Night Terrors

by Mark Lukens

  Oh God, did I kill him?

  She kept the gun pointed down at him, her hand shaking, her index finger on the trigger. She was ready to pull the trigger; she wanted to pull the trigger. He had killed her parents. He had tried to kill her. And he killed so many others.

  But she couldn’t do it.

  She ran down the side of the house to the front. She climbed up onto the front porch and hurried up to the door. She tried the door handle – it was unlocked. She pushed her way in through the door, not worrying about making too much noise now.

  She hoped to God that Steve was still alive.

  “Steve!” she called out.

  She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, listening for any sounds as her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the house. Something felt wrong here. She could feel the first tentacles of the dark evil reaching out for her and caressing her skin.

  Something’s not right about all of this.

  But she had to find Steve. It was her fault he was here.

  If he’s still alive.

  Tara ventured deeper into the front room of the house, which looked like it used to be the living room. There were piles of junk against the far wall of the house where it looked like there might be a fireplace hidden beneath the trash. The floor was made of wood, but it looked splintered and warped in some places. She would have to watch her step.

  She saw the remnants of a dining room and kitchen off of the living room. The appliances were all gone, just dark stains on the linoleum floor marking where they used to be. Cabinet doors barely hung by their loose hinges. She made her way through the darkness to an archway that opened up to a wide hallway with closed doors on each side and a closed door at the far end.

  “Steve,” she hissed in the darkness, gripping the gun tightly, her finger still on the trigger. She knew that holding the gun should make her feel safe, but it didn’t. The feeling of fear and dread was getting stronger; it was like a tingling feeling on her skin and a buzzing in the back of her mind. She kept glancing behind her, expecting Woods to rush at her through the darkness.

  She heard a moan from the first room down the hall on her left. A moan like someone was crying out into tape.

  Tara hurried down the hall and entered the first room on the left. And she immediately recognized the room from the photograph – it was exactly the same. Steve sat in the wooden chair at the other end of the room, his hands behind him and the back of the chair, the strips of gray tape plastered across his mouth, his eyes wild with fear and panic. She even saw the camera on a tripod a few steps away from the door, the same camera used to take the photo of him.

  “Steve,” she whispered and she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re alive.”

  Steve struggled in the chair, kicking his feet, nearly toppling the chair over. He screamed something unintelligible into the tape, his lips trying to move underneath the strips of tape, trying to form words. His eyes were wild as he gestured with his head, like he was trying to point with it at the doorway behind her!

  Tara felt the unmistakable tidal wave of fear rise up behind her and she spun around to face the doorway which was just a black rectangle now. She aimed her gun at the darkness, her hands trembling. She waited for Woods to enter the doorway and try to finish the job he’d started. But she had a surprise for him.

  This time she wouldn’t hesitate. This time she would pull the trigger and kill him. She would end all of this.

  Behind Tara, Steve stood up without a sound – his hands had never been tied. He gently peeled the strips of tape away from his mouth as he crept towards her with a smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  1.

  Tara aimed Woods’ gun at the doorway, waiting for him to pop out of the darkness of the hallway at her, running at her, screaming like a madman. Maybe he would even have the blood-stained shovel with him. But she still had her finger on the trigger; she would be ready for him.

  But something seemed wrong here.

  She could feel someone right behind her in the room, a sudden dark and suffocating presence. She noticed a little too late that the sound of Steve’s struggling and moaning into the duct tape had ceased. The room was quiet. The whole house was quiet. She could feel breath on the back of her neck.

  “Hello, little sister,” Steve whispered from right behind her.

  Tara whirled around with the gun in her hands, but Steve was ready for her. He chopped a knife-edged fist down onto her wrists and for a moment her hands went weak and numb and the gun slipped from her fingers.

  Before she could react, Steve grabbed her by the throat and threw her against the wall, knocking the camera and tripod down in the process. She hit the wall so hard the breath was forced from her lungs. The back of her head had slammed against the wall and she saw motes of bright dots floating in front of her half-closed eyes.

  “I knew you’d find me, Tara,” he whispered into her face, his breath foul and sour, his eyes wide with insanity. “I knew you were finally ready.”

  Tara struggled in his iron grip, but she couldn’t get away. He threw her across the room into the wooden chair that he’d been “tied” to. She tried to catch herself, but she had been flung too fast and she felt the sharp wooden edges of the chair crack into her ribs and one of her shins. The pain was instantaneous, and she couldn’t help crying out.

  She collapsed down onto the wood floor with the chair clattering around somewhere near her. She could only lay there for a moment and stare up at the ceiling, trying to slow all of this down; everything was happening too fast.

  Tara had sparred with people before during her self-defense and karate classes, even men twice her size. But nothing had prepared her for the insane strength this man possessed, the quickness and agility of his movements, the precise delivery of his punches.

  It was like he knew what she was going to do before she even did it.

  And now she could feel that blanket of darkness all around her, pressing in on her, just like it had in her night terrors all these years, it was the fear that had driven her out of her bed in the middle of the night to run for safety, anywhere away from this dark presence.

