Scary Nights
Paul Melniczek

* * * *

The scream echoed in Bill’s mind, a shrill plea calling him, the thin voice drenched in terror. He tossed in fitful unrest, his slumber growing lighter as the disturbance molested his unconsciousness, pricking him with tendrils of anxiety. A slow suffocation draped across his mind - a blanket of fear and madness which threatened to overwhelm him, black creatures flapping invisibly over his drifting fantasies.

He opened his eyes, his skin moist with sweat, as he stared at the stucco ceiling overhead. Bill’s breathing was labored, loud in his own ears, his heart racing in his chest. The voice, he thought. A dream?

“Mommy, help.”

It was Bobby.

He looked over at the bleary-eyed figure of his wife Carol, now roused from sleep herself.

“Honey, can you go check on him? He’s having another nightmare.”

A grimace played across Bill’s clean-shaven face, a face that managed to look pale even under the midday sun. He hopped out of bed, feeling a twinge of stiffness in his back, and slid his feet into a pair of fuzzy-blue slippers.

“All right. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately, though.”

Shuffling his lean frame through the room, he snapped on a lamp and continued toward Bobby’s bedroom. He flicked on the light, banishing the shadows back into the corners as he stuck his head inside Bobby’s room.

“Hey, what’s going on here? Another nightmare?”

The nine-year old looked up at him from tightly pulled covers, only the upper part of his head visible. His gray orbs were misted, dusky with fright.

“Dad, I’m scared. There’s something in here.” His voice shook with that special blend of terror, which only a frightened child could feel, alone in the night, and shrouded in darkness. Bill frowned at the boy.

“We’ve had this talk before, you know. There is nothing in this room, do you hear me? Just a young boy with an overactive imagination, having a bad dream.” 

“But there is something, dad. Over there.”

He pointed at the closet, which was open several inches.

Bill stepped into the room. “Listen, sport. This is the third night in a row; you’ve got to stop waking up at night. Your mother and I need our sleep, and so do you. If this keeps up, I won’t let you watch any more scary shows, or play video games. Understand?”

The boy cowered under the blankets. “I don’t care, there’s something in the closet.”

“Guess I’ll have to show you myself.” He walked towards the closet door.

“Don’t! It’s in there!” There was genuine fear in the boy’s voice, causing Bill to stop in his tracks. Bobby was a good kid, and they didn’t have any problems with him. His grades were excellent, he never got into trouble. Why the nightmares? What else was going on?

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, please don’t go in the closet. It’s in there.”

“What’s in there? The boogeyman? There’s no such thing, Bobby.”

Bill stared at the closet, knowing how children could be afraid of such unseen terrors. All kids went through that stage at some point. Invisible friends, monsters lurking under the bed, creatures in the closet. He had felt the same way when he was a child, but grew out of them in time.

“Don’t open it.” 

He looked at Bobby, then at the closet. A tingle of fear ran down his spine as he briefly shared his son’s dread, a flashback of deeply buried feelings he had experienced long ago. What if there really was something in the closet?

Don’t be foolish, he chided himself. You’re a big boy, now, no throwbacks at forty. That’s not part of being middle-aged. He placed his hand on the doorknob as Bobby huddled in the bed, concern for his dad etched into the smooth face, the blond hair ruffled to one side.

For a fleeting moment, Bill’s entire body went cold. His hand rested on the door handle, and he felt absolutely terrified to open the door, convinced that something waited inside. 

Something intelligent, horrible, and purely evil.

His wandering mind embraced the demons that brooded within, giving them a face, breathing life into their ethereal forms. Beads of new sweat appeared on his brow, conjured up by the trappings of subconscious fears.

In that single span of time, Bill knew that something existed in the closet.

Mechanically, he pulled the frame open, eyes wide in anticipation of what lurked inside the confines of Bobby’s closet. He wanted to stop himself, wanted to scream out loud. He watched in fascination as his own hand, now an alien appendage, acted against the warnings in his head, while Bobby whimpered behind him.

“Daddy, don’t, pleeeeease…”

Bill opened the door, feeling a rush of unseen nightmare wings thrust into his face, clawing at his mind.

It was empty.

Bill swished the spoon around in the plastic bowl, trying to gather as many of his favorite flakes as possible on the over-sized utensil.

“He’ll get over it, all kids go through the same thing, you know,” Bill said, scooping up a generous clump of flakes.

