IS
10

The first of my senses to be revived was sound, as the familiar and steady swish of my bedroom ceiling fan became comfortably apparent to my ears. My eyes then fluttered until focus was regained, as they became transfixed past the slowly turning blades to the hallway lights bright reflection on the shiny metallic base, or canopy of the fan.

I laid there sprawled over the bed in my dark room, feeling medicated or possibly even intoxicated on some crazy level, trying to reconnect with anything real in my clouded mind. Light was real, as the hallway compelled me to go to it. Pain was also real. I sat up, feeling the pressure between my buzzing ears, and wondering if I would yet be qualified to assess what had happened, and what was quite possibly nothing more than an elaborate and terrifying dream. Desperately leaning towards the latter of the two, my thoughts came to an abrupt halt, at the sound of a loud crash in the basement directly below my room.

My body remained motionless, as my heart began to beat harder and faster, painfully listening for more. Seconds later, I could hear the squeaky hinges of the door to the laundry room—slow and unassertive. A cautious and curious prowler… he was in the house.

I slowly rose to my feet, desperately clinging to the closet door handle for support, feeling hung over, while making my way into the brightly lit hallway. I had no idea how long I had been out, or any recollection of just how I had gotten to my own bed. But none of that seemed to matter at the moment, as I entered the kitchen and found the door wall wide open to the damp morning air. I closed the door, and turned to the basement. As I approached the basement door, I found it to be half open, and just like the rest of the house, minus the hallway, dark and ominous. Opening it further, I listened down into the subterranean blackness for anything, before clicking the light on and putting things slightly in my favor.

“Hello?” I called down. “I know you’re down there. I heard you!” I then paused for any response, but there was nothing. I couldn’t help but wonder how he was dealing with the bright light all around him. Maybe that was his kryptonite! Maybe at that very moment, he was bent over in excruciating pain-–possibly even dying.

This could be my moment. It might be my one chance to end this whole nightmare. My brain began to instantaneously conceptualize the whole event and just how it would play out for me. I would go down into the basement to find him convulsing in a corner of the room, with the bright light sucking the life from his pasty body-–if he was not already dead.

Then, what kind of joke would I be playing, Officer Daniels? Oh, I’m sorry–-Officers Beavis and Butthead, that’s right! And I wouldn’t have to say hi to Powder for you… Oh look, I delivered him to you in the flesh, disgusting as it may be.

One quick visit into my weapons room, or what some may choose to still call a garage, and I was soon descending slowly down the stairs, armed with an old hockey stick clutched tightly in both hands, compromised by years of abuse, but still sturdy and stealthy enough for the task at hand. As I approached the remaining few steps, my mouth was dry, and my palms sweaty. I tried to refrain from wiping the uncomfortable tickle of sweat that had at that very moment traveled from my right temple into my ear. I tipped my head to meet my shoulder for relief, as there was no way I was letting go with either of my hands. The annoying squeak of a step surely announced my arrival.

Straight ahead was a clear view of no one. I leaned forward into the space, looking from side to side, to find the rest of the area clear as well. After reaching the floor, I cautiously patrolled the room for any spots that he could have hid behind, possibly for shelter from the light. There was nothing.

I placed my gaze back across the room to the one place I should have been concerned with all along. Was I slipping, or was it that my subconscious was scared shitless just like the rest of me? The laundry room!

Seeing the door partly open was no surprise, as I don’t believe I have ever seen it closed. But I knew what I heard earlier from my room. And I also knew that it had its own separate light source apart from the rest of the basement.

For the longest time, I just stood there, staring into the darkness, past the half opened door, knowing that he was staring right back. If he was able to come out into the light, he would have me at a great disadvantage. I would literally be trapped with no way out, as I had moved across to the far side of the room, and away from the stairs.

The silence was unnerving. Scared or frightened didn’t seem to capture the true essence of that very moment. I actually thought I could smell blood. I squeezed the stick tighter what I was going through at that in my grip, forcing a sharp corner to push through what was a healing and scabbed-over wound to my right hand.

This was crazy! What the hell was I going to do now? I had put myself in a different situation, a hundred miles from what I had originally visualized in my mind. There was no suffering going on here, other than my own hand. I now knew his strength and what he was capable of. But–-at the same time, I also knew his weakness. Everyone and everything has at least one. His was light. And as long as he remained in the dark, he was strong and resilient to possibly anything. I would have to bring the kryptonite to him. It would be as easy as a flip of a switch! And this particular one was just inside the door. I now had a mission. I only had to gather enough moxie to go through with it.

I would pretend as though I were going back up the stairs, maybe even take on a few steps. And then, with the ultimate element of surprise, I would charge the door’s entrance to the immediate left of the stairs and reach in to flip the light on. This would have to be done quickly, and with absolutely no hesitation. Like I said–-I just needed to reach down deep enough for the nerve to follow through with this simple, but brave plan. If he was indeed watching me, I could only hope that I would be quick enough to avoid his grasp. I surely would stand no chance in the clutches of his obvious strength.

