true face of the nightmare man who stands still as an ebony statue at the foot of Logan’s bed.
A battering ram slams into my left side and I’m knocked into the room, bouncing between the wall and Logan’s big wooden dresser until I settle on the ground, pressed down by a snarling, warm bulk. I struggle, try to whip out the elbow pinned to my side, try to push myself up from an incredibly painful position from which I have absolutely no leverage.
“Wake up!” the thing growls at me, and from the voice and weight and smell I understand it’s Shannon.
“I’m awake. Goddamn it, I’m awake. Let me up.”
But she drags in ragged gasps of breath and squeezes me tighter, not letting me get any leverage.
I crane my neck just far enough to see past the dresser and find the nightmare man is gone. The struggle must have scared him away. Logan stands in the corner sobbing.
Then the lights come on.
Shannon doesn’t relinquish her grip a bit, but we both turn to the doorway. Madison stands there wide-eyed, one hand still on the light switch, one clutching a stuffed Hello Kitty.
“I’m awake, goddamn it.” I try to control my voice. It comes out as a weird grumble whisper instead of the shout I feel rising in me with the panic of being trapped with my spine torqued, my shoulder pressed into the wall, my face into the dresser.
“You’re awake?” She pulls back her head and looks at me, going almost cross-eyed trying to focus on me from inches away, trying to see the truth in my eyes.
“Shannon, please get off me. I’m awake, and this really hurts.”
She can’t get up without pushing off me. I try not to curse in front of the kids, but I do. She helps drag me up.
“He was here,” Logan says through blubbering pink lips. “The nightmare man. He was right there.” He points to the end of the bed. “He said it’s my fault!” and the wailing takes him too hard for him to speak any more. Then Madison starts crying, and suddenly, despite all the panic and chaos of moments before, Shannon’s and my ultimate priority is to comfort them.
“I heard him screaming,” I say, kneeling and clutching Logan to my chest. He pulls himself against me just as hard, and his heaving pulses through my body, breaking my heart.
Shannon glares at me as she hugs Madison, who keeps looking at her older brother and then crying harder. But Shannon’s glare is confused, unfocused. It’s anger that wants desperately to find a place to land, but can’t. Because she doesn’t know what I know.
The nightmare man is after our son.
I stand, picking Logan up, though holding my left hand limply against his back.
“Oh my God, Jessie, you’re bleeding.”
I set Logan down and then look myself over. I don’t expect to see the amount of blood that’s smeared across and flowing down my legs from beneath my boxers; the world goes warm and fuzzy and I taste copper as I almost faint.
* * *
Because of the wrist injury I’m getting extra consideration at work. Extra post-call time, since my typing is off. Extra smoke breaks, which I wouldn’t have expected. I guess they value me more than I thought.
I stare up at the late fall sky, watching my sad little stream of smoke disperse and join that iron gray canopy, and I think of last night. I think of the nightmare my life has become. I think of the emergency room.
My left wrist is sprained. They strapped a brace on it. Other than that, all I can do is occasionally ice it, and try to keep it higher than my heart.
Remembering this, I lift my left arm into the air until my shoulder burns, then drop it.
The ER doctors were more concerned with my leg. What I didn’t notice in the chaos the nightmare man had created was that I hadn’t knocked the door out of its frame, I’d knocked the frame out of the wall with the door still shut in it. It came out whole, pulling the nails with it, nails that pointed straight up, that I dragged myself across, and without even noticing puncturing and
A battering ram slams into my left side and I’m knocked into the room, bouncing between the wall and Logan’s big wooden dresser until I settle on the ground, pressed down by a snarling, warm bulk. I struggle, try to whip out the elbow pinned to my side, try to push myself up from an incredibly painful position from which I have absolutely no leverage.
“Wake up!” the thing growls at me, and from the voice and weight and smell I understand it’s Shannon.
“I’m awake. Goddamn it, I’m awake. Let me up.”
But she drags in ragged gasps of breath and squeezes me tighter, not letting me get any leverage.
I crane my neck just far enough to see past the dresser and find the nightmare man is gone. The struggle must have scared him away. Logan stands in the corner sobbing.
Then the lights come on.
Shannon doesn’t relinquish her grip a bit, but we both turn to the doorway. Madison stands there wide-eyed, one hand still on the light switch, one clutching a stuffed Hello Kitty.
“I’m awake, goddamn it.” I try to control my voice. It comes out as a weird grumble whisper instead of the shout I feel rising in me with the panic of being trapped with my spine torqued, my shoulder pressed into the wall, my face into the dresser.
“You’re awake?” She pulls back her head and looks at me, going almost cross-eyed trying to focus on me from inches away, trying to see the truth in my eyes.
“Shannon, please get off me. I’m awake, and this really hurts.”
She can’t get up without pushing off me. I try not to curse in front of the kids, but I do. She helps drag me up.
“He was here,” Logan says through blubbering pink lips. “The nightmare man. He was right there.” He points to the end of the bed. “He said it’s my fault!” and the wailing takes him too hard for him to speak any more. Then Madison starts crying, and suddenly, despite all the panic and chaos of moments before, Shannon’s and my ultimate priority is to comfort them.
“I heard him screaming,” I say, kneeling and clutching Logan to my chest. He pulls himself against me just as hard, and his heaving pulses through my body, breaking my heart.
Shannon glares at me as she hugs Madison, who keeps looking at her older brother and then crying harder. But Shannon’s glare is confused, unfocused. It’s anger that wants desperately to find a place to land, but can’t. Because she doesn’t know what I know.
The nightmare man is after our son.
I stand, picking Logan up, though holding my left hand limply against his back.
“Oh my God, Jessie, you’re bleeding.”
I set Logan down and then look myself over. I don’t expect to see the amount of blood that’s smeared across and flowing down my legs from beneath my boxers; the world goes warm and fuzzy and I taste copper as I almost faint.
* * *
Because of the wrist injury I’m getting extra consideration at work. Extra post-call time, since my typing is off. Extra smoke breaks, which I wouldn’t have expected. I guess they value me more than I thought.
I stare up at the late fall sky, watching my sad little stream of smoke disperse and join that iron gray canopy, and I think of last night. I think of the nightmare my life has become. I think of the emergency room.
My left wrist is sprained. They strapped a brace on it. Other than that, all I can do is occasionally ice it, and try to keep it higher than my heart.
Remembering this, I lift my left arm into the air until my shoulder burns, then drop it.
The ER doctors were more concerned with my leg. What I didn’t notice in the chaos the nightmare man had created was that I hadn’t knocked the door out of its frame, I’d knocked the frame out of the wall with the door still shut in it. It came out whole, pulling the nails with it, nails that pointed straight up, that I dragged myself across, and without even noticing puncturing and
Similar Books
