You know that never happened, right?

‘You know that never happened, right?’

Paul is always like this, whenever we get together. It irks me every time.

His job brings him back to town, every three months or so, give or take. Over dinner and some beers, we fill each other in on what we’ve been doing since the last time we met up. One thing that never changed is that he never believes anything I tell him.

In his mind, this town is just a pimple on the backside of this country and he can never wait to get out again. In his opinion, nothing interesting will ever or can ever happen here. Specially if he isn’t here to see it.

He didn’t believe me about the time the dragon swooped down and snatched a small dog off the street right in front of me! Right in front, I tell you. I couldn’t have missed it. I was the only one standing in the street at 3am in the morning, so of course I was the only one who witnessed it. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!

And that time last year, when the Monster from the Black Lagoon was wandering the streets at night, searching for… Well, no one really knows what it was looking for, do they? Several pets went missing during its reign of terror, mainly in the vicinity of the Black Lagoon resort. I saw it more than once that week, even followed it a couple of times. It was big and black, looked like a human covered in tar, left huge slimy wet footprints as it lumbered down the street. Don’t worry, I was never in danger. I made sure I was hidden in case it decided I would make a better meal than a dog or a cat. It was around for about a week before it just stopped coming. I wonder what happened to it?

There was even a time, a couple of years ago, I saw a lunatic with a hockey mask on, running down the street. He (assuming it was a he) had two knives, one in each hand, dripping blood leaving a gory trail behind him. It was actually pretty scary, but exhilarating at the same time, you know? I only saw him the once and I never found out if he murdered someone. I checked the local news for days afterwards, but nothing was ever mentioned.

Paul claims that if it’s not in the news, then it can’t have happened. After all, he says, there are people and phones everywhere these days and as soon as something happens, it’s all over social media within minutes. I say, he’d be surprised what happens that doesn’t get plastered all over the internet and that if he were here for more than a couple of hours, he might see something that will blow his mind.

Personally, the few times I’ve looked at Twitter or Facebook, the only things I’ve seen are people complaining about things that aren’t important, or harshly judging other people without being aware that they themselves have a lot of flaws, or putting up photos of a meal they’re about to eat. Big deal. I eat every day but I don’t feel I have to show it to the world.

Paul just about lives on social media. It never used to be like that but now he’s always got one hand on his phone, attention divided between his news feeds and our conversation. Sometimes I wonder if he even understands what I’m saying, but he always, always, responds with ‘You know that never happened, right’.

Maybe this is the trip that something will happen. It’s snowing so hard tonight that I can’t see how he’ll be able to get to the airport, let alone how the plane will be able to fly. Ha, he’s just got a message from the airline; his plane’s been delayed for 24 hours. I told him he can stay at my house, on the couch of course.

All the way home, Paul complains about the snow swirling around us, getting on his phone’s screen. It’s only a couple of blocks so I tell him to put it in his pocket until we get there. But, of course, he can’t leave it in there for more than a minute before having to check his news feed again.

Finally we’re home. That only took 15 minutes so I don’t know what Paul’s problem is, and I say so but he doesn’t hear me or chooses not to hear me. I don’t know which.

I dig out the spare pillow and blankets while waiting for the kettle to boil. Paul’s going to need plenty of blankets tonight. The wind and the snow have the furnace struggling to keep the house at a decent temperature. Paul just sits there on the couch, scrolling, scrolling, forever scrolling. I dump the pillows and blankets on his head and laugh but he barely seems to notice and absently shrugs them off.

Oh god, it’s that time again: time to go to bed. I usually put it off for as long as I can. I have nightmares, you know. Bad, freaky nightmares. You know what Paul’s comment is whenever I tell him about my nightmares? Yep, you guessed it: ‘You know that never happened, right?’

I make myself stay awake for as long as I can. Sometimes, when I start to get sleepy, I get up and go for a walk in the middle of the night. The streets are quiet then. I very rarely see or hear anyone, except for the dragons and monsters, gnomes, lunatics and other such wonders.

I wonder why interesting things only happen at night in this town, when I’m the only one awake to see them. Why don’t these things happen during the day when other people can see them too? I’ve had times when I’ve walked all night; stayed awake for more than 24 hours, but the problem with that is that the nightmares come back stronger than ever.

Paul hasn’t even put the pillow or blankets on the couch properly; they’re still sitting bunched up in a heap beside him. I asked him if he wants the light left on and he mumbled something, so I assume that’s a yes.

I’m now lying in bed, scratching my left arm with my right fingernails, trying to stay awake. I can’t really go for a walk while it’s snowing outside, can I? I also don’t want to wake Paul. I hope he’s warm enough out there. I can feel my eyes trying to close. I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop it for much longer.

***

I know when I’m having one of my nightmares. I’ve had them for so long now, I even know how they will play out. I know this is a nightmare and that I will eventually wake up, but it doesn’t make it any less scary. That’s how I know I’m asleep.

