Her thought was cut off by the sound of a thump coming from somewhere in her apartment. The living room, maybe. She understood that she hadn’t woken because her dream-slash-nightmare had become too disturbing. She’d woken because she’d heard a noise, probably a previous thump. She was a light sleeper, had been since her parents had brought her home from the hospital, at least to hear them tell it. She always woke when Larry got home after a night gig. He was usually drunk, or close to it, and while he wasn’t known for being ninja-quiet in the best of situations, he was even louder when he had alcohol in his system.
Ordinarily, she’d have been irritated by his clumsy noisiness, might’ve called out for him to keep it down. He’d call back, saying Okay, and he’d be quiet for a couple minutes, and then he’d start being noisy again, as if she’d never said anything at all. But tonight she was glad he was home. After the nightmare she’d had, she was grateful that she wasn’t alone in the apartment any longer.
I’ll go out, say hi, see how the gig went, she thought. And if Larry was in a talkative mood, if he wanted to stay up and regale her with stories of how many good-looking men and women had attended the show, and laugh about all the ways he and the band had screwed up their performance, she’d listen to every word, ask questions, encourage him to add more details until the sun came up and her nightmare became a distant – if unpleasant – memory.
She threw off the comforter, moved into a sitting position, then put her feet on the floor and stood. After dreaming of being semi-nude, she was self-conscious about how much of her bare legs were visible below the T-shirt – not to mention that she only had a pair of panties on underneath – but Larry had seen her naked more times than she could count. Since they’d ceased being a couple, he had never tried to make a move on her, not once. She had no reason not to trust him. Still, she was tempted to grab a pair of sweatpants from the dresser and slip them on before leaving her bedroom. She decided against it. Larry knew she didn’t sleep in sweats, and he’d know something was wrong if he saw her in them. She didn’t want to tell him about her dream, wanted to let the memory of it fade in the way dreams did. So, bare-legged and braless, she walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and stepped out into the short, narrow hallway.
The hallway housed a small linen closet as well as a half-bath, but that was all. From here, she normally could see into the living room – when the lights were on, that is. They were off now, and the apartment was pitch black. Larry never went to bed right away after coming home from a gig. Even if he’d had a few drinks – or more than a few – he was too wired from performing to sleep. He’d stay up two, three hours, texting friends and watching YouTube videos on his phone, listening with earbuds so he wouldn’t wake her. Maybe he’d drunk more than usual and had passed out on the couch moments after entering. He snored, though lightly, when he slept sober, louder when he fell asleep drunk. But she heard no breathing, let alone any snoring.
Maybe the noise she’d heard had come from another apartment. It wasn’t as if the walls and floors were soundproof. She could often make out conversations taking place in the adjoining apartments, especially when said conversations devolved into shouting matches. If Larry was zonked out, she didn’t want to bother him, and if the thumps had come from another apartment, they didn’t concern her. She started to turn and head back into her bedroom when she thought of something. When Larry came in late, he sometimes forgot to lock the door. One time, he’d been so drunk and exhausted that he’d left the damn door open all night while he slept belly-down on the living room floor. They’d been lucky someone hadn’t tried to rob them – or worse.
If Larry had collapsed on the couch – or fallen to the floor – he might have passed out before closing the door. She should go out into the living room and check to make certain the door was closed, and if it wasn’t, she’d close and lock it herself. If she didn’t check, she knew she’d keep obsessing over the door, and there would be no way she’d get back to sleep tonight. Without realizing it, she crossed her arms over her breasts as she’d done in the nightmare, and started toward the living room, moving slowly so as not to trip in the darkness.
There were lampposts behind the apartment building, the same kind as the ones out front. Both the first- and second-floor units had sliding-glass patio doors close to the kitchen. Lori used hers as a dining area, keeping a small round table with a pair of chairs in front of the patio door. The ground-floor apartments had individual fenced-in patios, while the upper apartments had wooden decks they shared with the unit next door. They each had a small space where residents could sit and hang out, the spaces bisected by a single set of wooden stairs that led down to the ground. Vertical blinds covered Lori’s patio door at night, but slivers of light usually managed to sneak through the spaces between the slats, illuminating the living room and kitchen, at least a little. There was no light now, though, which was weird because the blinds were old and some of the slats didn’t close all the way. Maybe there was something outside the patio door, blocking the light. She wanted to tell herself the thought was ridiculous, but after what she’d experienced tonight at FoodSaver the idea didn’t seem foolish at all.
