Night Terrors Read online

  “Help you with something?” the deli worker asked.

  “Do you have smoked cheddar cheese?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  The deli worker went to work on her orders of extravagant cheeses and salamis. She would get some crackers and horseradish sauce, some green olives. She’d have her own little hors-doeuvre party.

  How pathetic.

  That’s how it is when you’re alone.

  She pushed her shopping cart to the other side of the store and bought two bottles of wine. They were a little expensive, so maybe they would be good. At least they would drown away the voices in her head, the visions in her mind, and maybe even the nightmares that waited for her when she slept.

  4.

  Tara pulled into her apartment complex and shut off the rumbling engine. Steve’s pickup truck was still gone. She had hoped he would be home when she got back. She’d decided that she would bring one of the bottles of wine and her overpriced selection of cheeses and crackers over to share with him.

  But maybe it was good he wasn’t home. She probably would’ve just chickened out again.

  Tara got out of her Jeep and grabbed her bags of groceries from the back seat and headed for her front door.

  She didn’t even realize something was wrong until she got to her front door.

  Her front porch light wasn’t on.

  She always left the front porch light on when she left.

  Maybe it had burned out.

  She set the grocery bags down by her feet and found her house key on the key ring. And then she jerked around like a frightened cat as a breeze rustled through the trees and brush at the other end of the parking area; the stand of woods looked like a black silhouette against the dark sky, the tops of the trees dancing back and forth in the wind. She had a sudden feeling that someone was watching her from the trees.

  She turned back to her door and opened it, ready to bolt inside to safety, but then she froze in mid-step. She was greeted by a wall of pitch black darkness.

  I know I left the lights on.

  She hesitated at the threshold to her apartment for a moment but then the feeling of someone watching her from the trees forced her into action. She reached inside the doorway and groped along the wall, still not wanting to step all the way inside. She finally found the light switch that turned on a seldom used ceiling light just inside the doorway.

  But the light didn’t come on.

  She tried the switch again and again.

  Still nothing.

  She hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do. Maybe the power was out. She glanced around at the other apartments and saw that some of them had lights burning inside. Comforting, safe lights.

  Maybe just her power was out.

  Maybe Steve’s power was out, too. His lights were off, even his front porch light. But he was gone – he probably didn’t leave his lights on when he went out; he probably wasn’t scared of the dark like she was.

  She had just left her lights off, that’s all. She had been in a big hurry to race to the store for some wine and she had just forgotten to leave a few lights on when she left. And now all she needed to do was go inside and turn them on. It was that simple.

  She couldn’t stand out here all night. She needed to do something.

  Tara went back to her Jeep to grab a flashlight, keeping an eye on the woods as she approached her vehicle. She always kept a flashlight in her Jeep, usually two of them. She kept flashlights inside her apartment, too – one underneath the kitchen sink, one in the bathroom, and one in the nightstand next to her bed. She was never far away from flashlights or extra batteries. She couldn’t be in the darkness. She couldn’t wake up in the middle of the night during a power outage and not have a light.

  She checked to make sure that the flashlight worked and she walked back to her front door. She thought about asking her other neighbor for help, the older man who kept to himself, but then she decided not to. That would really make her feel pathetic and weak.

  She needed to do this on her own. Maybe one of the breakers had blown. The breaker box was in the laundry room beyond the kitchen, set in the wall a few feet away from the back door that led out to her small backyard. She just needed to make it that far.

  Tara entered her home. She left the bags of groceries on the front porch area and the wind rustled the plastic bags which sounded eerily similar to someone creeping through the brush. She thought about downing a portion of the wine to get her courage up, but she scolded herself for the thought.

  Just get this over with.

  She took a few steps into her apartment. Maybe just the front porch light and the ceiling light inside the doorway had gone out. Maybe they were on the same breaker.

  As she took another step deeper into the darkness of her apartment, she was even more certain that she had left the lamp on next to the couch and the light on over the stove. She always did.

  The power had to be out.

  She told herself that she should head right to the laundry room and check the breakers. But the laundry room was farther away, hidden away in the deep and seemingly impenetrable darkness beyond the kitchen. She shined her flashlight beam into the kitchen and created eerie, darting shadows that danced across her laundry room door. She trained her flashlight beam back on the lamp next to the couch – it was a lot closer.

  Step by step, she forced her legs to move closer to the couch, a mere eight steps or so, that was all. She could see the couch in the glow of her flashlight beam. She imagined some pale creature with sharp teeth jumping up from beside the couch and hissing at her. She pushed the thought from her mind and shined her light beam on the lamp next to the couch.

  She twisted the little knob of the lamp with one hand as she held the flashlight with the other. The little knob clicked and clicked as she twisted, but the light never came on.

  “Shit,” she muttered. She knew she would have to check the breaker box in the laundry room now. And if it wasn’t the breaker box, then the power must be out.