  But she couldn’t run now. All the years of trying to be ready for the inevitable meeting with this darkness hadn’t prepared her for him.

  She heard his boots stomp across the floorboards, coming right for her. She felt his hands grab her, his fingers clutching at her hair, holding her tight. She tried to jerk her head away, but his hand gripped her hair too tightly, intertwined in it.

  “Thanks for taking care of Woods for me,” Steve whispered at her, and his voice sounded pleasant, almost conversational. “He’s been a pain in my ass for quite some time. Did you like the shovel I left for you?”

  Tara tried to drive a knee into Steve (he wasn’t Steve – he was Jeremy), but he turned to the side as her blow glanced off of his hip, already prepared for her attack.

  “You still don’t understand how powerful I am, do you?” he told her through clenched teeth. He jerked her head with the handful of hair he still held, and she felt a sharp pain knife through the side of her neck.

  “But I need more power,” he told her as he jerked her head again. She was afraid he was going to break her neck – it was all she could do to hold her neck muscles rigid to fight his violent twists. “I’ve been devouring souls, taking their power, getting stronger. All for you.”

  A thought pierced Tara’s mind – the pepper spray! Did she still have it? Hadn’t she stuffed it back down into her pocket after she’d sprayed Woods with it?

  She patted her front pants pocket frantically with her fingers and felt the bulge of the small can in there. She slipped her hand down into her pocket and pulled out the tiny canister, her thumb already on the little lever, ready to spray it into this monster’s eyes.

  But as she raised it towards him, he slapped it out of her hand easily and it flew across the empty room and landed on the floor.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he told her. “You’re
not going to die. You’re going to live forever inside of me.”

  He wrapped an arm around her throat, nearly cutting off her breathing and his other hand was still tangled in her hair. He dragged her out of the room easily even though she thrashed and kicked.

  2.

  Woods lay in the dirt and grass near the house. Blood leaked out of the wound in his forehead, soaking into the ground.

  He didn’t move as the sounds of struggle from inside the house invaded the night air. The sun was almost below the horizon now, blazing out with pinks and blues. And on the other horizon a full moon was already in the night sky, shining down on the horrors about to happen with a bright, blank face.

  3.

  Jeremy dragged Tara down the hall to what used to be the large master bedroom. The bedroom was empty except for one wooden table in the middle of the room. Groups of different colored candles were collected in the corners in glass jars waiting to be lit. Strange symbols were painted on the walls around the room and a pentagram was painted in the middle of the table in dark red paint.

  Or was it blood?

  As Tara was dragged inside the room she saw a dark shape right next to the doorway and it took her mind a moment to understand what she was seeing. It looked like a man, but it took her foggy mind a few seconds to understand that the man was hung upside down, his feet tied together and attached to the metal ring in the ceiling.

  She recognized the layers of the man’s clothing that hung down around him; she recognized the scraggly hair and beard. It was the Reverend, only he no longer had his wooden cross – that was tucked away in Woods’ car. The Reverend’s throat had been slashed and there was a pool of dark blood at the bottom of his head soaking into the floorboards.

  “Our witness to the ritual,” Jeremy said with glee as he slammed Tara down onto the table like she was a straw doll.

  She landed on the table top with a thump, and again her breath was driven from her body for a moment. She tried to inhale, but it didn’t seem like her lungs wanted to work. She heard her own breath wheezing as her lungs burned.

  Before she even realized what Jeremy was doing, he had her right wrist tied to the table with a rope. She tried to fight back as he tied her other wrist, but he crushed a hammer fist down onto her forehead and she nearly blacked out.

  Maybe it would be better to black out.

  Tara pulled against the ropes, but they were tied to the legs of the table, her arms stretched out painfully. She lifted her head up a little, and through her blurry vision she saw Jeremy move down to the end of the table and start to tie her right ankle down to the table.

  He watched her, smiling.

  How had she not known it was him the whole time? How had he blocked her? Was he that powerful?

  He grabbed her ankle and pulled her leg down so hard she thought he might have popped her hip out of its socket. He tied the rope around her ankle, the rope biting into her skin.

  “I need to get the rest of the ingredients for the ritual out of my truck,” he told her. “Powerful ingredients for the ritual. Virgin blood mixed with the ashes of the beloved dead. My ceremonial mask. Oh wait until you see it, Tara. It’s taken me years to perfect.”

  But then he stopped and smiled like a thought had just occurred to him.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’ve already seen my mask, haven’t you? In your dream.”

  He tied her other ankle to the table, her body stretched out spread-eagle, her tendons and muscles burning with pain.

  “You’ve only seen what I’ve wanted you to see.”

  He stood beside the table and stared down at her in the semi-darkness, nearly a shadow himself hovering next to her.

  “The moon is full and now we can begin the ritual. We’ll have all night.” He looked at the wall on the other side of the doorway like he was considering something. “Maybe we could use another witness.”

  4.

