Night Terror

1

John woke up, turned over and looked at the clock beside him. 2:06 am. He sat up in a groggy daze and stretched his arms. He caressed the lump on the side of his head which felt like a hornets bite. The room around him was vibrating as he slipped into his jeans and pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head. He blinked and was then standing in the kitchen. The linoleum floor was cold on his bare feet. He blinked again and found that he was now sitting on the floor with his muddy sneakers on. He tied the laces, got up, and walked over to the front door. A black ski mask was laying on the wooden end table in the hall. He touched it lightly with two fingers. His skin erupted in goosebumps as he picked the mask up and slid it down onto his head. He looked at his reflection in the mirror above the table. Only his eyes were visible and to him they looked solid white.

John turned back towards the front door and grabbed the knob. He paused, hearing a voice call to him from the kitchen. He spun around and walked back through the house. There John found the body of a man balanced over the marble counter. The hilt of a knife protruding out from deep inside his chest, his head half sawed off and dangling. The voice beckoned John towards the bedroom. John stepped over the pool of blood below him and climbed the stairs. He heard the voice louder again before stepping into the bedroom. Lying naked in the bed was a woman, a telephone cord wrapped like a python around her throat. Her eyes ballooning out of their sockets still imprinted with fear. John headed back downstairs and out the front door.

The neighborhood was quiet. John hummed and smiled as he watched his shadow appear and disappear on the sidewalk under the low light of the street lamps. He walked past an auto body shop and came to a stop. Noticing his reflection, he moved closer to a car who’s front bumper had been smashed in. As he looked into the passenger side window he saw that he was still wearing his mask. His eyes moved around growing less and less dim. His vision became clear again and he stumbled backwards. The black cotton of the mask constricted around his face, pulsating to the beat of his elevating heart rate. John groped at the mask trying to break free of its grip. He forced a finger between the mask and his neck and managed to peel it off and threw it to the ground. 

Everything around him started spinning as he struggled to remember how he arrived there. He looked back into the reflection of the window and yelped. He sharply turned away, grasping at the face that he did not believe to be his own. He worked up the courage to look into the window again and frowned, disgusted with what he saw. He squeezed his eyes shut and bolted down the street towards the subway entrance. Crazed and heedless, he tripped into the street and crashed to his knees. He slammed his palms on the ground and began sobbing.

“John, where do you think you’re going?”A voice from behind called out. John flipped over and scanned the area. 

“John, aren't you forgetting something?” The voice sounded like it was whispering in his ear now. It was soothing; like how your mother might speak to you when trying to wake you up on Christmas morning. 

“John. John. John. John. John…” The voice echoed out of his ear and bounced back down the street. As it continued chanting his name the voice lowered in pitch. It became distorted and angry. John turned to crawl away. 

“John!” The voice, sounding like a demon, boomed inside his skull. “Get the fuck up and come to me.” John’s head rang with pain. He tore at his hair and rubbed his forehead into the asphalt.

“No.” John murmermerd. His eyes darted back at the car. “I can’t do it.” 

His eyes began to roll back into his head as he fell flat onto his stomach. His mouth foamed and he hissed and his arm started to pull himself back down the street. He inched along like a spider who’s legs had been plucked off. He hauled to a stop and stood up on his feet. His eyes focused below him. Focused on the mask. Focused on its eyes glaring back at him. John reached down and picked it up with both hands. He pressed it firmly against his chest before stuffing it in his sweatshirt pocket. 

2

John barreled down the stairs of his apartment building leaping off the last four steps onto the lobby floor. He spun and backed out of the front door. He was starving. He headed down towards the subway and jumped on the first train that stopped. He sat down on an empty bench inside the third car. He smiled at a homeless woman in a sleeping bag sprawled across another bench. She glared at him.

 “Hi,” he whispered and continued to smile. 

The subway screeched to a rattling stop and the doors whipped open. John hopped to his feet and walked halfway out the door before looking back at the woman still staring at him. He winked and slipped out before the doors closed and the train ripped away. The empty station echoed with each step he took towards the exit. 

On the street level John looked around for a place selling food. He figured he could eat anything right now, but was really craving some breakfast food. He strode into the middle of the street and spun around and around looking at all the lights whirling by. He closed his eyes, stuck out his hand and pointed. His eyes fluttered open and saw a sign that read “Diner” in red and blue neon lights. 

“Well what do ya know, all the breakfast a man could ask for,” he said, amused with the thought that fate had led him there.

Inside the diner was a balding, older man in a suit, asleep at the front counter. John looked him up and down grinning. He made a face like a chimpanzee inches from the man’s face and danced on past him. He walked by a table of teenagers finishing their burgers and arguing over where they were headed next. He touched each blue, leather booth as he walked down towards the last table in the corner between two windows. He slid in and looked out towards the big, pearl white bar in front of the kitchen. A woman, dressed in a blue denim, janitor’s jumpsuit sat on a shimmering, red cushioned bar stool. She was slumped over her steaming coffee, a newspaper spread out next to her on the bar. 

A waitress emerged from the kitchen through a double swinging door. She was trying to fix her frizzy brown hair that lay atop her head in a bun. She walked over to the table of teenagers and placed down their check. She saw John and proceeded over to him with a curious smile on her face. 

“Are you famous or something?” She asked, leaning her hand on the table.

“Why do you ask?” John answered, grinning.

“I don’t know. I think I know you. I’m not sure but you seem familiar. Figured you were famous or something.” 

“I’m a regular here... Hailey.” 

She glanced down at her name tag and smiled. John took this moment to study her lips. They reminded him of the ocean. 

“You absolutely aren’t,” Hailey countered.

“Maybe I just have one of those faces then?” 

“Maybe you do. I’ll get you a menu.” 

He grabbed her hand before she could turn around. 

