opening his eyes again, however, he found he was still sitting on the grass, and there were still shell-shocked people all around, and the skyline was still filled with smoke.

  “I get it,” the man said after a moment, putting a hand on Colin's shoulder. “I wish it wasn't real too.”

  “It's not,” Colin muttered, thinking back to the sight of the plane flashing overhead on its way toward the first tower. “It can't be.”

  “I'm afraid it can,” the man replied. “God help us all, but I think -”

  “Damn it!” Colin spluttered suddenly, as he spotted Monica limping into view on the other side of the street.

  Scrambling past the old man and getting to his feet, Colin watched for a moment as Monica began to make her way calmly and steadily through the crowd. Her gaze was fixed on him, and Colin couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been slowly but surely making her way through the city streets, still determined to reach him. There was something about the look in her eyes, something that made him think she'd never give up, and he felt a shiver as he saw how effortlessly she slipped through the crowd. No-one else seemed to have even noticed her, as if somehow she was separate from everyone else.

  “You might as well sit back down,” the old man said, nudging Colin's leg. “I don't think it's gonna be easy to get home just yet. They've closed all the transport links, so we're stuck here for now. God knows when things are going to get back to normal. If ever.”

  “Do you see her?” Colin stammered, as Monica made her way past one of the medical posts.

  “See who?” the man asked.

  “Her!” Colin hissed, pointing at Monica. “The one with blood running down her face!”

  “I see a lot of -”

  “Her!” Colin shouted, with Monica just a few meters away now. “Right there! Do you see her?”

  “I'm really not sure who -”

  “Damn it!” Turning and running, Colin almost tripped over several people as he raced across the grass. A couple of cops called out to him, telling him not to panic, but he made his way past another medical post and then glanced over his shoulder, only to see that Monica was still calmly and steadily following.

  “Easy, buddy!” a man said as Colin stumbled into him. “It's okay, I think the worst of it's over.”

  “You don't understand,” Colin spat back at him, pulling away.

  “I heard the President's gonna make an address later,” the man continued. “I'm sure they'll tell us more. Maybe we'll start to figure out what's going on. They have to know who did this by now, they just have to!”

  “Get away from me!” Colin shouted, watching as Monica continued to walk toward him. “I didn't mean to do it! The whole thing was an accident! I want to wake up now!”

  “You and me both,” the man muttered.

  Colin was already on his way, racing across the grass until he reached the next street, at which point two police officers barred his way and told him he had to wait. Not daring to stop and argue with them, Colin turned and ran along the sidewalk, heading toward the next street. All he knew was that he had to keep moving, and that he couldn't afford to stop for more than a few minutes, not while Monica was still trying to reach him. He figured he just had to keep moving until he finally woke up from the nightmare.

  And that had to happen soon. Any minute now.

  Six

  One year later

  The porch door creaked open, and Colin looked up from his book just in time to see Mary stepping out with a smile on her face.

  “Hey there,” she said, heading over and leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “Are you sure you don't want to come to the show with us? I'm sure we could find another ticket if you -”

  “I'm fine,” he replied, taking her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “You have fun, though. I'd just be out of place.”

  Hearing footsteps nearby, he turned to see his wife's friend Joanna making her way up the steps to join them.

  “Can't persuade him, huh?” Joanna asked.

  “Nope,” Mary replied with a hint of sadness, keeping her eyes fixed on Colin. “I can't remember the last time my husband consented to spend an evening out with me.” She paused for a moment. “Colin, won't you change your mind? I think it might actually do you some good to attend a service to mark the first anniversary of... Well, of what happened back in New York. I don't want to push you, but at some point -”

  “I'm fine,” he replied, interrupting her. “Really.”

  She sighed. “Maybe we should have gone back to New York for a visit, like I suggested. It might have been healthy for you to have -”

  “I'm good just staying home tonight,” he told her, trying to seem calm and collected despite the sense of fear in his gut. “I get that you want to be in town and hear lots of little speeches about it all, but I'd much rather be here with my thoughts. And a good book.”

  “Maybe next year, then?”

  “Sure,” he replied, even though he knew there was zero chance. “Maybe next year.”

