Something Warm

by Nicholas Blakeman

eyes. The image of my wife was blurred greatly as I tried to see through the bubbles and shower curtain. I rubbed my eyes losing the smile I had gained and tried once again to make out the unclothed figure of my wife. All I saw was a flutter of movement, then she was gone. A girlish giggle reached my ears from the hall as she ran back to the room.

  “What a tease,” I gurgled past rushing water as I rinsed the shampoo from my hair and eyes. I decided since she was obviously ready, so was I. A half shower was better than no shower anyways. I shut off the water and pushed the curtain to one side.

  I looked at the entrance to the bathroom, wishing she was still there. Although not still dripping from her, there was a small puddle of water near the doorway. She didn’t even dry herself, I thought, I must have really got the message across at dinner.

  I grabbed a nearby towel and quickly dried my face and hair. I stepped out of the shower and left the bathroom still unclothed.

  I’ll show her I can’t wait either…

  I paused at the door. Leaning against the wall, I admired my wife. She stood before me. Her modesty was cast aside as she stood with one hand against the bedroom’s window frame, arching her back pushing her breasts into the moonlight, her round bottom pushed out the other way, and letting her other arm hang loosely behind her. The gentle shimmering of the night acting as the sole drapery covering her ripe body. She had her hip out and one knee slightly bent. She should have been a model, I thought.

  What was she looking at…

  Before I could approach her, a terrifying reality blossomed to the forefront of my mind—other than her hair color, Margret shone a striking resemblance to the tied up girl on the front of the magazine.

  What are the chances…

  I walked forward silently and wrapped my arms around her, she felt dry. Had she toweled off right before I arrived? What about the puddle on the floor… I pushed the thoughts away and began kissing her soft neck.

  “What’s so funny?” She asked.

  I stopped the kissing and turned my face to her’s with confusion, “what are you talking about?”

  “You laughed in the hallway right before I heard you come in and sit on the bed,” she fell quiet and rotated to face me fully. “Why are you all wet—“

  I cut her off with a ginger, moist kiss. She responded by pushing her full front against me. Kissing and grabbing, we made our way to the bed.

  The love making was passionate but not so long lived. And as it had ended, my wife, apparently overcome with fatigue and genuine motherly tiredness, promptly fell asleep. I laid on my back, under the covers, still breathing heavy. I felt the fuzziness of sight from fatigue making its way over me as well. I rubbed my eyes and tried to relax. Something felt amiss. Wrong. Unwelcomed.

  My thoughts centered around the image of the girl on the cover of the magazine. Something was there, something in my brain, something shouting for attention. The only sound filling my ears though was the continuous tapping of the rain on the roof. It was the white noise of the house. It was hypnotizing. My eyes reluctantly shut. The ping-ping-ping of the rain trailing off, growing soft and more distant sounding. My senses slowly started turning off. The rain was the only thing now. Just the ping-ping-ping. I could feel sleep starting to wash over my body, everything growing warm and numb. The rain, the ping-ping-ping. Then, abruptly and just off the rhythm of the water on the roof, a light tap-tap-tap. Not rain, but fingers. Fingers on glass. Glass of a window.

  I fell asleep.

  ________

  I awoke with a start, sitting halfway up in bed. There was something that was rubbing my foot. My skin grew cold and I was instantly covered in goosebumps. I threw the sheets on my side of the bed off of me quickly. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Frozen in terror like I was a child again, I stared down at my feet and legs as the image became clear.

  My wife’s foot slid away from my ankle and she turned in bed, her back now facing me. Good thing she didn’t wake up, I thought as my body relaxed tension gone, she would of laughed at me and… My thoughts were muted as my eyes fixated on a strange arrangement of colored lights dancing on the bedroom walls.

  Suddenly the lights cut out causing the room to fall again into utter blackness. My eyes struggled to adjust once more. There was a faint sound near the door and the bright rainbow was thrown onto the walls again. I cocked my head to one side and turned hesitantly to the source.

  My daughter’s body was illuminated by pulsating colors for a second from her shoes. As the lights ceased and the night stole back its blind solitude, I could only make out her form.

  “Sweetheart, is everything alright?”

  Silence and a faceless stare was the only response.