I can’t move my head, only my eyes. I’m in a hospital. I can hear the beep beep beep and whoosh whoosh whoosh of hospital-type machines. I’ve heard those sounds in movies and on television. I also remember them from when my father was in a car crash and was being kept alive by machines. That is not a pleasant memory. My brother and I had to make the hardest decision of our young lives: whether to switch off the machines and let Dad die, or keep him alive like a vegetable in a glass house.

I can’t move my body. I try to lift my arms but there’s resistance, like I’m strapped down. I start to panic, my blood pressure rises (I know that because I can hear the machine beeping quicker) and I’m finding it hard to breathe.

Oh god, why is this happening? I’ve been through this so many times but I still can’t work it out. I try to calm my breathing because I know the consequence of that is that someone will come. Then more someones, then they’ll all be yelling at me and at each other, demanding things that I don’t know the answer to.

The more I think about this, the faster my heart rate and breathing go. Stop, stop, stop, I try to yell at myself, but I can’t get the words out. I hear the door open and someone enters. Now someone is leaning over me, they’re right in my face, saying things that I can’t understand. I try to move my head so I don’t have to smell their breath, but only my eyes will move. I try to talk with my eyes, to ask them to step back, but the nightmare person doesn’t understand. They’re clicking their fingers right in front of my nose, obviously trying to get a reaction, but I can’t move, I can’t move, I CAN’T MOVE!

WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!

It feels like these nightmares go on forever, but eventually I wake up. I always eventually wake up.

***

The moon shining through the window onto my face wakes me up fully. I’m sitting up now, I can feel my hair is dishevelled and my pyjamas are twisted and my eyes are red from crying. Even though I can’t move in the nightmares, I obviously thrash around a lot in my bed because I wake up like this every morning. I hope I didn’t wake Paul.

I look at the clock. It’s 3:11am. I can see through the window that the snow and wind from last night have blown themselves away and there’s barely a cloud in the sky now. The weather here is pretty good most of the time.

I call out to Paul as I head down the stairs: I hope you got some sleep. I’ll make you some breakfast if you don’t mind eating this early?

Rounding the corner into the lounge room, I reach out and switch on the light, expecting to see Paul sitting in the same place as last night, still scrolling, scrolling. But I don’t.

What I do see is a heap of blood-soaked blankets on my couch and no sign of Paul anywhere! Oh my god, what happened here? How could I have slept through this? Where is Paul? Where is Paul’s phone? All these things go through my mind as I stand there dumbfounded, as mute as I was in my nightmare.

Once I can move again, I walk over to the couch and toss the blankets onto the floor, in case Paul has somehow been curled up and buried underneath them. But all I see is more blood but no Paul. A fleeting thought crosses my mind that it’s going to be almost impossible to get that stain out of my couch.

What if whoever did this is still here? I walk slowly but methodically around the ground floor of my house, checking the doors and windows but they are all shut and locked, just like they were before I went to bed. The only answer to the question of who has done this is: A Serial Killer! They’ve tricked Paul into opening the door and then caught him between scrolling his Facebook news feed and his Twitter news feed, while his guard was down. He wouldn’t have seen it coming. The killer must have taken Paul’s body with him, then locked the door on the way out. Ah yes, I can now see a blood trail, leading from the couch to the front door. Why didn’t I see that before?

I need to follow the blood trail. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Ha, Paul can’t say that this didn’t happen now, can he? Finally something has happened and he was here for it.

***

The hospital room was quiet again, just the beeping and the whooshing of the life support machines. There’d been a flurry of activity in the middle of the night again, when the patient appeared to wake up, like they did most nights.

Kate looked at the body lying there, completely relaxed, being kept alive by machines. What’s going on in that head, she wondered. Anything? Nothing? Was there even a mind there anymore?

The breathing was slow and rhythmical, the heart beat steady. For a minute, Kate heard them increase slightly before settling down again.

She felt sorry for them. They’d come into her care about a year ago, comatose and completely paralysed after a car accident. In all that time, not one person had come to visit. The police had not been able to find even one living relative.

The patient appeared to wake up most nights, panicked and then dropped back into a coma again. The overnight hospital staff couldn’t seem to get them to understand anything or to stay awake.

It had never happened on Kate’s watch. Even though she knew it happened, she still delighted in telling Paul, the overnight nurse, ‘You know that never happened, right?’

The doctors wanted some sort of decision to be made but they couldn’t justify to a court that the patient was a vegetable that would never wake up. Because they did wake up, every night. They just couldn’t stay awake. Not that she could blame them. She shuddered, thinking about how frightening it would be to not be able to move any part of your body but your eyes.

Kate knew it was only a matter of time before the patient was transferred to a coma unit or palliative care place. They were taking up a hospital bed and no one was paying for it and that wasn’t how the world worked these days.

Maybe someone would turn up this week. A long lost sibling or parent or even ex-lover. Maybe the patient would wake up tonight and stay awake.

She sighed and turned to continue on with her rounds thinking, ‘You know that never happens, right?’