People always talk about how close they came to almost dying. They would have been in a wreck if they hadn’t swerved at the last second. Their heart would have given out if the doctor hadn’t caught that funny flutter. If it had been only two days earlier, they would have been there when the store got robbed.
But though they may not realize it, they aren’t talking about almost dying. They’re talking about surviving. They’re bragging that through their actions, the actions of others, or the blessing of some miraculous luck, they beat what the world threw at them. They won. They looked into the abyss and lived to tell the tale.
And it’s a fucking lie.
Because really seeing your own doom isn’t something you talk about. It’s not an interesting anecdote you tell at parties or over dinner. It isn’t a story you tell to boast or entertain or usually even to teach a life lesson to someone you care about. Not because nothing could be learned from it. But because seeing the truth of your own destruction is a deeply personal thing. It’s the reason that soldiers don’t talk about the worst shit they’ve seen. Why the person who is tortured doesn’t want to remember it. Why, if you manage to survive at all, you don’t ever, ever want to talk about what the world had waiting for you in the dark.
And I’m telling this now, sharing what happened to me and others, not to brag or teach you, but simply as a warning. So there was a point to all of this…horror. But it’s so damn hard.
Part of it is the pain of thinking about it. The guilt of what you could have done different. All the things you’re to blame for. The shame of what you sacrificed to come back at all. Because you always give something up. Always.
When it pulls you down, you don’t come back whole.
I didn’t talk more to Daniel or anyone else about the sleep study that day. I mainly stayed in my room and tried to sleep or watch t.v., though I had trouble doing either. The next afternoon I went for a long run—I felt listless and tired, but I needed something to make me not think for awhile. Not dwell on the uneasy fear that had settled in my chest since waking up in that cool, gray room. So I ran and ran, out of the neighborhood, down side streets and into areas I’d never even been to before. It was still light out, but dusk would be coming on soon, and I shouldn’t be out running in a dark place I didn’t know well. That’s when I patted my pocket and realized I’d left my phone at home as well.
I should have stopped sooner, but I was feeling better. Not a lot, but better than I had cooped up in that house drinking a poison mixture of fear and anxiety. I wondered for the hundredth time if I was just being stupid and cowardly. They were just dreams after all. Realistic and weird, but just nightmares. Barely even that, if I was being honest.
There’d been no monsters. No chainsaw killers. Not even a pit of snakes or spiders. Just empty places, gross walls, and a creepy guy who was super jolly.
And I was turning down money, really good money when I really needed any money, because of that. Stupid fucking dreams.
I shook my head as I slowed down, panting and wiping sweat from my eyes. I was an idiot. This job was like a damn gift—sleep in a weird place, take some weird shit, get paid as much in a few weeks as I’d normally get paid in six months. And it wasn’t like it had made me sick or anything—aside from lack of sleep and upset stomach, both of which I could chalk up to anxiety, I’d been fine physically. I just needed to get my head straight.
I looked back the way I’d come. The sun was getting low, but if I turned back now I could make it back to the house in plenty of time to make the study by nine. A part of me still resisted the idea—it squirmed and squealed in my belly screaming DANGER, WRONG, STAY AWAY. I guessed it was some leftover caveman instinct—some part of my old lizard brain that didn’t know the difference between a dream and reality. Between what you like to do and what you have to do to get by to survive. And it was just such easy money. When would I get another chance like that?
I started running back the other way, feeling a dim sense of panic at first as I looked for anything that was familiar. I really didn’t know the area well at all. It was at least three miles outside of my normal jogging route and it wasn’t a way I typically drove either. But still, I thought if I turned down the next street on the right it would take me back over to a road I’d recognize.
The houses here were different than on the other nearby streets. They seemed more rundown, with roofs missing shingles and shutters half-gray with faded, peeling paint. The yards were grown up with dark green grass and weeds, and as I went on, I started to notice the grass was less green than it was black…still growing, but so dark…it reminded me of…
The field of black sunflowers.