“Actually I’ll have two eggs over easy, corned beef hash, white toast, and coffee. Oh wait, and some OJ too. Like in a big glass, not one of those little shot glass teasers that come with it.” 

Freeing her hand from his grip, Hailey reached into her pocket for a pen. She started writing down his order and then stopped. 

“Breakfast food at midnight?” She asked. “Never too late for some people I guess.” 

“Well this is breakfast time for me. I just woke up.” 

 She stuffed her pad and pen back into her blue pocket apron. “What, like you work nights?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I’ve just become accustomed to being awake after the sun sets.” 

Hailey gave him a half smile and squinted her eyes. “What are you a vampire?” 

“I kinda feel like I might be.” he replied, putting his forearm over his face and pretending to hold a cape. 

Hailey laughed sarcastically and made her way back towards the kitchen. “I’ll make it a blood orange juice then.” 

John sank back into the cushion of his booth and took out a rolled up marble notebook and pen from the pouch pocket of his sweatshirt. He began scribbling into it, tapping the table with his fingers as he did. After a few minutes Hailey returned with his coffee and juice. She placed it down beside his notebook. 

“Writing me a poem?” She joked leaning over to read what John had been jotting down.

He flipped the cover over and slid the book into his lap. “Yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m done.” 

“Are you really?” Hailey asked, pretending to be sarcastic but actually curious. 

John smiled and winked. “Oh do I smell my eggs?” 

She rolled her eyes at him and began walking back toward the kitchen again. She looked over her shoulder and saw he had taken the book back out and was writing again. She snuck back and read over his shoulder. 

“Oh it’s a song. Wait, are you in a band?” Before John had time to answer, “ohhhh you’re in Paradise, aren’t you. 

“I am.” John said, rolling the notebook back up again. “You’ve seen us before?” 

“Does a bear shit on a pope?” 

John burst out laughing. “What the fuck was that?” 

“I like to mix those sayings up. Makes ‘em funnier.” Hailey said, laughing as well. “I think it’s an Australian thing but I’m just gonna take credit for it.” 

“Does a bear wear a tall hat?” John whaled still cracking up. 

A chime rang out from the kitchen. Hailey winked at John and hurried back into the kitchen. 

John thought about how real this all felt. He took his sweatshirt off and tucked it beside him in the booth. He wondered about how much of this he would remember when he woke up. Hailey returned with John’s food and placed it neatly in front of him.

“I never got your name,” she remarked.

“My name is John,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, John,” she said and turned back towards the kitchen. “Any plans for the rest of your night?”

John looked up to see that she had turned around, awaiting an answer.

3

John emerged from sleep gasping for air, choking on the dryness of his throat. He looked around the room at all the shapes in the darkness. The comforter was soaked and he checked to see if he’d pissed himself. He wondered if he’d really sweat that much in his sleep. Throwing the blanket to the side, he got to his feet and stumbled over to the bathroom. The cold water from the sink soothed every crevice of his mouth and throat. He pictured steam flowing out from his throat like a molten hot sword being dunked in oil. Coming up for air, he took a step back. A striking pain surged up from his foot into his knee. 

“Agh! What the hell?” He lifted his foot and pulled a shard of glass from the heel. 

He reached out for the light switch and was blinded for a moment by its brightness. When his eyes adjusted he saw that the mirror above the sink was shattered. Pieces of mirror were scattered all along the counter and floor. He began to gently brush the pieces to the side with his foot when he saw the small trail of blood leading out from the bathroom into the hall. He limped out of the bathroom and followed the droplets into the bedroom. They vanished in the blackness of the room. His hand was sweeping the wall for a switch when he heard a faint wet cough. 

“Hello? Hailey, are you here?” He asked the void.

He was answered by a repetition of low wet coughs and gagging. His small sweeps turned into frantic patting of the drywall. 

“Where the hell is it? Are you ok? Say something, please I can’t find this damn-” and his fingers caught the edge of the toggle. They flicked it towards the sky, filling the room with light.

Hailey laid on the bed staring her emerald eyes straight through his to the hallway behind him. Her face was flush and her hair was tangled all around the pillow. Blood dripped from her lip, down her cheek, and onto the mattress. Her throat was sliced from side to side. John rushed to her, throwing his hand over the gash. Blood seeped out and threw his fingers. Hailey coughed, her body convulsing as she tried to inhale. John’s eyes were locked into her eyes that were becoming foggier by the second. Tears cascaded down onto her face. Her torso arched off the bed. Her knees twisted uncontrollably as her feet shuffled rapidly against the sheet of the mattress. She grabbed his arm with a weak desperate grip. Her nails dug into him and dragged down towards his wrist. 

“Don't leave me. Please just don’t leave me,” John pleaded with her.

Blood spat out with each choking cough that became weaker and weaker. With one last attempt to inhale she went limp. Her eyes fell to the side and stared out into the hallway behind John. His head collapsed into her chest and he wept. His moans were long and muffled.

He suddenly felt a stinging sensation, like a wasp was biting his palm. He shifted his hand around and realized he had been holding something . He knew that it was a shard of mirror before even bringing it up to his face. He saw in his reflection that he was wearing his black ski mask. The tips of his fingers ran down its scratchy cotton. 

“You're poison,” he whispered. 

He placed the piece of mirror on the bed and looked up towards the window opposite him. The sun was just peaking over the horizon. Its rays shimmered in a line between the two curtains. John walked over and let the light rest on his hand. He thought about how warm and comforting the sun was. He’d forgotten this feeling. He pulled back the curtains and opened the window. The sky was painted pink and gray-blue, and the crest of the sun shimmered at the edge of the earth. He removed the mask and held it out of the window.

John looked back out into the morning sky and wondered how long it had been since the last time he’d seen the sunrise.