“I guess I better go upstairs now,” I blurted out, feeling as though I were rehearsing a line from some corny low-budget film, but all the while knowing the importance it could serve in the end. As I made my way back across the room and towards the first step, I had to force myself not to look into the dark opening and his black stare that undoubtedly was watching my every move.

Whoever said silence was golden would most likely eat their own words in the throes of the unfortunate terror that I was now facing. Every step closer made my heart beat that much faster, until I could take no more of the intolerable anxiety I was riding on. Just as my right foot touched down upon the very first step, I pushed off and to my left with an aggressive attack to the very spot where I knew the switch to be. My damaged hand swiped upward across the small ivory colored toggle, blinding the once darkened room with seventy five watts of illuminating power.

I then came crashing down onto a table of miscellaneous antique plates and other assorted dishes Corey had set aside for sale. Depreciation of value was inevitable as I quickly rose to my feet, stumbling backwards over broken pieces of once fine and valuable dinnerware, never taking my eyes off the half opened door to what I could only surmise to be a brightly lit chamber of death, or so I hoped.

My back was soon up against a support pole, when I began to notice an intense stinging to my right thigh, accompanied by the wet dripping sensation of blood, running the remaining length of my outer leg and ending in my shoe. And yet still, no sound or movement was detected from the laundry room. I was almost as afraid to look at my leg as I was to open the door the rest of the way and confront myself with what I knew to be waiting for me… almost. I could refrain no longer from assessing the deep gash, as anger once again became the driving force that pushed me forward.

“You mother fucker!” I screamed. I picked up the hockey stick on my way, just before kicking the door open to its full potential, and was surprised at the sight of a large black cat that leaped past me and up the stairs, possibly as scared as I was.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” I roared. I turned around and began to smash any remaining dishes and plates with my stick, needing to release at something, just before dropping the stick and falling to my knees, weeping again like a child who had been left behind with no hope or promise of resolution to anything. This was beginning to feel like a legacy of sorts. My ugly cross to bear. But I still hadn’t figured out what I could have done to deserve all this… why me? No! I wasn’t about to climb aboard the question train again. I took that ride before, and it only drove me crazy!

With that, I climbed to my feet and went into the laundry room for something to wrap around my leg. I found an old sheet that wouldn’t be missed, ripped off two long and narrow strips, wrapped and tied one tight above the wound and the other directly over it.

As I proceeded up the stairs and into the bathroom on the landing next to the garage, I continued to call for the cat that I recognized to be my next door neighbor’s. I can only guess that the Stantons had left her out by mistake before leaving on their trip.

“Midnight!” I kept calling her name from the bathroom, as I leaned over the sink and splashed cold water over my face, rinsing away the blood, sweat and tears of the night’s recent events. If only my memory would serve me better as to what those events were.

Grabbing a towel to dry my face, I became alarmed at my reflection in the mirror. I reached for my forehead and what appeared to be a small bruise at the very center. I heard the cat meow. “Midnight?” I called out, as I flipped the light on and continued to explore the mark in question on my head. “Come here baby! Come here, Midnight!”

Again, a distant meow from the black feline could be heard from somewhere in the house. Meanwhile, my attention was still adhered to the blemished, but familiar, reflection staring back at me with curious, confused eyes. The mark was the size of a quarter, and as I leaned in closer, I could make out three relevant colors of red, blue, and purple. Touching the mark, I felt no pain, but found myself falling back against an adjacent wall and nearly knocking a picture off, as the memory of earlier events flooding back into my head.

I remembered now. I remembered everything. I felt overwhelmed to see it all at once, and so unbelievably clear in my mind. From the vision of him in the tree, to running for my life, to hearing Randi’s voice. I focused once again on the bruise, remembering him touching my forehead as I raised my hand to inspect it once more.

That was the last thing I could recall before coming to in my bed, other than some crazy dream I had about flying through the air. I found myself backtracking in my thoughts to hearing Randi’s voice. I thought for sure that it was her. It sounded exactly like her–-he sounded exactly like her!

Nervous again for her safety, I exited the bathroom, walked through the kitchen and into the back living room to look out the side window, which gave me a clear view of the O’Conner house. It remained just as I had last seen it; dark and quiet.

Just as he had mastered my voice with insidious replication, he had also used that same talent to replicate hers. Yes, I said talent! Even though I was repulsed by his presence that smothered me in fear, the brilliant way he was able to copy someone’s voice or an animal’s sound could not be dismissed without at least being recognized as truly amazing.

As I stood there staring off into the dark early morning, recalling his grotesque display with the unfortunate demise of that poor beautiful bird, my eyes traveled over the stillness of seemingly quiet, vacant yards, anticipating his whereabouts. Then once again, from somewhere behind me, somewhere within the confines of the dark and silent house…

“Meow.”

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