Mercifully, Nightmare was gone from my life. But I knew the bastard was out there. Somewhere.
And here he was now, spreading his poison to this sweet young lady. This desperate young lady.
And there she was, holding on like a trooper.
My directions were clear: keep your damned eyes shut. And she did. By God, she kept them shut as tight as she could, and now Nightmare’s ethereal form was something more than ethereal. He was physical. As physical as he could be. Hell, he even cast a shadow over her bed.
But she kept her eyes closed as my book had instructed...
God bless her.
Nightmare, infuriated, screeched loudly...but still Susan kept the bastard at bay, holding him fast.
And before my very eyes, I watched as the entity continued shrieking even as he shriveled into something small and ugly, until it finally disappeared altogether. Even the slime that had covered her arm was gone.
Minutes later, Susan, who had been whimpering softly, dropped her empty hand and covered her eyes, still afraid to open them after she had destroyed such a formidable enemy.
* * *
I hung around for a few more days, and by God, the demon known as Nightmare didn’t return. Whether or not he had somehow survived to haunt another’s dreams, I didn’t know, but this time it felt final.
This time, he felt gone. Forever gone. An acceptance spread through my consciousness.
My work here was done. Truth be known, my work was done long ago, the instant that bus decided to use me as a crash test dummy. As such, I had, of course, failed miserably.
I’ve seen things in the spirit worlds that I want to forget. Other demons. Darker entities. Creatures so foul that even I would look away.
But nothing as foul as Nightmare.
Where had he gone? I didn’t know, but all it took was for one brave and desperate young woman to face down her own nightmare. A nightmare in every sense of the word.
Susan was sleeping peacefully on her side, a smile on her face.
Sweet dreams, I thought.
I realized I had nowhere to go. My purpose in life—and death—had been fulfilled. I had no reason to go back to my familiar haunts. And with that thought, golden hands reached out to me for a fourth and final time.
This time, I took their hands.
This time, I allowed them to lead me away.
The End
~~~~~~~~~~
Soul Train
Judd Ramses lay in bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the coming train.
Yesterday, after crossing the train tracks, Judd watched the odometer in his mother’s Acura, watched it until they pulled into their driveway. It was exactly 2.2 miles from their house to the train tracks.
And still he could hear the train rumbling along the tracks.
Between his house and the train tracks there was a main boulevard, two smaller roads and even a small commuter airport.
And still he could hear the train roaring down the tracks.
The train’s whistle pierced the air, hooting. In the big-screen, surround-sound television of his mind, he could see train cars rushing past him, each with a faded Santa Fe logo splashed on their broad sides. Judd saw himself standing next to the tracks as this monster of a train roared past him, dirt, gravel, exhaust and trash washing over him. He saw himself grinding the palms of his hands into his ears, trying in vain to thwart the deafening roar against his eardrums.
If the train’s this loud to me, he reasoned, bewildered yet again, how loud was it to those people who actually lived closer to the train tracks?
The night was hot and humid, making sleep nearly impossible. Well, that and the damn train. Judd lay spread-eagled in his Fruit of the Looms. The fan on his desk chugged away, doing its best to disperse the sticky air.
Maybe, he thought now, maybe I can hear it so clearly because night-time is always quieter than day-time.
The whistle had come and gone, and the train’s rumbling was only a memory now. A troublesome memory.
Goodness, he thought, I can’t be the only one who thinks this is insane. I can’t be the only one who hears this thing louder than the freeway that’s not even a block away.
He rolled to his side and finally went to sleep. And in his dreams he dreamed of a train plowing through his backyard, knocking over fences and exploding through homes. A train that seemed alive...and hungry.
A train that was coming for him.
* * *
Her routine had been disrupted by Judd’s persistent questions.
That was a no-no in the Ramses household. His mother had her mornings planned down to the minute. Between the hours of six and seven-thirty he could have told you the exact spot his mother would have been standing. More efficient than clockwork, she now stood glaring down.
“It’s just that I hear it every night, Mom. As loud as can be.”
“I’ll tell you once more, and only once more. What you hear is not a train but the freeway. And as far as I know, those tracks were abandoned years ago.”
“But I hear it all the time, ever since we moved here. I hear the whistle, too.”
She sighed and straightened a framed photo on the wall, of her dead husband in his uniform—desert camos. She ran a finger down the cheek on the photo and then walked to her son and did the same.
“I’m getting to look more like him, the older I get, aren’t I?” Judd suddenly asked. His mom looked at him quizzically, then kissed him goodbye on the forehead.
“Do I, Mom?” he persisted. “Look like him?”
At the door with briefcase in hand, she said simply, “Make sure you load the washer.” And then she nodded. “Yeah, you do. A lot.”
And then she turned and left.
* * *
Judd listened to Leno poking fun at a female guest. She said something back, apparently equally as funny, and the crowd laughed.
Judd was staring at the ceiling again, listening to his mother’s TV from across the hallway. He was fully dressed in jeans, a light tee shirt and sneakers. In his school backpack hidden under his covers was a flashlight, a sandwich and a digital camera.
Fifteen minutes later, he heard his mother click off her bedroom TV and in the silence, heard the tink of her lamp switch being turned off. Ten minutes after that, he heard her snoring lightly.
He slipped out of bed quietly, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and stepped out into the dark hallway. He paused, listening, verified that his mother was still sleeping, and headed downstairs.
His mountain bike was waiting for him at the side of his house. He hopped on it, opened the latch to the side of the house, and was soon pedaling down his quiet street in the dead of night.
A clean escape, he thought, grinning into the wind. Mom will never know, and I will prove to her once and for all that there’s a train.