Darren was tossing and turning in bed. For some reason he couldn't get to sleep tonight. Usually he had no problem falling asleep, his eyes would shut almost before he hit the pillow. But tonight was different and something was keeping him up.
He rolled over and stuffed a pillow between his knees for extra support. Even though the air conditioning was on, it didn't feel like it and he was burning up. He kicked off his blankets, flipped his pillow over, and crashed his head back onto it with a loud sigh.
After what felt like hours trying to force himself to go to sleep, he craned his head up and around to look at the clock. 11:13. He was sure that it was at least 3:00am and that the clock must be wrong. He crankily rolled back over to his left side and shut his eyes again. If it really was only 11:00, he could at least get some semblance of a decent night's rest.
Then, very faintly, he heard what sounded like footsteps on the stairs. He openned his eyes and perked his ears up. Suddenly, he heard the very distinctive creak that the fourth step from the top always made whenever anyone stepped on it. Like a lightning bolt, Darren lept out of bed, switched on the lights, grabbed the baseball bat he kept by his bed for such emergencies and ran to the stairs. He rounded the corner and swung the bat as soon as he reached the top of the stairs where he hit-
Nothing.
No one was there. No prowler. No burgler. No serial killer thirsty for his next victim. Nothing. Darren stood there panting for a second as his heart slowly returned to a normal beat. Searching in the darkness downstairs and seeing nothing, he steadied himself and chuckled as he realized that it was just his own imagination and fatigue playing tricks on him.
Smiling at his jumpiness and shaking his head, he walked back to his bedroom. He tried to prop the bat up against the wall, but it quickly rolled to the side and banged to the floor. Shrugging, Darren kick it up against the wall so he wouldn't trip on it and continued on to his bedroom. He turned off the lights, crawled back into bed and hoped that the sudden exertion would be enough to wear him out and finally get him to sleep.
Darren was almost asleep when he heard another sound, a light tapping noise. Very faint: Tap tap tap. Not willing to jump out of bed in a panic again, he put his head under the pillow, shut his eyes and convinced himself that it was just his imagination. The tapping got louder and louder. It sounded like someone was banging on the window downstairs.
He didn't want to get up and investigate. He wanted to go to sleep so he could get up bright and early and go to work and be productive. But the tapping wouldn't let up so he finally had to pull himself out of bed to investigate.
Sleepily, he dragged himself out of bed and picked up the pillow that he had kicked to the floor sometime earlier. He slowly stumbled down the dark hall, jarring some of the photographs on the wall along the way. As he trudged along, he started to wander about what could be causing the noise. It's probably somebody's cat, he thought. Or neighbor kids trying to raise mischief. Or rain. Or maybe...
His thoughts trailed off as he stopped in the hallway and considered whether or not it could be someone trying to break into his house. His pulse started to quicken, but he calmed himself down rather quickly. I am not going to get myself worked up again. Once tonight was bad enough. Still, he found where he had dropped the baseball bat and brought it along with him.
Darren flipped on the light over the stairs, but turned it back off almost immediately. Rubbing his eyes, Darren decided that he'd be able to make it downstairs in his own house without a light just fine. His eyes were really hurting from the sudden flash of light and he stopped for a few moments to rub them some more before slowly plodding down the stairs.
At the bottom he rounded the corner off to the left and trudge towards the window. Passing the sofa, he dropped the baseball bat onto it. The tapping was quite loud now and fierce against the window. It's gotta be some damn kids out for some fun at my expense, thought. He walked up to the window and peeked through the blinds. He didn't see anything outside. The wind was whipping around the tree branches and obscuring the light from the lamppost.
Taking a step back, he paused for a moment and then quickly darted his hand forward to yank up the blinds. He was almost blinded by the flash of lightning that lept back at him through the windows. He yelped and fell backwards groping for his baseball bat. The tapping continued on his window for a few more seconds until it was temporarily drowned out by the low rumble of thunder.
Rain. I knew it. Darren shut the blinds, and wearily turned around to head back upstairs to bed.After what felt like hours, Darren was awakened out of a fitful sleep by a loud crash. Figuring that it must be more thunder, he grumbled a little to himself, shut his eyes more tightly and tried harder than ever to fall asleep.
