Jack’s Awakening
2:00 A.M, the red digital numbers of his bedside clock bathe Jack's foggy eyes and he rubs his right one with his fingertips, running his hand groggily down his tired face before finally cupping it in his palm, fingers stretching across his warm cheeks, and rolling to his other side. Eyes now closed, eliminating the vacant stare of those numbers from his view, he tries to get comfortable in vain. It's going to be impossible now. Fuck! It always seems to happen this way; one second and you're the newest hero in the la-la land, and then next your just another stupid kid who needs to take a piss so he can fall back to sleep.
Hastily Jack throws off his blue comforter, a now midnight shade on this darkened September morning. Stepping down onto the plush carpeting, Jack walks slowly passed his desk, the hibernating computer sitting upon it, humming gently with fans and sleeping circuit wires, just waiting for someone to be awakened. He makes his way through his room, like a panther creeping slowly through the moonless night. Aware of all of it's surroundings, and on edge, ready to trip, fall or stumble on any of the debris strewn about the forest. As he had done thousands of times before Jack, stalks his door, and again wonders why it is that his mother shut all of the doors when everyone falls asleep. Yeah, fire takes longer to burn through doors, but hey, it’s a ridiculous inconvenience when it comes to sound. And with that thought Jack laughed to himself, recalling some days, Ha! More like everyday, in which his mother, a chestnut haired housewife, who amazingly kept her figure and for a forty-three year old, who's main source of exercise came from dusting off cabinets, vacuuming, and folding laundry Jack thought it was pretty good. She would yell, scream, and whistle, in a useless attempt to break down those barriers, but like tombs none of the occupants heard or called back.
Smiling now, he turned the cold knob and pushed slowly forward, the only sound coming from the bottom of the door pushing the fibers of the green rug forward, allowing the door to swing on it's well oiled hinges, never squeaking, or making a sound. Jack began his trek towards his urination destination, following the lone candle on the kitchen counter that his mother must have forgot to blow out before she went to bed. Letting that light lead him, Jack felt a little more comfortable, and though the growing discomfort urged him to move faster, he couldn't help but stop and look up and through the giant skylight that comprised his great room ceiling.
"An engineering marvel," his mother had told him, though Jack couldn't see how something so obviously unsound economically in both construction and routine maintenance could be a "marvel" at all, but that didn't stop him from gazing through it's giant spy hole, and up into the sky at almost any chance he had. This was no exception either, regardless of the ache in his gut, the view up into this early mornings sky was breathtaking. The sky looked as dark a grey as it gets before it becomes black, and the moon looked like a shadow upon the pile of charcoal clouds. Suddenly Jack shivered, gooseflesh rising against his bare arms and chest, again realizing another downfall of the "marvel" No heat retainment, whatsoever.
Shaking off the bumps and thoughts of what they would call the type of moon he had just witnessed, Jack's bladder responded with more than a tinge of urgency, reminding him of his initial purpose for this trip. Hurried now, Jack started forward again. Relief the only thing occupying his mind.
Jack entered the bathroom, to the comforting sound of the "silent" fans that were meant to remove the stench of excrement from the air without causing any audible disturbance. Unfortunately though, the fans were quiet, but quite far from silent, and as for their shit-stench removing capabilities, Jack judged them about as high as a nine year old virgin whoring on the streets of New York. Without another thought, Jack instinctively reached his right hand blindly to chest level and with his patented one-handed-double-switch-flick, the fan stop spinning and truly became silent though now he could hear the faint electrical buzzing of the halogen light glowing dimly in its breastshaped enclosing.
With the light on, Jack turned to his left passing both elliptical mirrors without a glance and propped up the lid and seat of the toilet, revealing the clear water that's transparency allowed him to see the creamy sand color at the bottom of the tank. Same color as the tiles. Same color as the walls. Same color as the rest of the toilet. The color though, was not what Jack had focused on. Staring into the water, he could see not his own reflection, but only the unsteady glare of the light that hung four and some odd feet above his head.
Oh man! Now fully realizing how badly he had to relieve himself, he pulled his green and white pajamas down a bit and pulled out his now eager penis. Standing there for a second. Preparing himself and assuring that his aim into the water would be true, so as to not have to clean up spilled urine before going back to bed. He was totally ready, and then something strange happened, something that made Jack almost piss all over his pajamas and not into the bowl or water at all. He thought he had had heard. No. He knew heard a scream... A shriek almost. Something terrible screeching in pain and then it was cut off. The sound of a death that was not prepared for at all, Jack thought.