She took several steps into the living room, stopped, and whispered, “Larry? Are you home?”
No response.
She didn’t want to speak much louder in case he was here and sleeping, but she could feel the first stirring of panic in her mind, and so she said his name again, speaking in a normal – if strained – voice.
“Larry?”
Still no response.
Even louder now, almost yelling.
“Larry!”
Nothing.
Either he was really out of it – like alcohol-poisoned and unconscious out of it – or he wasn’t here. There was only one way to know for certain. She uncrossed her arms and reached out toward where she thought the wall was, hoping to find one of the switches that turned on the living room’s ceiling light. Her fingers found the wall and slid back and forth across its flat surface, but she couldn’t find the switch. She could’ve sworn there was a light switch somewhere around there. But if there was, she couldn’t find it. Maybe the switch wasn’t there now. Maybe something had happened, maybe her apartment had changed.
Stop it, she told herself. Just.Stop. It.
She took in a slow, deep breath. Held it. Let it out just as slowly.
Okay, so she couldn’t find the switch for the ceiling light. There were other ways to check for Larry’s presence.
She started moving toward the area where she thought the couch was located, half bent over, both hands stretched out before her, ears straining to detect any hint of Larry’s breathing. She walked for what seemed too long a time. Surely she should’ve reached the couch by now, or at least reached something – a wall, the chair next to the couch…. But she continued walking without encountering anything, and a terrible thought occurred to her. What if when she left the hallway, she’d somehow stepped onto an endless dark plain, like the land on either side of the Nightway in her dream? What if the Nightway and the Vermilion Tower were real, and her apartment – her entire life on Earth – was the dream? Was she lost in the lands beyond the Nightway, doomed to wander aimlessly until some deadly predator caught wind of her scent and decided to approach her in order to satisfy both its curiosity and hunger?
She felt a sudden sharp pain in her shins, and she let out a squeal of fright. It took her an instant to realize she’d walked into the glass coffee table in front of the couch.
“Fuck,” she muttered beneath her breath. But despite the pain, she was relieved to have struck the coffee table. The pain told her that she was in her apartment and that everything was normal. Probably going to have a of couple bruises tomorrow. That was a small price to pay for a little reassurance, though.
She crouched and searched with her fingers until she felt the edge of the coffee table’s surface. Keeping one hand on the table to guide her, she walked around it until her left leg bumped into the couch. She stretched out her right hand and felt the cushions. No Larry. She kept her hand on the couch as she made her way around to the floor lamp sitting next to it. She found the switch and turned on the light. She forgot to look away and bright illumination stabbed into her eyes. She squeezed them shut and turned her head away from the lamp. Her eyes watered and tears slid down her cheeks. She felt a spike of pain behind her eyes, and she feared she might be on the verge of triggering another goddamn migraine.
Don’t borrow trouble, her mother always said. It was good advice, and she told herself not to worry about her head. Either she’d get a migraine or she wouldn’t.
She opened her eyes slowly to give them a chance to adjust to the light. She had to blink several times to clear the tears from her vision, but once she’d done this, she was able to see well enough. What she didn’t see was any sign of Larry. The front door was closed and locked, and that was a relief.
Whatever had caused those thumps, she hadn’t heard any more of them since leaving her bedroom. The noises had most likely been caused by one of the building’s other residents – as she’d suspected – and it seemed they’d stopped doing whatever it was they’d been up to. She was just on edge after everything that had happened tonight, that’s all. Best to forget about the mess, go back to bed, and try to return to sleep. She had work in the morning.
She glanced at the door once again. She was tempted to engage the chain lock for an extra measure of security, small though it might be. But if she did that, Larry wouldn’t be able to get in when he finally made it home. He might figure fuck it and go sleep in his car. It wouldn’t be the first time. But there was an equally likely chance he’d pound his fist on the door and call her name until she woke and came out to let him in. She didn’t want to deal with a loud, drunk, and angry Larry tonight. She’d leave the chain off.