Then there was another crash downstairs This time it sounded like glass breaking. Darren sat bolt upright in a panic and strained to hear more. No sounds came other than the now fainter tapping of the rain.
Deciding that he'd never get back to sleep until he found out what those noises were, Darren got up to investigate. He peered over at his night stand to see what time it was, but he couldn't see his clock. Figuring that he had knocked it over at some point while thrasing about, he searched for it on the floor, but didn't succeed. Finally groping around on the night stand itself, he found that the clock was just where it was supposed to be, just off.
Great, he thought. The blasted storm must have knocked out the power. Wonderful. Maybe one of these damn interruptions will wake me up in time for work since my clock sure won't be able to.The batteries in the flashlight Darren kept in his night stand were dead, and the only other flashlight he owned was in the drawer next to the sink in the kitchen. He thought to himself that he probably should have bought those candles for emergencies just like his mom had always told him to do.
Darren got out of bed and cautiously crept down the hall. He was being very careful to avoid stepping on the sections that always squeaked, and trying to step softly everywhere else. It was probably just his tired mind and imagination that was causing him to be so concerned, but just in case he decided that he'd rather have the element of surprise in apprehending a burglar.
At the top of the stairs he stopped and tried to listen to everything on the first floor. The couch squeaked. Surely someone must be sitting on it! Darren froze in fright at the thought. Why the hell would someone break into my house just to sit on my couch? he thought. I'm just being silly. Still, he was very slow and cautious peeking his head around the corner, the thought of a bullet piercing his skull always in the back of his mind.
He'd get hit right between the eyes, of course. The blood would splatter everywhere and completely ruin the linen closet's new finish that he had worked so hard on. His body would snap backward, then pitch forward and tumble down the stairs. His neck would probably snap, ensuring that he would certainly die, even if he had managed to survive such an excellent shot. Neighbors would probably find him a few days later after someone noticed his door ajar and decided to investigate. "Such a tragedy," they'd say. Or "He was such a nice young fellow." No one would ever want to buy his house after that. His mother would have a terrible time trying to sell it.
A shadow shifted slightly in the darkness downstairs. Darren wheeled back around and pressed himself as close to the wall as he could. Now he heard a loud banging noise which he was convinced was the psycho downstairs senselessly destroying his things. As his breathing returned to normal and he released his death grip on the autographed photo of Henry Winkler that he'd grabbed, he realized that the pounding sound he heard was his heart and that it was already starting to subside.
But he was positive that he saw something move downstairs. Summoning all of his courage, he took a deep breath, put the picture back on its hook, put on the fiercest look that he had, and meekly looked around the corner again.
It was completely quiet and motionless downstairs. Even the tapping of the rain had stopped. Darren scanned the darkness for a few minutes, trying to make out if anyone was hiding downstairs. He hoped that the faint light provided by the streelight would be enough to see if anything was out of place. But there was nothing there.
Slowly, he crept out from behind the wall and stood boldly at the top of the stairs as he surveyed what little he could see of his living room. If there really was someone down there with a gun, he surely would have been shot through the heart or liver or something by now.
I'm being silly. There's nothing down there. Maybe there was some hail and it broke the window. Or maybe I'd left a glass balanced on a plate in the sink and it finally tipped over. Yes, that must be it. A glass.Feeling much better now, Darren confidently strode down the stairs and into the shadows and mystery of the living room.
On the landing at the bottom of the stairs, he paused to survey his surroundings. He could just barely make out the faint outline of most of his furniture against the windows. Darren knew his apartment like the back of his hand and normally would have had no qualms just trotting about in the darkness if he had been too lazy to turn on the lights. But now, now with the prospect of some thug hiding behind the credenza or under the coffee table, he was less enthusiastic about running around.
He cautiously worked his way toward the kitchen. Naturally, he thought, a burglar would probably want to steal my television and VCR instead of my dirty dishes, so he's probably in the living room. I've gotta get that flashlight so I can find out. Feeling his way along the wall, he crept as silently as he could back into the kitchen, gasping and freezing whenever he thought he saw something move.