His thoughts of relief, now totally shot, replaced with the holes of flowing blood. The crimson fuel of full-fledged fear. He so badly wanted to find where that noise was coming from, but at the same time he was scared to death of what it could be. All thoughts of urination were burned away as if someone had distilled his bladder and filled his brain with the vapors, making him dizzy and wanting. If only it came again, maybe I could figure it out. And then almost as if on queue the noise came again, a high pitched squeal of terror, but this time much louder and more distinct. Terribly alarmed now, Jack pulled his pants up, and shot his head around, to see if maybe he could see something or change the direction in which his ears were hearing as to get a clearer idea of where this horrible sound was coming from. Maybe it's outside.... The window.
Timidly he peeked to the left, like a young child attempting to catch a glimpse of Santa, or the Easter bunny. He searched the darkness for anything discernable. Any comfort that might help balance his now spinning head. Jack thought of when he was little, and the things that he would pretend were outside his window. The demons, and vampires, werewolves, and hideous monsters that his imagination sent to lurk outdoors, but back then they weren't allowed to penetrate the peephole in which Jack would watch them live out their own morbid fantasies. Safely he would sit, and secure he'd stay, thinking about how nothing could touch him when he was behind the looking glass.
This was an altogether different story though. Staring out into what seemed like nothingness, complete and utter grey, his eyes adjusted to a less panoramic view, and Jack could now see himself, skinny and barechested. The wall behind him blur as if it had been the horizon in the middle of a desert. Jack's brow birthed a layer of frozen sweat, followed by the disturbing image of a crazy man, not a monster this time. Just a man without a name, or a mind that could easily smash his leprous hand straight through the window. Jack could see himself being dragged helpless through the deep woods, and into a bog where.... Stop it! Just shut up!, but before his train of thought could be derailed.
His mind, along with his legs buckled as he stumbled back away from the window, while the silence was broken by another howl of agony and through his toes and up into his skull it rose. Jack could have sworn it was coming from under him now. But how? And even before he finished his thought, Jack knew, and by God he wished he hadn't. He was sure that the sound had been coming from the vent that came up from the beige tiles. Heart pounding in his chest, Jack just wanted to go to sleep and forget this whole incident. Fuck going to the bathroom, I'll use a cup, but I need to get outa here. Now!
Jack knew this wasn't possible though. What if it was someone who needed help? As scared as he was, and that word, by now was a gross understatement, he would never be able to live with himself if he just walked away. O.K, lets just get a little closer.
Bending down, onto his knees, Jack stared at the foot long metal vent that seemed as if it had been through a lot of abuse lately, considering that there was an abundance of dents and chips and what looked like scratches that revealed the dull aluminum that was under the brown grates. This observation made Jack shake again with that terrible and unsettling feeling of fear. He didn't have any pets. Not even a fish, let alone a cat or dog that could produce those marks on even the lightest of metals.
Wide eyes, his throat now dry, he couldn't swallow for fear that he if he did and the sound came back again, he knew he would choke. All he could picture was envisioning himself lying there, drowning in his own spit as the thing that was down there crawled through the ducts, laughing, and trembling in anticipation. And all Jack could see were it's red eyes, and he would try to scream, but again he would just choke on the spit he couldn't swallow, and then he'd be gone. Taken underneath the house by the hideous monster, choking, and dying in it's mouth as it chewed his flesh into paste and ground his bones into powder, a bloody mixture of flesh and organs for the beast to dine on.
Staring down into the vent, Jack could clearly see where the duct became circular and closed off as it twisted down into the basement. One huge blackened eye glaring back at him through a peephole of blinds. He leaned ever closer, slowly breathing as the moist air from his mouth fogged the metal grates and coated them with condensation. Still nothing. Just the dry smell of dust and processed air. Pulling his head back so he could regain focus, he decided maybe this was all just in his imagination, a flight of mystical fantasy that only happens during the hours where the rest of the hemisphere sleeps.
Then Jack saw it, and everything froze but his jaw, which dropped like an anchor drifting steadily down, and his eyes which opened in a frantic disbelief and disgust at the thing that was displayed in the Victorian molded corner of the floor. Almost as long as Jack's forearm it looked like a giant mosquito, but it's face and it's legs were all wrong. They were hideously disproportional and grotesque compared to the rest of it's relatively simple body. It's twelve legs, Jack counted, were covered with tiny thorns and built as if steps, leading up to it's face which could only be described as an unnaturally deformed umbrella that has been turned totally inside out by gale force winds.