  “Why are your shoes on, Jamie?” I swung my legs off the edge of the bed, glad I had put on a pair of boxers directly after sex and before climbing back into bed for the night. As I begun to stand, the silhouette of the child stepped backwards out of the room.

  “It’s ok Jamie, let me tuck you in again,” I said trying to sound comforting against the child’s imagined monsters. I slid off the bed fully and stood erect.

  “…daddy…” She whispered before darting out of sight down the hall, lights off her shoes fading quickly as she turned a corner.

  Poor girl…

  I took a step forward but repulsively lurched back as a massive dark form fluttered past the door, its footsteps sounding heavily on the wood floor. A girlish giggle was quick to echo to the bedroom behind it.

  …dear god…

  I sprinted to the entrance and thrust my head into the hall trying to glimpse who it was. But only pure black stiffness greeted me. I smacked at the light switch next to the door in the hall. The lights flipped on but still nothing, no sound, no people.

  Where is my baby? Who was that?

  Complete fear wrenched at my entrails. I needed to vomit. I needed to find my girl. I swallowed hard and tried to move quickly down the hall. As I moved though I could feel the horror in my steps. Each one bringing me closer to the girlish giggle I had heard.

  I rounded the corner trying to hide the fear deep inside me, the fear that hindered each step. I spotted the lights spouting from the bathroom immediately, the color nearly dripping off the walls. I ran to the door, shoved my hand into the rainbow lit room and hit the switch—no one.

  My eyes searched quickly, but nothing. I jerked my head up in a panic and saw the shower curtain—clear. Blurred by the plastic, I saw my daughter’s outline and a large man behind her, his hands on her shoulders. I felt frozen. My body went cold again and all the hair on it stood up.

  Breaking free from the ice-like state, I lunged forward and ripped the shower curtain aside. The shower was empty. The forms of Jamie and the menacing man had vanished as soon as the curtain had flown open. I felt dizzy and disgusted with my imagination.

  My vision narrowed and my stomach finally churned and erupted from the adrenaline and cold horror mixture from earlier. I barely had enough time to frantically lift the toilet cover before hurling my wife’s lovely dinner into the bowl. After a few eye watering internal spasms and subsequent cold splashes of toilet water, I regained my footing and stood.

  I leaned against the wall opposite my intestinal art work, breathing shallow. A minute or so went by, the night offering stillness and me offering low, vomit stifled breaths. I leaned down onto one knee and grasped the toilet’s handle. I pulled it down and the half-digested food began to swirl. However, something felt off again.

  I peered closer to the downward spinning mess. Is that a— A hand lurched out of the chum, spraying bits of food and filth-water onto my face. I withdrew, the terror of the night returning, as it awkwardly pushed itself free up to its elbow. Its flesh was milky white and speckled with bits of mush. It gripped my entire face in its palm—it was cold and wet and tipped with long yellow nails. It muscled my head into the twirling vomit, smashing my forehead and chin into the bottom of the bowl. Red lights sparkled inside my head.

 
________

  My eyes flew open widely, I saw only ceiling. I could feel the covers around me—I was still in bed. Only a dream? I asked myself. But it had seemed so real. The sheets were chillier around me than normal. I must have sweated heavily during the nightmare. Letting my head drop to the left and right, I surveyed the room. It was mostly dark, besides the elongated, rectangular light from the hall cast through the open door. The light extended across the end of the bed, reaching to my wife’s edge and dropping off out of sight. My wife still faced away from me. However, she was now completely underneath the sheets with her two pillows on her head in what seemed like an attempt to drain out the forgotten rain.

  The rain ever pinging on the roof and windows, causing the entire house to cool gradually. It was nice to hear a white noise so undisturbed. It helped me relax, forgetting the dream and focusing once more on the rain. It was slightly comforting, soothing the mind. It was washing the filth from my thoughts, cleansing not simply the house we were in, but its occupants.

  The warmth of rest began to embrace me as I laid my head back onto my pillow. I started the process of letting go of worries and stresses and accepting the blackness around me as a stillness given by slumber.

  Then my eye lids opened again suddenly, why is the hall light on? I flicked my eyes to the doorway, had Jamie actually come to my door? And had I just added her to my dream