Dead of Night

We hope you enjoyed “Success,” the winner of our flash fiction contest. There were also a few stories that deserved honorable mention. The first of those stories is “Dead of Night” by Michael John Petty. Keep an eye out for the third issue of the print magazine, since one of Michael’s stories will also be featured there.

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The clock struck three when I awoke to a scratching at the window. The room was blacker than coal, and a sulfuric funk filled the air. The barren walls, which were white in the day, were black now. Shadows danced with careless abandon along them; or at least I thought they were shadows. My eyes returned to the neon clock on the wall––the only source of light I could clearly discern––where I saw the glowing hands stuck at twelve and three. I looked for their younger brother, the thin, green hand that told me how many seconds were left before another minute of my life had wasted away. 

I soon found it, creeping just past its eldest brother at a snail’s pace toward the middle child. It had only just reached the first tick on its beaming face.

My wife was fast asleep beside me, solid as a stone. Her breaths were slow but steady. Though I couldn’t see her in the dark, I felt the familiar warmth that we exchanged in the night.  When I tried to move nearer to her, it was as if my mind had outraced my body. Not a single muscle responded to my mental commands. Blinking didn’t work either. My eyes, which I somehow had full control over, were freakishly fixed open in the dark. A horrible dread overcame me, and a carnivorous loneliness had become a heavy weight upon my chest. It was cold that night, and I had no intention of escaping my cozy comforts until this very moment. Only now, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move. I looked helplessly around the room as the green hand passed the third tick only to discover a more awful truth…

We were not alone.

I felt a dark man-shaped shadow standing silently on the far wall from me. I almost didn’t see it in the darkness, but it crept forward to the foot of my bed as the green hand passed the fourth tick. It towered over me with an impossible overreach and immense pressure that felt as if it had put its full being on my aching bones. Still, I couldn’t move, and the closer this horrid shadow got, the more desperate I was to fight back and strangle the imposing darkness. But strength failed me, and in an instant the dark figure was suspended above me.

The familiar darkness that covered its face filled me with a fear most consuming. My eyes retreated in vain to every possible direction to escape its meaningless stare. There was no possible way out. The creature hovered above me with a striking devilishness that threatened to devour me whole. I had no defense, no possible way to rid myself of the darkened spectre that had invaded my sacred slumber. The fifth tick had passed, and the shadow remained fixed above me.

Evil thoughts consumed me. Every white lie and erotic look. Each jealous thought and careless word. The violent outburst at my brother, and the manipulative aid I gave my sister. Working fervently on the Lord’s Day. Teenage rebellion, adulterous lusts, purposely angering my own child. The more the list grew, the more horrid the thoughts became. The drunken pass made at a co-worker. The anti-semitic jokes in the break room. The hatred felt towards my wife. Thoughts of abandoning my family, of forsaking all debts, of turning from God.

The fear turned instantly to shame, and then to anger, and eventually despair. The weight couldn’t be overcome, it had become so enormous that I felt our bed might collapse beneath us. 

Seven seconds had passed, though each felt like its own eternity. The small, green hand was nearest the eighth tick now, and I wondered how much more of this a person could take. I would rather die, I admitted, and the shadow seemed content with that.

The dark figure reached out a bent hand and placed it firmly on my bare chest. Seeping right through the covers, I could feel its icy touch on my warm, sleeping skin. Gooseflesh erupted like wildfire, and my stiffened neck constricted. I could no longer breathe, though it was all I could think about. I felt as if I had melted into my mattress and become a part of the very thing holding me above the earth. I was no longer a man, but a ghost of one. I thought that I might look down and see my lifeless body lying still beside my comatose wife.

I still couldn’t move. Even as I was slowly slipping away, as the shadow began to consume me, I could not force myself to fight back. I had given into my darkest desire, and from it there was no escape.

Then, as if my spirit had renewed itself within me, my mind was cleared. No longer did I embrace the frozen clutches of death, but I yearned for the warm embrace of life. My mobility still hadn’t returned, but I found myself whispering a silent plea. It was simple, only one word I repeated over and over as the world grew even darker around me. The shadow jerked itself away, but remained fixed above me as I uttered the name of the only One I knew could possibly deliver me. Softly at first, but then increasingly louder. I was nearly shouting it now, as I noticed that the green hand had just reached the tenth tick when suddenly…

I woke up.