  “We should go if we don't want to miss the start,” Joanna suggested. “The school choir's going to open the service, and Molly's part of that so...”

  “We'll be home around eleven,” Mary said, giving Colin another peck on the cheek before heading over and following Joanna down the steps. Glancing back, she blew him a kiss before making her way toward the sidewalk.

  “Have fun,” Colin muttered under his breath, before sitting quietly and waiting until his wife's car had disappeared around the corner, heading off into the dark evening.

  Sighing, he leaned back and looked up at the stars. It was on nights such as this that he found himself reflecting upon the past year, and wondering exactly when – if ever – he was going to wake up from the vivid fantasy that had exploded into his mind on that bright September morning. A whole year seemed to have passed, although he had no idea how long he'd actually been caught in the dream. He figured that when he finally woke, he might find it had been just a few hours, or maybe even minutes.

  And he was ready to wake up. Truly, he just wanted to get back to the real world and face the consequences of his actions. He knew someone would quickly find Monica's body in the closet, and that it wouldn't take long for them to identify him as the killer. He also knew that running would be a lost cause, that he could never hope to go on the lam and try to build a new identity. In the real world, he'd have to face the consequences of his actions, and that would include facing the real Mary and admitting he'd not only killed Monica, but slept with her too.

  Grabbing his beer and taking a sip, he got to his feet and wandered along the porch. For now, he figured all he could do was wait until the schism in his mind healed and he woke from the fantasy. Stopping, he looked down the steps toward the front yard.

  A pair of dark eyes stared back at him.

  Still holding his beer, he watched as Monica made her way through the shadows, limping along the path until she reached the bottom of the steps.

  “I figured you might show up eventually,” Colin said, fighting the urge to run. “The first anniversary just seems more... poetic, somehow.”

  She tilted her head slightly, like a dog. Blood had dried on one side of her face, running all the way down her neck and onto the shirt she'd been wearing that morning at the office.

  “Is it time to wake up?” Colin asked, before taking a long, slow gulp from his glass. Letting out a brief burp, he felt a shudder pass through his chest. “How much time has passed? In the real world, I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” she whispered, her voice sounding cracked and dry. “In the real world?�
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  “Away from this,” he continued, waving his right hand to indicate the garden. “Away from this fantasy world, the world in which I insisted on selling the apartment in New York and buying this place a whole state away. I know it's not real. I've been waiting for it to vanish in a puff of smoke, but for some reason I just can't wake up. Is it guilt? Have I completely lost my mind?”

  Monica paused, before starting to make her way up the steps.

  “This is the real world, Colin,” she told him.

  He laughed.

  “What exactly do you think is going to happen?” she asked.

  “I'm going to wake up from the nightmare,” he replied, still forcing himself to hold his ground as she approached. “I figure I'll most likely still be on that bench, a little before 9am on September 11th, 2001, and I'll have to go back into the building and up to the office, and face the music.” He took a deep breath. “Or I'll wake up a while later, and maybe I'll be in a psychiatric hospital somewhere. I mean, a whole year has passed here in this fantasy world, so it's kinda hard to tell what's really been going on out there.”

  “You think this isn't real?”

  “I know it isn't.”

  Reaching the top of the steps, she stood face-to-face with him, just a few inches away. Her dead eyes stared at him, and in return he watched her with barely contained fear.

  “I came to show you something,” she said after a moment. “I came to show you that you're not going to get away with what you did to me.”

  “I know that,” he replied, nodding before taking another sip of beer. “I know that when I wake up, I'm going to have to -”

  “Not when you wake up!” she hissed. “Now, Colin! You don't need to wake up!”

  “Right,” he said with a laugh. “So this all really happened? A plane conveniently flew into the building and destroyed all the evidence of what happened to you? I've really spent the past year living in Vermont, sitting on my ass while everyone goes on and on about terror attacks and the towers falling? Seriously?” He took another swig of beer, this time making sure to finish the glass before lowering it and burping. “Pull the other one, it's got bells on. I know a nightmare when I'm in one. None of that shit happened. I'm still sitting on that bench, on a bright and clear Tuesday morning, a few minutes after accidentally killing you in the stationary closet.”