Post by readilygrey on Jul 29, 2012 22:49:13 GMT -5
Another submission from school.
“Wake up, wake up, it isn’t safe,” a voice whispered in my dream. My eyes snapped open as I reached for the lamp on the headboard. At first my fingers encountered only air, but then there’s the soot inside an ashtray, the sweat on the side of a glass before finally finding the light.
I wasn’t in bed but on the living room couch. A sticky sheen of sweat clung to my skin, collecting uncomfortably in the folds of my clothes and sleep-tangled hair. I’ve always had bad dreams when it’s hot. I took a deep breath as my fear dissipated.
But then I looked up. There was something odd, something I couldn’t quite make out on the back of the couch. All I could see were hard, shiny, half circles, like hoops, but I couldn’t tell what they were attached to.
Until they moved and I knew, with visceral precision, that they were claws.
I jumped from the couch with a scream, moving back until my shoulders struck the bookshelf. I screamed again.
The creature remained where it was, hunched on the back of the couch. It was as big as a large fox or raccoon but not as appealing as either. Its fur was brown and sparse, growing in dark swirls that revealed the pale, unhealthy skin beneath. Its tail was thick and hairless, like a rat’s.
My husband, Nicholas, stumbled into the room, his tank top and boxers twisted from sleep.
“On the back of the couch!” I said, waving him toward the thing.
Nicholas began to approach it slowly, but he didn’t stop when he reached it; instead, he placed his hand beside it, leaning forward to peer behind the couch.
“What was on the back of the couch?” he asked, too calm for his recklessness.
“Move your hand or it might bite you!”
“Maybe it went under the couch, or…” Nicholas moved to shake out the curtains.
Bile gathered in my throat and I had to swallow before I could speak again. “It’s right there, on the back of the couch.”
“What is?”
“You really can’t see it?” If I had been married to anyone else I would have thought it was a prank. But I suspected it had nothing to do with Nicholas at all.
“What does it look like?” He sounded hopeful, as if I was going to say it was just a spider he couldn’t see without his glasses. I wished it was that as well.
“It’s like an opossum but bigger, its tail is bald, and its fur is brown and thin, like an ape’s and it has long, sharp claws.” My own doubts were mirrored by the furrow that creased his brow. “It’s there,” I insisted. But if that was true then why wasn’t it moving? A wild animal confronted with two noisy humans should have been doing something.
“Have you been taking your medication?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes, but even if I hadn’t, depression doesn’t cause hallucinations.” But that wasn’t the only possibility. I was twenty-six, the same age my father was when he became sick. When he began seeing things no one else could and thought he was being used to record all of his experiences like a human camera. He wanted to protect his family from its scrutiny, and I know he thought he was doing the right thing, but I’ve never gotten over what I watched him do to his ears and eyes.
Needing to prove my sanity, I forced myself to step toward the creature, silently willing its slitted pupils and short, wrinkled snout to vanish. But even when I leaned in close it refused to go. I’m not sure what compelled me to do what I did next, only that I did it. I opened my mouth and blew, as if I could scatter it like motes of dust.
It lifted its grotesque, wet snout, allowing its sharp teeth to jut from its mouth. As if excited by my breath its nose began moving rapidly, like a pig’s an instant before it reaches the trough. Its eyes swiveled to stare at me and I could see the thoughts written in its slimy irises.
I was the trough.
I jumped back, no longer caring if I was crazy. It was real enough to me.
“Honey,” Nicholas said, placing an arm around my back. “Let’s go to bed.”
“I can’t sleep with that thing in the house.” I watched as his lips pressed into a thin line. “I know it’s probably all in my head but I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“You just need sleep.” When I didn’t respond he sighed. “What if I moved it outside?”
Grateful as I was he was humoring me; there was still the problem that he couldn’t see it and that I didn’t want him to risk him touching it. His solution was to move the entire couch out onto the porch. I didn’t help and he didn’t ask me to. I felt bad, but I was more relieved to watch the beast ride out of the house. I locked the door behind it.
We went to bed and the hum and cool air from the AC lulled me back to sleep. My last thoughts were that maybe he was right; once I rested I would be normal again.
But I awoke sometime later with the night still dark beyond the window. I was tired, but I needed to turn on the light, to locate my robe and confirm that the thing was still locked outside. I reached above me for the light switch on the headboard but instead my fingertips encountered wiry fur and cold, damp flesh.
