It Happened in the Night

Thanks to MistressLynn for her editing help and support. For all those wondering Chapter 4 should post within a couple days after this one does.

CHAPTER 3: DESCENT INTO MADNESS

Sunlight beamed through the open window illuminating the room. Brian awoke in a tangle of bed sheets, believing at first that something was holding him down. Thrashing around, trying to clear the sleep from his brain, he managed to throw them from the bed into a heap on the floor. He lay in the middle of the bed motionless; reliving last night's horror in his mind still not sure if it was real.

"Oh man, I didn't even get the number of the truck that ran me over," Brian mumbled to himself, realizing how sore his body was. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make his head throb as severely as it was at that moment. He would have ripped it right off his shoulders if he could have. His entire body ached from the strain of the shoveling and carrying the day before but that wasn't what concerned him.

What was really concerning Brian was the headache that seemed about to tear his head apart. He ran his short thick fingers through his hair, stopping at the large indentation in the top of his skull. Fingers traced over the outlines of the familiar ridge. It was a gift from his childhood. Just touching it brought a rolling sensation to him. The car he'd been in flipped several times before coming to rest in the ditch and smashing his head in.

The doctors worked around the clock to save his life and fix what was left of his destroyed skull. His father had told him that the ambulance driver said he was the most beat up thing he'd ever seen that was still alive. To fix his skull, the doctors had to weave metal wire throughout a large part of it to keep the bone together. This spot seemed to be the source of his headache. Brian pressed his fingers against it and could feel his fingertips vibrating just a little. He jerked his hand away quickly, not knowing what to make of it.

Brian sat on the bed with his eyes closed and focused his thoughts through the cloudiness of his mind. There was a faint humming sound, as if tuning forks struck the wires in his skull. The incessant noise burrowed deep into his psyche, causing him real physical pain.

Holding his head in his hands, Brian got off the bed and started dressing. "No point in getting fancy today. Nobody around to see it," he joked to himself as he slipped on his track pants and an old T-shirt. He froze even as he said it, remembering the night before. They wouldn't still be in the house would they? That didn't really happen did it? Those thoughts and more echoed in Brian's mind as he unlocked his bedroom door and looked into the hallway.

The coast was clear so far. Brian crept down the hallway, trying not to step on the squeaky parts of the floor. The two bedroom doors had been closed, but the bathroom was open and that was his first stop anyway. Silence was all he could hear as he trudged into the empty bathroom and opened his medicine cabinet searching around for some aspirin.

Cold water filled the glass to the brim and overflowed back into the sink as Brian's mind wandered. He popped a couple capsules into his mouth and swallowed them with a swig of cold water. The water felt so good against his hot skin that he splashed more on his face. Thoughts of a hot shower hammered against his brain before he shut and locked the door and undressed again. The warm spray felt oddly refreshing, as if it could rinse away the pain of yesterday. Life had seemed so utterly boring and yet he would take that boredom over the excitement he had been having.

Fully refreshed from the shower, Brian headed back into the undisturbed hallway and into Josh's room. The reality of last night didn't hit home until he saw Josh lying in his crib again. "How did you get back here? You're all dead." Josh looked the same as before, except upon closer inspection there was dirt under his fingernails as though he'd had to claw his way through the earth.

If Josh had returned, everyone else would have as well. Brian swayed in the middle of the room, not yet ready to face his wife again. It was Karen last night. She said she'd be watching him, that someone would always be watching him. He looked around the room, studying every detail. There was nobody around except Josh. Brian moved closer to his crib and bent down beside Josh, looking him in the face. His eyes were closed and not moving. "I still love you buddy," he whispered to his dead son.

Just as he was moving away, he heard a faint sound. "Light," Josh moaned.

"What buddy, what did you say," Brian implored, moving against the bars of the crib, ever hopeful. No answer came.

Light? Brian wondered what his son was talking about. He shrugged it off as the utterance of a three year old. Matt's door was closed and it seemed like an impossible obstacle for Brian to overcome. His hand shook as he reached out to turn the knob. He opened the door to see Karen and Matt lying in the bed huddled together. This would have been a camera moment if they weren't both dead and supposed to be buried in the backyard.

