baby monitor:
Artie Prater slept, which was exactly what he’d been afraid of. His wife of five years, Laura, was out of town. She worked for the bank in Roncefort, and once a year, all of the bank’s employees went on a mandatory week-long retreat. This year, they were in Utah, enjoying steak dinners and attending seminars about things like team-building and synergy. Artie liked to tease Laura about these things, but only because he was secretly jealous. He’d been unable to find work for over a year, and it bothered him that he couldn’t provide for his wife or their new son, Artie Junior. The upside was that while she was at work every day, he’d been able to stay home and take care of Little Artie. Laura reciprocated by getting up with the baby at night, which relieved Artie to no end.
Artie had always been a deep sleeper. His mother had once said that he could sleep through a nuclear war, and that wasn’t far from the truth. He’d slept through 9/11, waking up in his college dorm room later that night and wondering why everyone was staring at the television and crying. Since becoming a father, Artie’s biggest fear was that the baby would wake up crying, perhaps hungry or in need of a diaper change or shaking from a nightmare, and he’d sleep through it. That’s why he was grateful when Laura was there to get up with Artie Junior at night, and that’s why he dreaded these rare times when she wasn’t home.
They had a baby monitor in the house. A small camera was mounted above Little Artie’s crib. It broadcast a signal to the monitor, which was plugged into the bedroom’s television. With Laura out of town, Artie had turned the volume on the television all the way up, filling the room with white noise and the soft sounds of his son’s breathing. Then, bathed in the glow from the screen, he’d sat back in bed with his laptop and played a video game. It was early—too early to sleep, but Little Artie had been tired and cranky, and Artie knew from experience that he should rest when the baby rested. He promised himself that if and when he got tired of the game, he’d sleep lightly.
Except that he hadn’t. He fell asleep playing the game, barely having the presence of mind to sit the laptop aside before passing out. He slept through the power outage, and did not wake when both the laptop and the television shut off, as well as the baby monitor. He slept through the howling dogs and the terrified screams and the numerous gunshots. He slept through the explosion. He slept as his neighbors were murdered in their homes and out on the street. He slept, drooling on his pillow and snoring softly as two shadowy figures entered his home. He slept, unaware that in Artie Junior’s nursery, a large, black crow had perched on the edge of his son’s crib. He slept as the crow changed shape. He remained asleep as the bedroom door opened and a shadow fell across him, as well.
He didn’t wake up until the baby screamed, and by then it was too late.
The last thing he saw was the figure in the room with him. The baby’s screams turned to high-pitched, terrified shrieks. Artie bolted upright and flung the sheets off his legs, but before he could get out of bed, the intruder rushed to the bedside and loomed over him. The man’s face was concealed in darkness. It shoved his chest with one cold hand and forced him back down on the bed. In the nursery, the baby’s screams abruptly ceased.
“W-who…?”
“Scream,” the shadow told Artie. “It’s better when you scream.”
Here is the real-life version of events:
Brian Keene slept, which was exactly what he’d been afraid of. His wife of seven years, Cassi, was out of town. She worked as a corporate trainer for a large commercial real estate company (because her husband’s income was unreliable), and once a year, all of the company’s employees went on a mandatory week-long retreat. This year, they were in Utah, enjoying steak dinners and attending seminars
Artie Prater slept, which was exactly what he’d been afraid of. His wife of five years, Laura, was out of town. She worked for the bank in Roncefort, and once a year, all of the bank’s employees went on a mandatory week-long retreat. This year, they were in Utah, enjoying steak dinners and attending seminars about things like team-building and synergy. Artie liked to tease Laura about these things, but only because he was secretly jealous. He’d been unable to find work for over a year, and it bothered him that he couldn’t provide for his wife or their new son, Artie Junior. The upside was that while she was at work every day, he’d been able to stay home and take care of Little Artie. Laura reciprocated by getting up with the baby at night, which relieved Artie to no end.
Artie had always been a deep sleeper. His mother had once said that he could sleep through a nuclear war, and that wasn’t far from the truth. He’d slept through 9/11, waking up in his college dorm room later that night and wondering why everyone was staring at the television and crying. Since becoming a father, Artie’s biggest fear was that the baby would wake up crying, perhaps hungry or in need of a diaper change or shaking from a nightmare, and he’d sleep through it. That’s why he was grateful when Laura was there to get up with Artie Junior at night, and that’s why he dreaded these rare times when she wasn’t home.
They had a baby monitor in the house. A small camera was mounted above Little Artie’s crib. It broadcast a signal to the monitor, which was plugged into the bedroom’s television. With Laura out of town, Artie had turned the volume on the television all the way up, filling the room with white noise and the soft sounds of his son’s breathing. Then, bathed in the glow from the screen, he’d sat back in bed with his laptop and played a video game. It was early—too early to sleep, but Little Artie had been tired and cranky, and Artie knew from experience that he should rest when the baby rested. He promised himself that if and when he got tired of the game, he’d sleep lightly.
Except that he hadn’t. He fell asleep playing the game, barely having the presence of mind to sit the laptop aside before passing out. He slept through the power outage, and did not wake when both the laptop and the television shut off, as well as the baby monitor. He slept through the howling dogs and the terrified screams and the numerous gunshots. He slept through the explosion. He slept as his neighbors were murdered in their homes and out on the street. He slept, drooling on his pillow and snoring softly as two shadowy figures entered his home. He slept, unaware that in Artie Junior’s nursery, a large, black crow had perched on the edge of his son’s crib. He slept as the crow changed shape. He remained asleep as the bedroom door opened and a shadow fell across him, as well.
He didn’t wake up until the baby screamed, and by then it was too late.
The last thing he saw was the figure in the room with him. The baby’s screams turned to high-pitched, terrified shrieks. Artie bolted upright and flung the sheets off his legs, but before he could get out of bed, the intruder rushed to the bedside and loomed over him. The man’s face was concealed in darkness. It shoved his chest with one cold hand and forced him back down on the bed. In the nursery, the baby’s screams abruptly ceased.
“W-who…?”
“Scream,” the shadow told Artie. “It’s better when you scream.”
Here is the real-life version of events:
Brian Keene slept, which was exactly what he’d been afraid of. His wife of seven years, Cassi, was out of town. She worked as a corporate trainer for a large commercial real estate company (because her husband’s income was unreliable), and once a year, all of the company’s employees went on a mandatory week-long retreat. This year, they were in Utah, enjoying steak dinners and attending seminars
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