This time Nicholas couldn’t calm me down no matter how hard he tried. Turning on the light did nothing to banish my darkness, because it was still there on the headboard, still rooting its snout toward me.
I wanted to leave, to stay at a hotel as far away as we could drive. But instead Nicholas took me to Wakefield.
I’d been there before, although not since I’d started my medication. The first time because I’d failed a class at school and slit my wrists. The second time I had no real reason, but that didn’t stop me from swallowing every pill in the medicine cabinet.
Doctors had never been able to help my father. But maybe they could help me. At the very least I was away from the house and the horrible thing inside.
My room at Wakefield was more like a private suite than a cell. Even so, they wouldn’t let Nicholas come into my room to help me get settled. Instead an attendant stayed until I finished unpacking.
“Are you finished?” she asked. At my nod she continued. “I’ll turn the light out from the hall.”
I’d forgotten the switch wasn’t in the room. “Will you leave it on?”
“No, the rule is that lights must be out from ten to six.”
I was uneasy, but the thing was miles away and possibly imaginary so I consented. That didn’t make it any easier to sleep, not after I’d been awoken twice by that thing. I shifted from my back to my right side and then eventually to my left. It was then that my out flung hand landed on something cold and a little rough. Something that was long and cylindrical like a rubber hose—or a thick, hairless tail.
I shrieked and stumbled in the dark until I found the intercom. “Help me! It’s in here!” I shouted as I pressed the button.
“Please calm down so I can understand you,” a male voice said.
“I’m having extreme hallucinations.” I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “I need someone to come in here, and turn on the light.”
“If you are having trouble sleeping, we can give you something for that.”
“No, I need to be awake, please, please turn on the light.”
There was a pause. “I’m sending someone to you.”
He sent “someone,” three of them in fact—two to hold me down and one to deliver the injection. Through it all the creature was beside me, tasting the air as if it can’t get enough of my scent. I watch its claws as they slide closer, but there was nothing I could do. By the time the orderlies released me I was unable to even lift the fingers on my hand.
The creature’s movements are slow but relentless. I know in a moment I’ll feel that wet, hateful snout press against my cheek as the sharp teeth gain access to my face. I have no way to stop it. All I can do is watch as it creeps across the bed.
And then, as an orderly turns off the light, I can’t even do that.
“Wake up, wake up, it isn’t safe,” a voice whispered in my dream. My eyes snapped open as I reached for the lamp on the headboard. At first my fingers encountered only air, but then there’s the soot inside an ashtray, the sweat on the side of a glass before finally finding the light.
I wasn’t in bed but on the living room couch. A sticky sheen of sweat clung to my skin, collecting uncomfortably in the folds of my clothes and sleep-tangled hair. I’ve always had bad dreams when it’s hot. I took a deep breath as my fear dissipated.
But then I looked up. There was something odd, something I couldn’t quite make out on the back of the couch. All I could see were hard, shiny, half circles, like hoops, but I couldn’t tell what they were attached to.
Until they moved and I knew, with visceral precision, that they were claws.
I jumped from the couch with a scream, moving back until my shoulders struck the bookshelf. I screamed again.
The creature remained where it was, hunched on the back of the couch. It was as big as a large fox or raccoon but not as appealing as either. Its fur was brown and sparse, growing in dark swirls that revealed the pale, unhealthy skin beneath. Its tail was thick and hairless, like a rat’s.
My husband, Nicholas, stumbled into the room, his tank top and boxers twisted from sleep.
“On the back of the couch!” I said, waving him toward the thing.
Nicholas began to approach it slowly, but he didn’t stop when he reached it; instead, he placed his hand beside it, leaning forward to peer behind the couch.
“What was on the back of the couch?” he asked, too calm for his recklessness.
“Move your hand or it might bite you!”
“Maybe it went under the couch, or…” Nicholas moved to shake out the curtains.
Bile gathered in my throat and I had to swallow before I could speak again. “It’s right there, on the back of the couch.”
“What is?”
“You really can’t see it?” If I had been married to anyone else I would have thought it was a prank. But I suspected it had nothing to do with Nicholas at all.
“What does it look like?” He sounded hopeful, as if I was going to say it was just a spider he couldn’t see without his glasses. I wished it was that as well.
“It’s like an opossum but bigger, its tail is bald, and its fur is brown and thin, like an ape’s and it has long, sharp claws.” My own doubts were mirrored by the furrow that creased his brow. “It’s there,” I insisted. But if that was true then why wasn’t it moving? A wild animal confronted with two noisy humans should have been doing something.