The next thing he noticed was Karen's ripped shirt. It hung open and her breast was spilling over the top in plain view. It was like she had planned for that to be the first thing Brian saw when he walked into the room. Then he realized it was her plan. She'd been trying to seduce him into opening the door last night and was still working on him.

It was as he walked closer that he saw the blood all over the sheets. Panicking, he ran to the bed to see what the source of it was. He picked Matt up and looked him over before he was certain it wasn't coming from him. Karen had a perverted smile emblazoned on her face as he turned to look at her. "I know you can see me Karen. You'll never win."

With trembling hands, he reached out to examine her next. Her skin was the same as the days before except it seemed to have a mottled look to it, as though it was decomposing. He looked over at Matt's face and noticed that about his complexion for the first time as well. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear horror music playing, as if he was living a scene from the movie "Halloween". The terror Brian felt was immeasurable.

His hands searched over the body that he knew as well as his own looking for where the blood came from. Then he saw her left hand and had to cover his mouth to keep from vomiting all over the bed. What was left of her ring finger was a stub cut back to the first knuckle, with her wedding and engagement ring still on it. Upon further inspection, the cut wasn't a clean knife blade cut either. A jagged tear had severed the top of her finger.

Brian fled the room and headed for the kitchen looking for his open bottle of rum. His mind was so distracted that he walked right up to the wall before he realized it. How could he have not seen it right away? He collapsed to his knees sobbing as he stared at the wall. This couldn't be happening to him. These things just didn't happen in real life, only in the stories he wrote to scare unsuspecting readers.

On the wall in front of him, written in frenetic strokes with a blunt instrument, was the words 'Home sweet home'. It was apparent to Brian that the writing was dried after he ran his fingers over it. Looking down at the floo,r Brian noticed the severed fingertip. It lay there mocking him.

Shrill laughter echoed in his mind in the same sardonic voice that he heard for the first time last night. She was going to drive him insane. In that instant, Brian realized that was her goal. Visions and noises crashed against his mind like waves on the Bay of Fundy pounding the beach as the tide rolled in. The incessant buzzing noise along with the blood hammering in his temples made Brian believe he was losing complete control.

Brian stumbled towards the liquor cabinet, sliding the glass doors open and pulling out the partially finished bottle of rum from the day before. In one deft motion, his thumb twisted the cap off and poured the second half of the bottle down his throat, trying to numb his pain. It felt like drowning to him. Like the time when he was a young child and he'd jumped into the pool without knowing how to swim at a family pool party.

The floor felt much more comfortable as the alcohol took hold of his body. A coughing fit wracked his body, forcing him to sit up and lean against the liquor cabinet. Time crept along as he waited for the liquid courage to find him. He felt like a miner trapped deep underground looking for any light that would show him the way out. Even though sunlight poured through the windows, darkness shrouded his mind.

He ran his hands through his still damp hair as he contemplated his next move. Shame ripped though his heart like a dagger. How could he do this to himself? Was he that weak? His legs gained strength and he pulled himself up as his head cleared a little. Stumbling over near the stairs, his foot slipped and sent him tumbling down into the basement. If not for his years of judo where he learned how to fall, Brian would have been seriously hurt as he smashed into the landing at the bottom. As it was, the soreness seemed to blend in with what he was already feeling.

What caught his attention was a message written on the wall similar to the one upstairs. This one was much more elaborate though. Hundreds of small pictures of lidless eyes surrounded the words "We're watching you". Each one had the pupils drawn in. This must have taken hours for her to do. Finding his legs, much like he learned how to do on his deep-sea fishing adventures, was easier said than done. Wobbling like a first timer on a boat in rough weather, Brian made his way to where the words were written.