  If the power was out, she wasn’t sure she could stay here. She could imagine herself on the couch with an army of half-burnt candles in front of her and three or four flashlights within easy reach, maybe two empty bottles of wine and warm cheeses and crackers. Maybe she could do it. Maybe she could try.

  First check the breakers, and then take it from there.

  Tara backed up a step away from the lamp and turned around; she pointed her flashlight at the kitchen at the other end of the living room. She was about to begin her journey into the kitchen when something stopped her. She saw the green digital numbers of the clock on her stove. She panned the flashlight beam to the TV and saw that the light on the cable box was still on. The power couldn’t be out.

  But why weren’t any of her lights working?

  She started to walk towards the kitchen and she bumped her leg against the corner of the coffee table. She hadn’t remembered the coffee table being so close to the couch before. But things changed in the darkness, things weren’t where you remembered them being, like they moved around slightly by themselves when you weren’t looking. When her leg brushed by the table, she heard a slight clinking sound, like fragile glass bumping against each other.

  Just then her flashlight started to flicker and go out.

  She smacked it in her hand and a moan escaped her throat. “No, not now, please …”

  And a split second later, the front door slammed shut.

  5.

  Tara nearly cried out with terror.

  The flashlight came back on for a moment and she shined it around the living room, trying to point the light beam everywhere at once with her trembling hand, trying to see if a killer was materializing out of the shadows and running towards her. But there was no one inside the apartment with her.

  She pointed the flashlight beam down at the coffee table where she’d heard the clinking noise and she saw the biggest salad bowl she owned sitting in the middle of the table right on top of t
he drawing of the revolver and bullets which was still face-up. Inside the bowl were dozens of light bulbs of various sizes – every light bulb from her home.

  The flashlight went out again, plunging her into darkness.

  She slapped at it again, unaware of the cries of terror mewling from her own throat.

  No light. No light. No light.

  The light bulbs!

  She thrust her hand down into the bowl of light bulbs a little too quickly, almost shattering some of them and slicing her hand open. Her fingers curled around one that had to be the right size. She rushed over to the lamp next to the couch and reached over the lamp shade to stick the light bulb down into the socket.

  Almost there.

  She swore she heard something in the apartment with her now, someone moving through the darkness, someone breathing heavily, someone getting closer and closer to her, ready to grab her.

  She almost dropped the light bulb. Her fingers were already slick with nervous perspiration. But she got another hold on it at the last second and tried to screw the light bulb in with her trembling fingers.

  If I don’t get it in this time, I’m running!

  But she got it in the socket. And she twisted and twisted the light bulb. It seemed to be taking forever.

  And the shuffling sound in the darkness sounded like it was closer. The breathing sounded like it was closer. She swore she could feel hot breath blowing on the back of her long hair, disturbing it slightly.

  And then she was rewarded with a blinding light in her face on the next twist. She tore her hand out of the lamp, nearly knocking it over, and she turned and looked around at her apartment with wild eyes.

  Nobody was in the apartment with her. No Shadow Man waiting to bury an ax into her face.

  She was breathing so hard, she was afraid she was going to hyperventilate. Maybe she would pass out right here on her couch with her groceries outside her front door.

  Tara moved away from the couch and stared at the bowl of light bulbs. Someone had done that. Someone had taken every bulb out of her lamps and lights and set them in a bowl for her to find, right on top of her drawing.

  He’d been in here – the Shadow Man had been in her apartment.

  She needed to get out of here.

  She bolted for the front door, leaving the lamp on next to the couch and she left the light bulbs in the bowl on the coffee table. She also left the flashlight on the seat of the couch (it didn’t seem to work anyway). She tore the front door open and ran outside. She slammed her door shut and managed to stick the house key into the lock with her trembling hands and twist it.

  She knew where she needed to go now.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  1.

  Tara grabbed her two bags of groceries from the concrete walkway outside her front door and ran for her Jeep. She glanced over at Steve’s apartment as she ran, hoping he’d gotten home in the short time she’d been fumbling around with the lamp in her apartment.

  But he wasn’t home.

  She opened the back door of her Jeep and practically threw the two bags of wine, cheeses, and crackers into the back seat. The wine bottles clinked together hard, but they didn’t break. She slammed the back door shut and hopped into the driver’s seat. She slammed her door shut and slapped at the door lock buttons, locking all of the doors.

  Now that she was safely inside her Jeep, she looked around at the apartment building and then twisted around to look out through the rear window of her Jeep at the stand of woods and brush at the other end of the parking area. She stared at the dark trees and bushes for a long moment, waiting for some kind of movement in the darkness.

  But she didn’t see anyone in the darkness.

  She didn’t see him anywhere.

  Tara turned back around, trying to get her breathing back down to a normal rate. Her trembling began to subside a little and she wiped at a thin film of perspiration on her forehead.

  The Shadow Man had been here at her apartment complex not too long ago, but she couldn’t feel him now.

  Because he won’t let you feel him.