“Have you been taking your medication?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes, but even if I hadn’t, depression doesn’t cause hallucinations.” But that wasn’t the only possibility. I was twenty-six, the same age my father was when he became sick. When he began seeing things no one else could and thought he was being used to record all of his experiences like a human camera. He wanted to protect his family from its scrutiny, and I know he thought he was doing the right thing, but I’ve never gotten over what I watched him do to his ears and eyes.
Needing to prove my sanity, I forced myself to step toward the creature, silently willing its slitted pupils and short, wrinkled snout to vanish. But even when I leaned in close it refused to go. I’m not sure what compelled me to do what I did next, only that I did it. I opened my mouth and blew, as if I could scatter it like motes of dust.
It lifted its grotesque, wet snout, allowing its sharp teeth to jut from its mouth. As if excited by my breath its nose began moving rapidly, like a pig’s an instant before it reaches the trough. Its eyes swiveled to stare at me and I could see the thoughts written in its slimy irises.
I was the trough.
I jumped back, no longer caring if I was crazy. It was real enough to me.
“Honey,” Nicholas said, placing an arm around my back. “Let’s go to bed.”
“I can’t sleep with that thing in the house.” I watched as his lips pressed into a thin line. “I know it’s probably all in my head but I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“You just need sleep.” When I didn’t respond he sighed. “What if I moved it outside?”
Grateful as I was he was humoring me; there was still the problem that he couldn’t see it and that I didn’t want him to risk him touching it. His solution was to move the entire couch out onto the porch. I didn’t help and he didn’t ask me to. I felt bad, but I was more relieved to watch the beast ride out of the house. I locked the door behind it.
We went to bed and the hum and cool air from the AC lulled me back to sleep. My last thoughts were that maybe he was right; once I rested I would be normal again.
But I awoke sometime later with the night still dark beyond the window. I was tired, but I needed to turn on the light, to locate my robe and confirm that the thing was still locked outside. I reached above me for the light switch on the headboard but instead my fingertips encountered wiry fur and cold, damp flesh.
This time Nicholas couldn’t calm me down no matter how hard he tried. Turning on the light did nothing to banish my darkness, because it was still there on the headboard, still rooting its snout toward me.
I wanted to leave, to stay at a hotel as far away as we could drive. But instead Nicholas took me to Wakefield.
I’d been there before, although not since I’d started my medication. The first time because I’d failed a class at school and slit my wrists. The second time I had no real reason, but that didn’t stop me from swallowing every pill in the medicine cabinet.
Doctors had never been able to help my father. But maybe they could help me. At the very least I was away from the house and the horrible thing inside.
My room at Wakefield was more like a private suite than a cell. Even so, they wouldn’t let Nicholas come into my room to help me get settled. Instead an attendant stayed until I finished unpacking.
“Are you finished?” she asked. At my nod she continued. “I’ll turn the light out from the hall.”
I’d forgotten the switch wasn’t in the room. “Will you leave it on?”
“No, the rule is that lights must be out from ten to six.”
I was uneasy, but the thing was miles away and possibly imaginary so I consented. That didn’t make it any easier to sleep, not after I’d been awoken twice by that thing. I shifted from my back to my right side and then eventually to my left. It was then that my out flung hand landed on something cold and a little rough. Something that was long and cylindrical like a rubber hose—or a thick, hairless tail.
I shrieked and stumbled in the dark until I found the intercom. “Help me! It’s in here!” I shouted as I pressed the button.
“Please calm down so I can understand you,” a male voice said.
“I’m having extreme hallucinations.” I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “I need someone to come in here, and turn on the light.”
“If you are having trouble sleeping, we can give you something for that.”
“No, I need to be awake, please, please turn on the light.”
There was a pause. “I’m sending someone to you.”
He sent “someone,” three of them in fact—two to hold me down and one to deliver the injection. Through it all the creature was beside me, tasting the air as if it can’t get enough of my scent. I watch its claws as they slide closer, but there was nothing I could do. By the time the orderlies released me I was unable to even lift the fingers on my hand.
The creature’s movements are slow but relentless. I know in a moment I’ll feel that wet, hateful snout press against my cheek as the sharp teeth gain access to my face. I have no way to stop it. All I can do is watch as it creeps across the bed.
And then, as an orderly turns off the light, I can’t even do that.