The coppery smell of blood tinged the air, adding to the macabre absurdity of it all. The myriad of smaller eyes formed a border around the writing, creating the look of one larger eye. Brian looked around the room and could find no evidence of anyone watching him. Remembering the previous day, he sauntered over to the window that faced the neighbor's house behind them. He was certain he could see a pair of eyes looking out the upstairs window into the room he was in. Who was that? Karen told him last night that their were others and they'd always be watching him.

Scanning his backyard, he noted the grave where his family was supposed to be sleeping in eternal peace. It was still open as it was the night before when he looked anxiously from the upstairs window. By the time he looked back at where the person he'd seen watching him was, they were gone.

Brian stood in stunned silence looking at the remnants of his once happy family. Their pictures still lined the wall opposite the message. It was a sharp contrast to the cryptic signal sent his way and his heart ached as he thought of how he once took his simple life for granted. At that moment, he would have given anything to have it back, to hold his still breathing wife and kids in his arms. The alcohol overcame his senses and Brian slid down the wall onto the floor. Moments later, he was snoring.

* * * *

When he awoke hours later, his head throbbed, not just from the buzzing in his skull but also the start of a nice hangover. By this point, it was late afternoon and Brian had slept most of the day away. He raced up the steps and into the bedrooms. Everything was just as he'd last seen it, except his wife was naked.

Around both of her breasts, still dripping with blood, was a drawing of the lidless eye. Her perpetually erect nipples served as the perverse pupils. A grotesque combination of lust and abject horror washed over Brian as he stood in the doorway gaping. His cock sprung to life and his gag reflex worked at the same time. The power of his confusion froze him in place for several minutes as he tried to comprehend the scene.

"Whatever you're trying to do it won't work. I don't know who you are but you're not my wife. Not anymore."

Just then, he noticed a mocking grin graced her visage showing utter contempt for his attempts at bravery that she knew were false. His breath caught in his throat as he approached the bed again. He reached down, grabbed an empty garbage bag out of the box and laid it open. The bag went up over her head and down until he managed to fold her inside it. The force of his pulse crashed like waves against a breaker. After he finished tying the bag a thought crept into his mind and he said it before he had a chance to sensor himself.

"You're much better looking with a bag over your head. Maybe even fuckable." Those words died on his lips as she responded in a violent raspy tone muffled through the bag.

"Night is coming. Beware the light."

His hands recoiled as if bitten by a poisonous snake. The bag was moving and stretching. Her voice rose to a crescendo chanting the same refrain.

"Night is coming. Beware the light."

"Night is coming. Beware the light."

After the sixth time, Brian grabbed the bag and hoisted in over his shoulders. His muscles strained holding it in place as it writhed above him. He carried it out the front door and down the slick hill to the back yard. The chanting got so loud he couldn't hear himself think. All he knew was he had to get it into the ground before she stole the last shred of sanity remaining.

When he reached the hole, he tossed the bag in with a thud, shocked by his own callous treatment of what used to be his wife. The chanting stopped at once. The bag was still. Looking up at his neighbors, he could see two eyes peering through the curtains, following his every move. In an act of defiance, he raised his middle finger towards the window.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he began shoveling dirt into the hole again until the bag was covered. The original plan was to leave them in the house until nighttime when he would have to hide in his room. It didn't take him long to realize just how dangerous she was to him. The kids he could handle, her feminine wiles had always been hard to resist, but this represented a new level of cunning.

The sun beat down upon his face, leaving the imprint of its warm touch. He shivered from the omnipresent wind howling across the yard, removing the last vestiges of fall color from the trees. The cycle of decay was all around him and within him all at once. His mind was rotting from the inside out trying to survive.

After resetting the grave, he climbed back up the hill to the house and went in through the front door. The kids were both still in bed. After harboring a quick glance at the message adorning the wall, Brian rummaged through the kitchen to find a large bowl and washcloth. He ran warm water into the bowl and approached the bloody imprint. The water washed the blood off the paint with efficient precision.

For a few minutes, the therapy of cleaning the wall gave him a peaceful feeling that perhaps he had some amount of control in an uncontrollable situation. He continued downstairs and removed all the lidless eyes and the rest of the message. With his normal paranoid tendencies, he looked out the window at the grave just to ensure it was still intact. It was this time.