  Woods got to his feet. His legs were so shaky and his mind was swimming on the edge of consciousness. His eyes burned and it was painful to even open them all the way.

  What happened?

  But then the memories came back to him in a flash as painful as his stinging eyes.

  Tara had sprayed him with pepper spray – maybe the same pepper spray he had given her. And then she’d hit him with something. He saw the shovel on the ground in his blurry vision. She’d hit him with a shovel.

  He brought a tentative hand up to his forehead and felt the warm blood. Even though it hurt, he touched the wound on the side of his forehead that ran into his hair. The skin was split and bleeding. It probably needed stitches, but it wasn’t life-threatening. He moved his hand down and felt the blood soaked on the side of his neck and the shoulder of his suit jacket.

  Why had she attacked him? He tried to remember what she’d said. “You should know, you son of a bitch.” And then she’d sprayed him with the pepper spray and he went blind. And then he heard a whoosh of air, felt an explosion of pain, and then he was out.

  For some reason she thought he was the killer. She’d found something out. Maybe her friend had said something to her on the phone. She had seemed different after that phone call.

  Jeremy. He had set this up. But how? Had Jeremy somehow made Tara believe that he had something to do with all of this? Was that why she had attacked him?

  Woods didn’t have time to worry about any of that. Right now he needed to get to Tara and Steve before it was too late – the killer had to be in the house with them at this moment.

  But Steve was probably long dead. He’d only been the bait to get them here. Jeremy must have been the Reverend all along, pretending to be a homeless person so he could get close to Tara. Woods could see it all now.

  He took a step towards the house and nearly dropped back down to his knees. He was so weak and shaky. Was it from blood loss? Or maybe a slight brain injury.

  But he had to fight it.

  His gun? He patted his suit coat, but it wasn’t in the shoulder holster. He had been holding it, he remembered. He must’ve dropped it. He glanced around at the ground with his watering eyes, but he didn’t see it anywhere.

  Tara must’ve grabbed it.

  He heard the sounds of struggle from inside the house. A crashing blow like someone had been body-slammed down onto a floor or a table.

  Maybe Tara was still alive. Maybe he had a chance.

  He rubbed his eyes again and nearly groaned with pain. He knew the stinging from the pepper spray would subside a little in a few minutes, but it would take hours for his eyes to completely recover. But he didn’t have hours. He might not even have minutes.

  Woods wiped his eyes one more time as he turned the corner of the house to the front porch. He crept up the few wooden steps and made his way to the front door that looked like a yawning black mouth inviting him inside the belly of a giant monster.

  He entered and stood just inside the wrecked living room for a moment, letting his watering eyes adjust as best as they could to the darker interior. But at least the light of the full moon shined in through the windows which had no curtains or drapes blocking them, and that helped him see a little better.

  A thump crashed from somewhere in the house. And then Woods thought he heard someone talking. It was a man’s voice. The killer. Jeremy.

  Woods hurried through the living room, passing the stacks of old junk and trash against the wall. He thought of looking for a weapon, but he wasn’t sure if he had time.

  He came to the first doorway to a nearly empty room. But it was a room he recognized – he saw the overturned camera and tripod, and he saw the wood chair that Steve had been tied to in the photo – it was tipped over on its side near a corner.

  Steve wasn’t in the room. He was probably already dead.

  Something on the floor caught his attention, a dark object near the baseboard on the wall. He had almost missed it.

  It was his gun.

  He bent down and scooped it up while another wave of dizziness
threatened to topple him. Tara had taken his gun, and now it was here on the floor. She must have been attacked, the gun knocked away from her. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach now. Was he too late?

  He stood up and wiped at his eyes again. The pain was subsiding just a little, but his eyes wouldn’t stop watering and it was hard to see through his blurry vision.

  “Agent Woods?”

  Woods heard the sound of Steve’s voice.

  “Steve?” he said. “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah, Tara got in here and untied me, but that crazy bastard’s got her now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  1.

  Thank God Steve was okay, Woods thought. He held his gun in one hand, and wiped at his eyes with the other one, trying to see Steve in the darkness.

  “Where are they?” Woods asked.

  “They’re in the last room at the end of the hall.” Steve’s voice choked up a little. “He came out of nowhere and grabbed Tara. I didn’t know what to do. I should of …”

  It sounded like Steve was going to cry.

  “It’s okay,” Woods said. “I’ll get him.”

  “Are you going to call for backup?” Steve asked with hope in his voice.

  “They’re on their way,” Woods lied. “I want you to go back outside and wait for me there.”

  2.

  Tara writhed on the wood table in the master bedroom. She pulled as hard as she could on the ropes but they were tied too tight and the rope was too strong; the more she struggled, the more the ropes bit into the flesh of her wrists and ankles. She glanced over at the dark figure hanging upside down against the wall beside the doorway – the man was just a black mass in the darkness now, and thankfully she couldn’t make out much detail anymore.

  She looked around the room at some of the strange symbols painted on the walls. Were they demonic symbols or were they symbols her crazy half-brother had made up himself? Who knew?