“Yes, but why don’t you do this for him? Show him there’s nothing to be afraid of?” Carol peered at him over one shoulder, carrying a handful of egg-splattered dishes.

He looked at the back of the cereal carton, which depicted a purple and yellow monster in the middle of a maze. Bill mentally followed a spot on the diagram, weaving in and out of dead-ends and false passages.

“Then we can all get back to our normal routine again.”

Bill came dangerously close to choosing a fatal corridor, and then he backed up. If he’d been tracing the maze with a pencil, he would have led himself to the monster. Fortunately, it was make-believe.

“Are you even listening?”

Yeah, he thought. Lucky me.

“Bill!”

“What?” He swung his head around, looking at Carol, spilling milk over the rim of his cereal bowl and losing his imaginary spot on the labyrinth.

“I said, why don’t you spend the night in Bobby’s room, and prove that there is nothing to be scared of, all right?”

“That won’t show him anything, he needs to overcome the nightmares by himself.” Bill tried to find his spot on the maze, well away from the leering monster that waited in the middle.

“Come on, hon. I’m asking you. For me.”

Bill grunted.

“Well?” 

He sighed, knowing that he fought a losing battle. “All right.”

“Thanks. Tonight then?”

“Yeah, tonight. But only one night.”

“Fine. He’ll be relieved to hear it.”

What about me, he thought, thinking of his own panic the previous night.

Suddenly, Bill didn’t feel hungry anymore.

All day long, Bill had waged a silent battle against a disquieting uneasiness, trying to distract the unwanted thoughts. He’d been unsuccessful. Now he stared at the black and white set in Bobby’s room, flicking through the channels, and finding little of interest. He looked over at the clock on the dresser, shaped like a swimming fish holding a clamshell in its fins. It was nearly midnight, and he should have been asleep himself by now.

But he wasn’t.

Bill’s gray eyes shifted over to the bedroom closet, fully closed, and he felt spider-chills creeping over his arms, causing him to shiver. Stop it, he thought. You’re worse than a kid. A grown man, afraid of the boogeyman. He almost laughed aloud.

Almost.

Why was he so disturbed? Maybe he felt Bobby’s innocent fear, making him apprehensive, concerned for his son. He yawned, stretching out on the soft feather bed. Pretty comfortable, he thought. An airplane dangled from the ceiling tied to a plastic wire. Bobby liked the plane, especially in the summer when the wind would blow it, and the propeller would spin.

Bill fell asleep, dreaming about a warm breeze and sailing out on the lake.

Eyes, baleful and red, glared at him. 

An open maw, slavering with dripping saliva, filled with rows of sharp teeth. The foul breath, hot, and steamy, poured out from the creature’s mouth. Coming closer. Closer…

Bill awoke from the horrible nightmare, clutching the blankets and finding himself drenched in a cold, sticky sweat. His heart pounded in fear, his breathing deep and painful. He was fully alert, the dream dispersing into the realm of sleep to be lost forever. 

Staring up at the ceiling, he saw the propeller spinning on the little airplane. Something familiar, friendly, he thought. Bill’s jaw stiffened.

It shouldn’t be moving.

The windows were shut - it was the middle of winter.

His chest felt a growing numbness, squeezing him slowly, threatening to stifle him. He pushed himself up from the bed, his entire body encased in icy terror. He knew immediately where to look, his body reacting to the subconscious command. 

The closet door.

Bill knew what he would see. 

The door would be fully opened, the creature glaring out at him, silently beckoning to him, inviting him into its dark demesne. As a young boy, he’d been mercilessly tormented by the nightmare dweller. And now Bobby was too.

He never actually saw the monster, but that failed to prove anything. It was in there, coming into the world only at night, summoned by the frightful workings of a child’s mind. Bill trembled in fear, telling himself that he was not a child. The boogeymen go away as you get older and smarter. They don’t exist.

He stood up, gazing at the closet door. There needed to be an end to the dark fantasy.

Don’t exist.

For both himself and Bobby. Time to grow up, put the monsters back where they belonged, in dreams and stories.

Don’t exist.

Bill walked over to the door, terror mixing with determination on his face. 

Don’t exist.

Grabbing the handle with quivering fingers, he acted on his own this time, wanting to dispel the nightmares for good, eradicate them from his reality and Bobby’s, the monotonous litany replaying itself inside his head.

Don’t exist.

Bill opened the door.