The short hallway to his kitchen seemed much longer tonight. Suddenly, something tripped Darren and he fell. After he hit the floor, he found he had a sharp pain in his side. His mind raced. Oh my God! I've been stabbed! He swung his arms out blindly striking the air and screaming for all he could. His punches only managed to knock some pans off the stove, which crashed on the tile with a frightful bang. He even managed to knock one of them onto his head giving him quite a jolt. He hit me with a pan! I'm done for! Help help! Darren was screaming and swinging and just praying that he'd connect with something.
After several minutes of this, now hoarse and exhausted he finally stopped screaming and swinging and just settled back against the stove to await his fate. He quietly whispered to the unknown assailant to please make it quick and then shut his eyes to wait.
Nothing happened. Darren peeked out of his right eye. The room seemed calm-no noise, no movement that he could discern, total serenity except for the hysterical man propped against the stove. He was rather confused now, since something had certainly whacked him on the head, and it sure felt like he was stabbed.
Standing up, he felt his way over to the sink and finding the second drawer from the top on the left, he opened it and rooted around inside. Something sharp poked his finger, and he reflexively yanked his hand out. There didn't seem to be any damage, though, so he continued to search for the flashlight. Something sticky got on his fingers, but under some dish rags he found the flashlight.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he flipped it on and filled up a small corner of the kitchen with the dim yellow light. The batteries in this flashlight were getting weak, but at least it still worked. He examined his finger and didn't see anything wrong. Looking in the drawer, he figured that he'd poked himself on the barbeque skewer.
Turning his attention to his side, he quickly found that he was bleeding, though not that badly. His pulse quickened as he again thought that he must have been stabbed. Feeling the wound, something hard and sharp appeared to be lodged in it. He pulled on it and it slipped out into his palm, almost slicing his hand open in the process. Under the dim light of the flashlight, it was almost invisible, but he could still tell that it was a small shard of glass. He tossed it into the sink and immediately wished that he'd used his head and thrown it into the trash instead.
One of his kitchen chairs was juttig out from the table. It must be what he tripped over when he first entered the room. On the floor where he had fallen lay what was left of one of his tall glasses. So I wasn't stabbed after all, he realized. I've got to stop letting my mind play such tricks on me. He got his dustpan out of the cabinet under the sink and swept up the shards before he could step on them. This time he did think to throw them in the trash.
The flashlight started to falter and dim some more, so he whacked the side of it until it lit up again. His wound was rather small, so he fished around for a band-aid from the box he kept near the stove, slapped it on and felt rather silly for panicking so much. He picked up the pots and pans and put them back on the stove, resolving to actually get them washed tomorrow.
The hallway from the kitchen was much friendlier with the flashlight, however weak the light was. He shone it from side to side and made sure that everything was in order. The dining room looked fine. No one had been rummaging through the silver chest or was hiding under the table. One of the pictures on the wall looked a little crooked, but that could certainly wait until morning to be taken care of.
Darren looked around the dining room from the hall and felt proud of the excellent job that he'd done decorating. Out of the corner of his eye he caught something moving in the living room. His heartrate quickened again and he instincively shut off the flashlight in the hopes of not being seen.
Darkness enveloped him again, much darker and more sinister than before since his eyes had adjusted to what little light came from the flashlight and they were having trouble reverting. No sound came from the living room.
Dammit, I know that I'm just overly tired and the light was too dim and nothing is going on here. No one is in my house. I'm being ridiculous. And even if someone were in here, I'm sure they would have seen the flashlight beam already and know that I'm here. So I'm just going to turn my light back on and actually be able to see what's going on. It's just stupid to wander around in the darkness when I could have some light.The flashlight wouldn't switch back on, though. Apparently the batteries had given all they were prepared to give and just would not turn the light back on. He whacked the flashlight a few more times, and the bulb dimly lit up just enough for him to see the glowing coil inside the light, then fade to black for good. No matter how much he switched the light on or off, no matter how much he banged on it, it just would not turn back on.
Grumbling, Darren groped his way back down the hall, trying to see but still without his vision fully adjusted. When he reached the living room, everything seemed normal. He could just make out the outline of his floor lamp by the window. The TV was reflecting a little light and still seemed to be where he left it. Everything was OK. He trudged over to the large couch, banging his shin against the coffee table along the way, and sat down on it. Annoyed that he was letting himself get so spooked, but happy that he was finally getting tired, he resolved to go to bed immediately. He tried to find where he'd tossed his baseball bat, but didn't have any luck. I could have sworn that I dropped it here. Maybe it was the other couch. Hell, maybe it rolled under the couch. Darren yawned. I'll just find it in the morning.