At the same time, he noticed the lengthening of shadows and realized how late it was getting. His stomach lurched and rumbled reminding him that he'd eaten nothing all day. After disposing of his cleaning supplies, he raided the basement freezer, which was more like a cooler at this point, and found a nice big T-bone steak for dinner.

"Well at least something has gone right for me today," he commented with a smirk.

Grilling steaks was something Brian had always enjoyed. The fresh air was filled with smoke, the smell of cooked meat wafted through his nose and he didn't even care that it was windy or the flame kept going out. Or that the beer was more cool than cold. Being able to enjoy a normal experience after the past few days was the best thing he could imagine at that moment.

The experience was almost paranormal as Brian sat down to eat at his kitchen table where he'd shared so many meals with his family. Eating by candlelight was also an interesting change. Nighttime was fast approaching and he knew they would be back tonight. His fragile psyche was bracing for another round of torture.

Just to reassure himself, Brian grabbed the flashlight and looked out the window. The grave remained covered. By instinct, he shone the light at the neighbor's house and could faintly see two eyes looking straight at him, piercing the darkness like an arrow. Brian stepped back with a shudder and the reminder that someone was always watching him ringing in his mind.

He was used to staying up until the middle of the night in his previous life, but tonight he was in his room by eight o'clock. The sheer power of the darkness overwhelmed his courage. Brian waited.

The room became his prison, while he waited for the sounds he'd been expecting all day. He tried sitting on the bed, but quickly grew bored. Then he tried reading by flashlight, all that did was hurt his sensitive eyes. Finally, he gave up all pretense of being busy and paced the floor back and forth.

"I always think best when I pace anyways. If I'd been allowed to write while pacing, I would have aced all my college exams," Brian told himself chuckling. His attempts at humor were little consolation against the growing dread burrowing into every fiber of his body.

The he heard it, a faint little creaking sound. It could have been the wind but he knew at once that it was them. There was more creaking and then the sound of little voices in the distance. Even though he'd been preparing himself for this all day, he suddenly felt very unprepared. Tears streamed down over his cheeks and his hands clenched and unclenched.

Brian sat on the end of his bed, hands over his face. It was the same routine as last night. He heard the sounds of children having fun in the bath and then silence as they went off to bed. It was all he could do to keep from screaming as he waited for the sound of her voice.

"Brian you naughty boy, you erased all my drawings. That took me a long time to do," the voice of his wife remarked from beyond the bedroom door.

His own voice caught in his throat. He tried to say something in response, he did try, but nothing came out. The buzzing in his head became louder as he slunk against the wall and onto the floor sitting in the fetal position. "Get a grip Brian," he whispered to himself. It was pointless trying to convince himself she wasn't there because he knew she was.

"I'll have to write you another one tonight Brian. I still have nine more fingers to use. Not that you'll live that long," she cackled.

After she said that, Brian heard the floor creak as she walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. He sat against the wall waiting for her voice to return. He waited what must have been hours until sleep finally claimed him early in the morning.

* * * *

Brian was fucking his wife again. Her beautiful body knelt in front of him and his cock was pistoning in and out of her from behind. He heard the sounds of her pleasure as muffled gasps through the pillow she'd buried her face into. The room smelled of sweat and sex commingled. She was so wet and he thrust himself as deep into her as he could.

Brian felt like it'd been months since he last made love to her and knew he wouldn't last long. The pressure built inside him like a bomb designed for maximum impact. He grabbed her hips roughly, admiring the softness of her skin. His left hand drifted forward to find one of her full breasts; he tweaked her nipple knowing the effect it would have on her. Her back arched and she pushed against him, taking his thrusts with ease.

He couldn't believe it felt so good to be inside her again after the last few days. That had all been a dream he told himself. His hands held onto her with a vice like grip, needing to feel her. Her muscles contracted around him and he couldn't contain it any longer.