Dark Visions

One evening in a roadside motel, about twenty years ago, I woke up to the strangest noise. 

I tore the covers from my ghostly white face and frantically gazed about my room. There was no creature waiting in all black at the edge of my bed, but even still I wouldn’t take any chances. 

I waited upon my pull-out bed wondering if whatever made the noise would make it again, but nothing came, nothing at all. 

I pulled out my shotgun, which was propped up, against my bed, and began to make my way to the bathroom. As I turned on the lights, beams of pure cosmic power struck my eyes paralyzing me, forcing me to fall back upon my bed. 

I sat upon my covers turning opposite the light. A few moments later I was on my feet yet again, pumping the shotgun (for obvious intimidation purposes). 

I stood outside the door for a moment, becoming immune to the enemy's dastardly rays. Then I kicked open the door and stepped inside, staring back at me was death itself, the shower curtain. 

Without question, behind that paper-thin curtain was the monster I was in search of. My mind began to race back and forth against the white walls of the bathroom. Each thought was worse than the next, growing and growing the terror beneath my stone white skin. Farther I fell away from reality. Deeper and deeper I sunk into my imagination. Feeling dizzy, I placed my hand upon the cheap marble bathroom counter and looked up once again. 

There, behind the curtain was the shadow of all my nightmares, my darkest fears all collected into one image. I took aim and fired, but the beast did not fall. The beast wavered back and forth and grew in fright. Again and again, I shot desperately wanting the beastly image to die, yet the monster still stood in its place shielding itself behind the curtain. 

I took a step closer staring through the holes of the curtain, reassuring myself that nothing of this world could survive three shotgun shots. 

“Shit,” I said to my self, “nothing of this world could survive three direct shotgun shots.” Reality surged back through my veins and a different feeling of terror came with it. I tore the curtain away from the beast, completely ripping the curtain away from where it once hung.

Hanging from one clip of string was my completely destroyed “new” black jacket, that I hung the night before to dry. Behind the jacket were hundreds of holes all across the bumpy motel shower wall. All sorts of lights were streaming in from through the holes in the wall. 

Naturally, I glared through one of the gapes in the wall, curious about what could be on the other side. To my disappointment, it was only the motel hallway. 

As I peered out the makeshift peephole, noises began to erupt from all corners of the motel. Everyone must’ve been wide awake at three in the morning all because of me. 

Entirely void of any good judgment my younger self dropped the shotgun on the bathroom floor and darted out toward the lifeless bed. I tore through the bedside cabinet, looking for only 2 things: money, and my half-broken cassette player. Minutes later men with guns of their own would be in that very same bedroom looking for me. 

To my neighbors at that motel, I was known as the trouble maker. I was apparently always loud and annoying and never obeyed any of the motel rules. But what did they know, I had just moved into that cockroach-infested trap earlier last week. 

After grabbing the cassette player I headed for the window. I opened and closed the window frantically, not carrying whether anyone would hear. But as I shut the window behind myself, I heard gasping and shouting coming from the vacant, non-monster-infested bathroom.

I didn’t care what they saw, I didn’t care about what others in that motel thought of me, not that night, not at all. So I slammed that window behind me, and I booked it across the parking lot lines. 

I ran far away from that worn down, musty motel. And all the while, I thought to myself that all I needed to do was to keep as much distance between me and anyone that I knew. That’s how I lived when I was young, running away from everyone that I knew even if they really did just want to help me in the end. 

I approached an intersection when I saw cops rush by in their sleek black and white dodge chargers. It didn’t hit me till most cops passed that they are most assuredly on their way to the motel. I covered my face from the remaining few that zoomed by. 

I didn’t know if I was now wanted or if I would go to jail, but I knew I wouldn’t want to be caught. I walked on for a few more blocks gaining distance away from the cops, and across an empty, tired, wide street there was a diner. I walked up toward the shop and pulled the greasy handle inward. The door opened naturally with a ting and another young man around my age looked up from his magazine with a puzzled look. 

“Welcome to Joe’s stake Shack?” he said, matching his expression.

I didn’t care what he said or what he thought of me, and I sure as hell didn’t have the strength to reply. So I just turned away from Joe and began my walk to the booth at the outermost edge of the diner.

Once I sat down into the stiff cushions some call seats, I turned on my cassette player and placed the headphones on top of my head. I sat back into the firm cushion and finally after hours of unease, began to relax. I gazed upward into the ceiling, faceless and empty, and slooooowwwly began to close my eyes, but I didn’t fall asleep. My mind was still searching for answers that I had none to. I thought back into the depths of my mind to a time of similar fright when I was young and living with my father. 

Years ago when I was about 5 years old I was with my father in his old house. One night my father was telling me a bedtime story about brave knights who battled dragons for princesses around vast kingdoms. My dad heard movement outside the door and he went out to check. He told me to stay in bed while he looked around. My mind began to race back to bedtime stories and I pictured the worst image a five-year-old could. From outside my door, I heard all types of noises I had never heard before, loud ones to soft ones. I was so afraid I didn’t move, I didn’t even take a peek from underneath my covers. Until I heard the door open, then I looked. This strange thing taller than anything I could think of blocked my doorway path. It was wearing all dark clothes, even concealing its face. Once it saw me it left, taking my father with it. Since then my father has been missing, and I have been controlled by this fear ever since then. Not ever letting anyone know.

I opened my eyes seconds later to the face Joe, staring over me with that very same dazed, confused look. 

“What woulda like?” he said.

I just sighed and looked away from his stupid face, yet he insisted on making conversation. “Woulda like steak, or woulda like pork.”

Suddenly, through the soft folk of Led Zeppelin, I heard the faint sounds of police cars approaching.

Whatever ease I still had in me that hadn’t totally vanished when I saw Joe’s face, dissipated when I heard the sound of the police approaching. 

Frantically searching for a way out, I spoke to Joe.

“Heeeey Joe, ya got a car.” 

“Yeeah, well no. It’s a van, and my name ain't Jo-”

“Great, ya wanna go for a drive?”

“Well, I kinda got the night shift, but sure I do love evening drives”

After convincing Joe to take me thirty or so miles to the next town we hopped in his van around back. The cops zoomed by, nearly catching sight of us as we peeled out the diner’s drive. Once we got out of town he handed me a couple comics to read. I began to graze through a few becoming intrigued by the plots and the characters in the stories. I loved the fact that the villain in black would always be defeated. The stories were able to bring me out of this state of fear and sense for running away. It taught me to face my problems head-on and because of that, twenty years later, I have a whole comic book shop that I own just a couple blocks down the street far far away from that musty, dusty motel.