Jack could not fully comprehend what he was seeing, but he knew how much he feared it, and was relatively sure he knew exactly where it was that the sound was coming from. He glanced backwards for only a split second to see if he could find anything in which to destroy this monstrosity set before him, and was reassured of his purpose when he saw a magazine gently folded into the rack to his left. Reaching blindly so he did not have to remove his eyes from the creature Jack plucked the magazine from it's resting place. Bringing it towards, he read the title briefly "Better Homes & Gardens", before rolling it up tightly with both hands and clenching it, white knuckled, in his right.
Poised to strike, Jack slowly raised his buttocks from his heels and leaned forward towards the abomination before him. Balancing himself with his left hand which was clammy and cold on the tile floor, carefully receding fingers so he did not place any on a crack. I'd think superstitions would be beyond me at this point. But apparently not. Content knowing that his mothers back would not be broken, Jack peered coldly and intentionally at what could have been an alien, or demon, but at this point he cared not. All he wanted, was for it to be gone, flushed down the toilet and floating in the noxious shit and gray water that was his septic tank.
On three it dies. One...Two...Thr... And before he could swing his paper club, it's mouth opened like a webbed claw, revealing rows of crawling teeth upon each of it's boney spokes, and out of it came the screams and squeals of the world. It seemed that every screeching tire, suffering infant and frightened shriek were somehow intertwined in this one horrendously disquieting howl. For a moment Jack knelt frozen, totally believing that the mirrors on the wall would fracture and come crashing down on his naked back, he swung forcefully, waiting it to be caught between the creatures jaws, but all he hard was a distinct squashing noise, followed by the smack of tightly packed paper on tile.
Then the howl ceased, and the creature that was once as large as Jack's forearm, looked only to be the size of his fist. If that at all. Perplexed, but relieved at the solving of that terrible sound, Jack stood up and hastily grabbed the tag of toilet paper that was hanging from the roll. Pulling on it hard enough to send the roll reeling, without tearing off the first section, about twenty sheets of toilet paper floated lucidly to the tile. Jack ripped them off and wrapped them into a white blanket. He dropped it slowly onto the squished corpse, like a "Play 'Till You Win" candy-crane game, he reached his fingers to the corners of the papery rag, and was careful to ensure that he lifted the carcass with it. He brought it as high as his pelvis before he could be sure that he had gotten the whole thing, and with a final clenching fist, squished the remaining pieces before quickly flicking the whole wad into the toilet. Pulling down the lever with his other hand, Jack listened for it to wail one last time, maybe to let him know that it'd be back, but he heard no sounds of that kind. Only the comforting whirlpool of water being sucked down the tubes.
The sound of rushing water, brought Jack more than just a feeling of comfort, but also of yearning, for there was still a large amount of liquid ready to be expelled from him as well. With less than a thought, he robotically went through the procedure of "going to the bathroom", each step done instinctively so as not to think of exactly what had just happened. Jack felt very tired now, wanting sleep very badly, he opened the bathroom door with one hand while flipping down the light switch with his other, he stepped into the dark hall, and waited for his eyes to adjust.
Finally ready, Jack started towards his room at the other end of the hall. Too exhausted to even look up at the great hole in the ceiling, he walked straight through the great room, and past the kitchen, where the candle was no longer burning. Mom must have remembered and come down to smother it. Yet, even in the blackness Jack saw that there was no cover on the jar. Unconcerned with anything but sleep at this point, he sighed and rubbed the palms of his hands into his eye's and across the side of his face, down his cheeks, and then continued to push his tired legs forward.
As slow as Jack was moving, he was relieved to have put his hands out a bit in front of the rest of his body, because they knocked solidly on the wooden panels of his bedroom door. He slid his left hand down, and blindly grabbed at the knob, twisting it and pushing forward, Jack was met with no change in scenery, just a red afterglow which must have been his clock, and the gentle hissing of his computer sitting not ten feet away. Stepping through the door, Jack reached behind and without another thought shut his bedroom door. It closed just loud enough to make an audible click and pop that sheltered Jack's ears for only a moment, before his eye's met with not the bathing light of his clock, but the paralyzing glow of pure vengeance, and his ears met with the gruesome scream of despair and hatred that could only come out of something inhuman and totally unappreciative of any who slaughter it's child in a dirty bathroom and bury it their own shit and piss.
Jack's lip trembled slightly, and regardless of his prior journey, he filled his pajamas with an unmistakable warm scent, and when it's crawling teeth descended, and closed around him. The door was closed, and not even Jack's mother could hear him scream.
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