She turned back to the lamp, intending to turn the light off, but she changed her mind. What would it hurt to leave the light on out here for the rest of the night? Maybe she’d sleep with her nightstand lamp on, too. She hadn’t done so since she’d been a little girl, but if having a light on in her bedroom helped her get through the rest of the night, she’d do it. Hell, she’d install a fucking spotlight in her room if it would—
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft clattering.
Her gaze was instantly drawn toward the sound, and she saw the vertical blinds over her patio door undulate slowly, stirred by a breeze.
She felt a fresh jolt of fear. A breeze meant the patio door was open. Had Larry left it like that when he’d departed for his gig? She hadn’t checked the patio door to make sure it was locked before she’d gone to bed, had she? She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so. If the patio door was open, that meant that someone else could be in her apartment right now. Maybe multiple someones.
She stood there, frozen, unable to decide what she should do next. She could call nine-one-one, but she’d left her phone on her nightstand, and she’d have to return to her bedroom for it. And if she did call for help, what could she say? I heard a couple thumps, and when I checked, I discovered my patio door was open. I’m scared. Can you send someone to check if the Boogeyman snuck in? She’d feel ridiculous if the police showed up, checked her entire apartment, and found nothing.
There’s no sign of an intruder, ma’am. You’re perfectly safe.
She imagined the officer saying these words with a slight sneer, as if he or she was angry with the overly nervous woman who’d wasted their time because she thought she’d heard something scary – upon awakening from a nightmare, no less. Then again, she’d be an idiot to continue investigating on her own, going into the small kitchen, stepping out onto the patio. That was the kind of dumb move people in films made, and more often than not, their stupidity resulted in their deaths. Better to be embarrassed than dead, she decided.
She started walking back toward the bedroom, moving slowly and quietly, continually gazing back at the patio door as she went. Another gust of wind stirred the blinds, this one stronger than the first, causing them to ripple and rattle more loudly than last time. The sound made her jump and she stopped walking and stared at the patio door.
That’s when she saw the first hand reach through the blinds. It was shadow-black, with long, multijointed fingers that ended in sharp, curving claws. It was the same sort of hand the shadow thing she’d glimpsed in the parking lot of FoodSaver had possessed. Was it the same creature? Had the thing somehow followed her home? She thought of the thumps she’d heard, and now she realized she knew what the sounds had been someone – or something – pounding on the glass of the patio doors from the outside. The door had been closed, and maybe the shadow creature had been trying to force it open, perhaps pounding the glass in frustration until it finally succeeded.
A second hand emerged from between the blinds, identical to the first. Then came a third, a fourth, a fifth…. Six, seven, eight, nine…. She lost count after that as hands continued thrusting through the blinds. Within seconds the rectangular space that marked the patio door’s opening was filled with ebon-clawed hands, all of them reaching toward her, fingers flexing, claws softly scratching against one another, as if the creatures were attempting to sharpen them before attacking. She’d been right about something blocking the light from the lamps behind the building, and now she knew what that something was.
She heard whispering then, a sound that might have been an autumnal wind, but which might also have been a chorus of voices speaking words that she couldn’t quite make out. Then one of the shadow creatures entered the apartment, seeming to slide between the blinds’ slats as if it were momentarily two-dimensional. But once it was inside the room, standing between the patio door and the dining table, it regained mass, like a black balloon inflating itself. This creature looked exactly like the one she’d seen at FoodSaver, might even have been the same one. It was impossible to tell. The thing had no apparent sensory organs, but its featureless face was pointed at her, and she had the impression that it was well aware of her presence. It stood for a moment, regarding her, and then it gripped the edge of the small round table with its clawed hands and flipped it over. The sound of the table hitting the floor shocked her out of her paralysis, and she turned to flee. In her peripheral vision she caught sight of the shadow creature heading toward her, claws upraised, as others of its kind entered the room, knocking the dining table’s two chairs over as they came.
She ran.