All of a sudden, Darren got an overwhelming feeling of dread as if someone was staring over him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his breathing increased and he generally started to panic. He sat straight up and tried to look around, but he'd moved too quickly and the blood rushed to his head and blinded him. All he could see were radient colors all around him. The sensory overload caused his brain to shut down momentarily and his hearing cut out as well.
Really panicking now that he couldn't see or hear, Darren tried to run but only managed to trip over the coffee table and spill face first onto the rug. He was only down for a second, though, as he jumped back up and dove behind the blue Victorian chair that he had in the corner of the living room. His senses were starting to return to normal now, and he attempted to survey the room and hear any little noise that he could. He didn't hear anything moving. The only sounds were the creaking of the house settling and some light wind outside.
And there Darren was in the corner of his own house, hiding behind his large Victorian chair, and rocking back and forth. His hands were clasped tightly, he was darting his head from side to side and he was sobbing and sobbing. Absolutely petrified now, he just wanted to know what was going on and why it was happening and when it would stop. How could this have happened to him?
Then it hit him. Nothing was happening. Nothing was going on. There was no one in his house. The breaking glass was just the glass that had fallen in the kitchen and that he had subsequently fallen on. All of the creaking noises that he had heard were just the house settling normally in its foundation. The moving shadows were just his overly tired eyes playing tricks on him. But the sobbing and rocking were both very real and very silly for a grown man to be doing. He shouldn't be this easy to spook.
Darren finally grinned to himself and tried to cough out a laugh between tears. I'm acting like a child. This is silly. I'm going to bed. Still, he sat in the corner of his living room, rocking back and forth for another ten minutes before he finally collected himself enough to get up and, rather shakily, climb up the stairs to return to bed.
Once upstairs, he practically fell down the hallway. He was just so anxious to get back into bed. Completely worn out and exhausted, he knew that he'd have absolutely no trouble getting to sleep now. Before getting into bed, he walked to the window and openned it to let the cool night air in. The lack of air conditioning was finally starting to warm his house and he liked it much cooler while he slept.
Turning back to his bed, he tried to neaten up his blankets and then finally collapsed, diagonally across his bed where he closed his eyes to finally get some well deserved rest.
As he was about to fall asleep, he head a door creak. It's just the house settling. I am so tired, he thought to himself as he drifted off. There was a small groan from down the hallway as the walls re-adjusted themselves. Darren smiled and nuzzled his head into the pillow, eager to sleep.
Very faintly, he heard three light creaks on the floor of his room, very quick in succession, coming toward him. Darren groggily openned his eyes. And then he heard one last scary noise as his skull was cracked open by his very own baseball bat.
| 10/24/2006 | The Seventh Story of the House |
| 10/21/2006 | The Sixth Story of the House |
| 10/13/2006 | The Fifth Story of the House |
| 10/04/2006 | The Fourth Story of the House |
| 10/03/2006 | The Third Story of the House |
| 10/02/2006 | The Second Story of the House |
| 10/01/2006 | The First Story of the House |
| 10/01/2004 | It's Your Turn |
| 10/02/2003 | The Experiment |
| 10/02/2003 | The Stain |
| 10/02/2003 | The Recorder |
| 10/02/2003 | The Secret Room |
| 10/02/2003 | Why you should always carry tools |
| 10/02/2003 | The Solicitor |
| 10/02/2003 | The Picnic |
| 10/02/2003 | Moving Day |
| 10/02/2003 | The Very Short Life of a Fat Man |
| 10/02/2003 | Life on a Farm |
| 10/02/2003 | The Mooresbury Men |
| 10/02/2003 | A Better Killer |
| 10/02/2003 | Scary Noises |
| 02/01/2003 | The Wind Blows In My Heart... |
| 01/15/2003 | I Am The Goddess |
| 01/15/2003 | Freak |
| 01/12/2003 | They Won't Be Coming Back |
| 01/12/2003 | Bugs |
