The Night Terror

   It was 5 a.m. Cold and dark. Sal could barely keep his eyes open as he stumbled his way to the two-story duplex. He was coming home after covering the graveyard shift for his buddy, Tom, even though he did not prime his internal clock to handle staying up so late. Sal and Tom worked in retail at one of those 24-hour grocery store chains. Sal hated the job. He worked long, tedious hours, but it was a paycheck, and he was too lazy to look for a different job.

   I have to tell Tom the next time I see him that I just physically cannot cover for him again. It's so late… or I guess it's early, Sal thought.

   Sal stood for a moment in front of the two red duplex doors. He could not wait to climb into bed with his girlfriend, Sadie, and told himself that he would not wake up until 2 p.m. at the earliest. He rubbed his eyes and walked through the door on the right. A creature of habit, Sadie always left the door unlocked while she was home, but Sal did not step inside his home.

   Sal stepped inside his eighty-something-year-old neighbor's home, Mr. Mealey. His front door opened directly into his dark and quiet living room. The only sound came from the tick-tock of a clock hanging on the far wall. It was icy in his home. Either Mr. Mealey was saving money on his heating bill, or he merely enjoyed sleeping in frigid temperatures. The wind began howling outside, gently rattling the window panes. As homely as Mr. Mealey's home appeared, Sal still felt unease. 

   "Oh, Mr. Mealey! You startled me! I am so sorry for barging into your home," Sal said. 

   Mr. Mealey was asleep on his recliner in the dark, the moonlight splashing a pale glow on his face. Sal thought of Mr. Mealey as a nice, older man who often kept to himself. Sal would sometimes catch him sitting on his porch outside, reading crime novels about killers who are impossible to catch. They would exchange greetings and engage in light small-talk, but that was the extent of their relationship. But for some strange reason, Sal did not understand why Mr. Mealey did not look old at all. Instead, he looked much younger with darker hair and a sense of evil to him that Sal could not explain. The blackness of the room felt as though it was suffocating his soul.

   I need to leave as quickly as I can without making too much noise. I just have a terrible feeling about whoever this guy is.

   Sal turned to leave through the same door he walked through, but the door would not open. No matter how hard Sal tried turning the doorknob, the door was jammed shut. 

   Ok. I know I'm tired, but I'm not that tired, Sal thought. I know how to open a door.  

   Sal slowly turned back towards the younger-looking Mr. Mealey, secretly hoping that this was all a hallucination - a symptom of his exhaustion. However, the younger-looking Mr. Mealey was no longer sleeping in his recliner; he wasn't in his recliner at all. The recliner gently rocked back and forth to a halt. Sal started feeling his heart beat faster inside his chest. 

   A sense of foreboding enveloped Sal. Everything was all too strange, which terrified Sal to his core. What disturbed Sal the most was this "other" Mr. Mealey. This younger Mr. Mealey felt nothing like the older one. Was he his son? Sal never recalled anyone else entering Mr. Mealey's house the entire eight years Sal lived there. He was always a quiet hermit. 

   Where did he go? Why didn't he say something to me? Sal thought. Tens of questions wrapped his mind at once.

   Sal hastened toward the closest window. If he can't get out through the front door, then a window would work just as well. But just before Sal reached the window, he was pulled back and spun around.

   "What the hell are you doing?" the old Mr. Mealey yelled.

   "I'm so sorry, Mr. Mealey," Sal said. "I was just coming home from a late-night shift, and I accidentally went inside the wrong house."

   "That sounds like bullshit. Anyway, you need to be more careful, Sal. I was about ready to kill a God damned burglar."

   "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'll be more careful. By the way, who is visiting you? I just saw someone sleeping on the recliner over there. He looked like he was related to you. Was he your son?"

   "Oh, that man? No, he's not my son. I don't have any kids. His name is Wyatt, and he's just visiting from out of town. You could say we are working on a project together."

   "That's great you are getting some company every once in a while. What kind of project are you working on?"

   "I have some experiments planned. I don't want to give too much away, though. It's kind of a secret, but I think you will find out very soon."

   "You and your secrets, Mr. Mealey," Sal beamed. "Alright, I guess I better be going. I have had an extremely long night, and I can't wait to go to sleep. Again, I'm sorry for disturbing you. Get some more sleep, Mr. Mealey."

   Sal shifted his weight to his back foot, getting ready to leave, but Mr. Mealey grabbed his wrist, searing pain coursing up his arm.

   "We cannot let you go, Sal."

   Out of the shadows stood the younger man. He emerged with a broad smile, sharp teeth, and pitch-black eyes filled with malice. He wore a black suit and tie. His evil face juxtaposed with his formal wear. 

   Sal stood, petrified, with his mouth wide open, but no sound came from his lips. Sal's eyes rolled toward the back of his head. His heart began thumping louder and louder, the last sound that Sal ever made again. This evil being's eyes pierced into Sal, capturing his soul. He was the embodiment of evil. Cold and dark.