  She hesitated for another moment before starting her Jeep. She felt like crying. She wanted to be with somebody so bad right now. There was a killer out there in the darkness somewhere, a killer who’d been searching for her for a long time. And now he’d found her.

  And he wanted her to know that he’d found her. The light bulbs were his message.

  She needed help. Maybe from the police.

  Or from the FBI agent.

  She dug the business card out of her purse and laid it down on the passenger seat and looked at it for a moment.

  No, not yet. She’d call Lorie first.

  Tara backed out of her parking space and turned the headlights on. She pulled out of her apartment complex onto the street.

  2.

  As Tara drove, she dialed Lorie’s number. She needed to talk to someone who knew her, someone who knew she wasn’t crazy, someone who could help her calm down.

  Lorie picked up on the fourth ring. Tara had just been preparing to leave some kind of witty message so Lorie wouldn’t worry about her.

  “Hey, Tara. What’s up?”

  “Lorie,” Tara said as she stopped at a red light. She knew she shouldn’t be using her phone and driving, but she felt like this was an emergency. And if a cop pulled her over, maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe he could follow her back to her apartment and look over the evidence of an intruder that was sitting on her coffee table.

  But then she could picture the cop’s eyes as he stared at her. A bowl of light bulbs proved nothing except maybe a crazy woman with delusional fantasies had taken the time to remove all of her own light bulbs to prove that not only was the Boogeyman after her, but he was playing practical jokes on her.

  “What’s wrong?” Lorie asked after Tara hesitated too long.

  “I’ve got some wine and snacks,” Tara said and her joviality sounded false to her own ears. “I’m on my way over. We’re going to hang out and don’t try to stop me.”

  “Oh Tara,” Lorie said and Tara felt her heart sink at the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you. Mike invited me up to his place for a few days.”

  She forgot to tell her. This was the beginning of the end, Tara thought. The beginning of the distance that would grow between them as she and Mike grew closer together.

  “Tara?”

  Tara turned left onto a side street, not sure where she was going now, but definitely not heading to Lorie’s house anymore. “It’s okay,” she said a little too quickly. “That’s great. Wow. You guys are … you’re moving fast.”

  “You okay, Tara?”

  “I’m … I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound okay.”

  “No, seriously, I’m fine. I just wanted to get out for a little bit. That’s all. Cooped up in my place too long, I guess.”

  “Why don’t you ask Steve to go somewhere with you?”

  Tara nodded as she drove. “He’s not home, and anyway, I think I may have brushed him off one time too many by now.”

  Lorie screamed in Tara’s ear.

  Tara’s heart jumped and she was about to ask if Lorie was okay, but then Lorie’s scream turned into a fit of giggling. Tara heard a man’s voice in the background saying something to her in a low and deep voice, something possibly seductive.

  “Sorry,” Lorie said. “Mike was out for a while and he just got back. He snuck up behind me and scared the hell out of me.”

  Tara rolled her eyes as she drove. And for a split second she despised Lorie and wished she was Lorie at the same time.

  “Sorry, Tara. I gotta go.”

  “Yeah, sure. You kids have fun.”

  Another hesitation on the phone.

  And then: “You sure you’re all right, Tara? You don’t sound all right.”

  “I’m fine. Never been better.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Lorie told her. “I promise. And we’ll hang out so
on.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  Tara hung up the phone and drove, still not really sure where she was driving to, just sure that she didn’t want to be at her apartment right now after what had just happened.

  She needed to get help. Maybe she should drive to the police station and report this.

  Report what? What was she supposed to tell them?

  Hey officer, you know that killer who’s been butchering people the last few days; well I think he may have been in my apartment a little while ago. How do I know? Because he collected all of my light bulbs from my apartment and put them in a big bowl on my coffee table where I would find them, right on top of a drawing that I’d done in my sleep, a clue to the next murder victim.

  No, it didn’t sound so great when she thought about it.

  But she still needed some kind of help.

  She stopped at a red light and plucked the business card up from her passenger seat.

  It was time to call Agent Woods.

  3.

  Detective Perry arrived at Miss Helen’s only ten minutes after the first officers were on the scene. He’d been driving and he wasn’t too far from the crime scene when he’d gotten the call. He turned his unmarked sedan around and stomped his foot down on the pedal. Jackson, in the passenger seat, held on for dear life as they sped down Highway 301.

  There were two police cruisers parked in Miss Helen’s front yard. One of the cops stood by his car as Perry and Jackson walked up to him.

  “One dead inside,” the cop told them. “Shot in the head.”

  “Robbery?” Perry asked.

  “Doesn’t seem like anything was taken.” The cop hesitated for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he should elaborate. “Suicide, maybe?” He shrugged his shoulders.

  Perry and Jackson entered the house. They glanced at the other two cops who were inside and they didn’t need to tell them to get out – they hurried outside on their own, leaving Perry and Jackson alone in the front room of the house with Miss Helen slumped over on her purple table cloth.