Carol’s eyes fluttered briefly then widened all the way, as she went from light sleep to wakefulness within the span of a few seconds. She’d heard a scream.

Looking at the other side of the bed, she saw the resting form of Bobby, his head nestled against her, the young face cherubic in peaceful slumber. She breathed a sigh of relief; her first waking thought one of concern for her only child. But she had heard something. What was it?

Without disturbing the boy she carefully crept out of bed, pulling her robe tight. She didn’t usually get up at night for anything and was normally a deep sleeper. She entered the hallway, leaving the light off, not wanting to waken Bobby. The boy’s bedroom door was shut, and she opened it, peering inside.

“Bill, did you call?”

Silence.

“You awake honey?” She walked into the room, looking at the crumpled covers on the bed. The bedroom appeared to be empty, the only light coming from the small lamp on Bobby’s dresser.

Strange, she thought. Why would he go downstairs this late at night? He wasn’t one to snatch a late snack; he worked early in the morning. A sudden movement caught her attention, and she stared up at the ceiling.

Something had moved, she was certain, but looking at the airplane, everything was still. Shaking her head, she decided to check the kitchen for her husband. As Carol turned to leave the room, she noticed that the closet door was closed. He better not be playing a joke on me, she thought.

“Bill, if you jump out of that closet to scare me, you’ll be sleeping by yourself the rest of the week.”

No answer.

“I promise.”

Bill wasn’t one for practical jokes. Actually, he possessed very little humor. Carol walked towards the door, her hand hovering before the handle. She felt tense, anticipating the panel to open at any second and Bill’s reproachful face would appear, chiding her for having him spend the night in Bobby’s room. Carol stopped, deciding that he wasn’t in there. A foolish notion anyway - he didn’t play such games.

Carol left the room to see if Bill was downstairs.

***

Ten minutes later, Carol again stood in Bobby’s bedroom, this time with a serious look on her face. Bill was nowhere to be found. She’d searched the entire house, even the attic and basement, but still there was no sign of her husband.

Extremely upset, she came back to see if he had left a note, or some indication as to where he had gone. Carol threw Bobby’s clothes off the dresser, hoping for a scrap of paper, or anything that told her of Bill’s whereabouts.

On the verge of tears, she was frantic, staring at her reflection in the dresser mirror. A haunted image returned the gaze, looking weary and frightened. I am, she thought. Where is he? What would make him leave in the middle of the night, on foot yet? The cars were still parked in the garage. She felt nauseous. Carol noticed that the closet door was open, nearly halfway.

It was closed before - she was certain. And now it was open. Maybe he really was in there, ready to spring out and surprise her. It was one nasty trick, Carol thought, but she prayed he was waiting in there regardless. Better a bad joke than the unthinkable alternative. She stared into the reflection. Leaning against the dresser, Carol gasped at what now appeared in the mirror.

A pair of red pinpricks leered out from the shadowed depths of the closet. Eyes that belonged to something unspeakably evil, a nightmare that couldn’t possibly exist in the living world.

She spun around, her blood frozen in terror.

The eyes were gone. 

The closet door wasn’t even open. Had it been only her frayed nerves, her overactive imagination?

Her question went unanswered as she left the room, sobbing and in disbelief.

***

The police search and following investigation proved fruitless. No clues were found in the mysterious disappearance of Bill that fateful winter night. No signs of struggle, notes, or subsequent sightings of the man ever materialized. The case remained open.

Carol would never be sure, looking back on that evening. The whole event was imprinted into her mind, whenever she recalled Bill’s last moments at home before he vanished. Her life was forever changed, and they sold the home, moving to a neighboring town.

Her dreams were never disturbed by creatures lurking in the closet, or Bobby’s after that horrible night, but Carol would always wonder about the monstrous vision she’d seen in the dresser mirror; those hideous, malevolent eyes.

* * * *

Paul Melniczek

Paul Melniczek is a small business owner and a college graduate, with a degree in business management. He also teaches a part time class at a local college, is married with two children. In year 2000 he began writing, and since then has had over seventy stories published or accepted for publication in a wide variety of markets, including print anthologies, print magazines, e-zines, and e-anthologies. Some of these include sales to Fangoria, Black Rose, Cold Storage, and many others.

He is also a musician, playing classical piano and electric guitar. In his free time he enjoys the outdoors, weightlifting, golf, and tennis. Living in the country lends much inspiration to his writing, and he is currently working on another short story collection, a fantasy novel, and a children’s book.