The Midnight Scream

There was a scream from down the hall.

Tara sat up in bed, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. It had to be midnight, if not later. Her breath was caught in her throat, but after a moment she was able to release it, sucking in the cool night air. She glanced around, her vision drawn to the flutter of the curtains in front of her window. Had she left the window open? She couldn’t remember. After all, the night had been one big party. Her brother was finally home.

Alan had been away for years, and no one was sure where he was. They’d tried to reach out to him multiple times but never received a reply. It wasn’t unlike him to disappear from time to time, but this had been the longest he’d vanished, and Tara had started to worry. He was her only brother, and she loved him dearly. Even considering that anything had happened to him ripped at her heart like a cat clawing at a sofa. 

She sat silently for a moment on the bed, listening to the sounds of the house. Something had woken her up, but maybe it hadn’t been a scream like she’d thought. Maybe she’d been dreaming and the noise had actually come from her. She didn’t remember a dream that would have caused that. As she sat, watching the waves of moonlight drift across her floor, her heart began to calm. Maybe she had just dreamed it, after all.

“Please, God no!” 

The voice rang out, as clear as the night’s sky outside, and Tara felt the thud of her heart once again. This time she’d definitely heard the voice, a young man. It hadn’t sounded like her brothers voice, it was a bit to high pitched, but she’d also never heard him scream to God. Her breath quickened and she swallowed dryly, throwing the covers back from her body and sliding out of bed silently. She carefully walked across the floor, making her way to the chair in the corner of the room, being sure to step precisely. There were three spots on the floor that would creak loudly, and she gracefully avoided each one. At the chair, she lifted the robe and quietly slid into it, tying the belt around her waist. Stealing a glance at the bottom of her closed bedroom door, she could see light flooding down the hall, coming from the direction of her brother’s room. As she stood, she held her breath, and in the silence of the house, she could hear light sobbing also. 

Tara let her breath out quickly through an open mouth and took three graceful steps across the room once again. She approached the dresser, a tall wooden monstrosity, chipped and scratched from years of moving around the country. She couldn’t remember the amount of times they’d moved that dresser, but she could vividly remember her brother and her carrying it into the room she was currently in. Her hand ran down the side of it, feeling a deep scratch carved into the wood. She could almost see her brother, holding the bottom of the dresser as if had slipped from her hands and slammed into the doorframe of the room. He’d cursed at her for dropping it, but the anger had been fleeting, and they’d made up with ice cream later that night. Now, as the memory washed over her, the small sobs drifted back into her ears and she stiffened again. 

Sliding open the top drawer of the dresses, she parted the sea of socks that lay there. At first, she didn’t see what she was looking for, but after searching a bit more, her hand landed on it. It was cold and rough and for a moment she almost flinched as she touched it. She curled her hand around the coarse antler handle and withdrew the six inch hunting knife from it’s soft resting place. As she slid the blade from it’s leather sheath, it glinted in the moonlight streaming in from her window. She caught her reflection in the mirrored finish and almost screamed herself. To her recently awoken eyes, Tara looked crazy. Her red hair was wild, an explosion of fiery strands shooting in all directions. Her eyes glistened in the dark of the room, wet with sleep and worry. She closed them for a second, taking another deep breath, attempting to center herself.

As she did, another scream rang out from the hallway, a deep guttural scream. It was the sound of pure panic.

Tara’s eyes shot open once again, and she tightened the grip on the white antler handle of the knife. She tossed the unused sheath on her bed, spinning around and taking two quick and quiet steps toward the closed door of her room. Holding the knife in her right hand, she placed her left gently on the handle of the door and slowly turned it. There was a slight hesitation and then it let out a small squeak. Her body froze, her breath stopped in the middle of her chest. She listened intently but she heard no other sound beside the soft sobbing coming from the other side of the door. After a minute, she began to turn the handle again. This time it went without a sound, and at the end of it’s rotation, the catch released. She felt the door swing inward slightly, the light from the hallway slowly flooding through the crack created. As she swung the door slowly open, her eyes narrowed against the light. The sobs were louder now, and she could hear a panicked and labored breathing as well. When the door was wide enough for her to fit through, she slid through the opening and into the hall.

In the hall, once her eyes had adjusted to the light, she surveyed the surroundings. The bathroom door directly across from her was closed, as always. However, the door further down the hall, the room Tara had offered to her brother tonight when he’d returned, was standing completely open. Now that she was in the hall, the pained noises were definitely coming from that room. She took a deep breath, adjusted her grip on the knife and tightened her hold on it, and took long, quick steps down the hall toward the doorway. She paused right outside, raising the knife in front of her, preparing for the worst, and then stepped around the corner.

Her eyes took the scene in at once. In the bright light of the overhead lamp, the first thing that she noticed was the blood. The white cotton sheets of the bed had been painted with it, like a grotesque abstract art exhibit. In the middle of the bed, bound to each of the four posts that rose from the frame, was a young man of no more than 19. He saw her step into the doorway and his eyes widened, his face twisted in terror and relief at the same time. His chest heaved, causing small rivers of blood to leak from the cuts across his abdomen, and he began to struggle against the ropes that held him in place. As she stood there watching him, the other figure in the room turned around.

“Oh, sis, I’m so sorry,” her brother said, dropping his head apologetically, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” His shirt and hands were stained with blood and sweat, his eyes glowing with a wild intensity. He looked over Tara for a moment, spotting the knife in her hand. Alan tilted his head at her in a questioning manner. “Did...did you think something was wrong?”

Tara stared at him for a long moment, and then dropped the knife to her side, taking two quick steps into the room, ending across from her brother. She smiled up at him and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing herself against his bloodstained shirt. 

“Oh, I don’t know what I thought Alan. I guess it’s just been so long since you’ve been here.” After the embrace, she leaned back again and met her brother’s eyes. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes twitching between the knife in her hand and her face. Tara felt a warm smile spread across her lips, and her brother returned one. They both nodded to each other. Tara began to move around to the foot of the bed, as Alan picked up the matching white antlered knife he’d been using. They both turned to look at the young man on the bed. 

“Oh Alan, I’ve missed you so much.”