I suddenly stopped and looked around. This place was wrong. I hadn’t seen a single person on the street. Hadn’t heard a dog or a bird or a car or…anything. I had the sudden idea of myself as a tiny blood cell floating alone along the rotting artery of some dead thing. Oblivious of how close I was to the end.
Whatever the way home, this wasn’t it. My heart thudding, I turned to go back in the other direction when I came up short. The street wasn’t open any more.
Now there was a house in the middle of it.
It was the house from my dream. I was closer now, much closer, and I could smell some combination of rot and ash emanating from it—a stench that seemed to not be just coming from it, but was instead a part of it—the corrupt musk of its wood and brick, the scent of what lay rotting under its scales of shingles and behind its dozens of clouded windowpane eyes.
I felt my bladder loosen as I stepped back. I wanted to believe it was a dream. I was back in the sleep study and I didn’t realize it because I was just in a dream. Just a stupid fucking dream and why couldn’t I just wake up? I turned and started running, my breath coming in harsh gasps as I tried to put distance between myself and the black house. I slapped myself hard. Then a second time. This couldn’t be real. Either I was in a dream or that stuff they gave me had driven me crazy. Maybe I was up at the hospital instead of in the sleep lab, but I couldn’t be out on a road running from a monster house.
The thought was so bizarre that it forced me to stop. I was panicking. Imagining things, either due to freaking out or because of the shit they’d given me at the study. Maybe I didn’t need to go back tonight after all, but I did need to get home, get a drink, and calm the fuck down. There was no house in the middle of the fucking street. To prove it to myself, I slowly turned and looked back.
It was still there. In the middle of the street, as though a tornado had dropped it there from some distant corner of Kansas or possibly Hell. It made no sense, but it didn’t have to, not right now. I just needed to get away from it. Get home and figure out what was going on.
I started running again. In the distance I could see a tall white wall that looked like it went around a church or something. I had no idea what church would be sitting at the end of such a desolate street, but the good news was I saw a cross-street running next to it. I could take that away from here and toward some path home.
Except when I got closer, I didn’t see the cross-street any more. Not like it was hard to find. Like it didn’t exist any more. Just the single street I was on, leading straight into a fifteen-foot high white stone wall. My breath was coming fast, and it wasn’t all from the running. That house was still behind me. The street curved some, but I could still make out the edge of it through the trees. And with no side streets, I wasn’t sure the best way to…
A small bell chimed, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Looking around, I expected to see someone ringing a bell or maybe a wind chime swaying from one of the nearby dilapidated porches. But there was nothing. No one was here and I didn’t see any source for the noise.
It rang a second time.
I was nearing full panic, my eyes darting around for the clearest path across the tall black grass in any direction but that of the house waiting crouched down the street. That’s when my gaze fell on the white wall.
It wasn’t just a white wall any more. As I watched, red lines were forming one-by-one, as though someone was taking a crayon, or perhaps a piece of chalk, and drawing a crude shape out on the wall. Except no one was there at all, at least no one I could see.
I started stepping back, amazed and terrified. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t, or maybe I didn’t really want to. I felt a strange excitement begin creeping into the cracks of my fear and wonder. I found myself curious as to what the drawing was going to be. It was an oddly-shaped rectangle, a little narrower at the top than the bottom. The ghost drawer stopped for a moment, seeming to ponder it with me. What was it? Maybe it was a window?
As I had the thought, the drawing started again, scribbling in what was clearly a handle before adding a symbol farther up. I didn’t recognize it, but looking at the mark made me feel strange, almost giddy. Why would I leave? I had to see it get finished. And I’d been wrong. It wasn’t a window.
It was a door.
There was a third peal of the bell, this one so sharp that I winced as pain shot through my head and sent me staggering. My eyes watering, I tried to look back up. I didn’t want to miss anything, but it was hard to see now. It was getting dark, and my eyes weren’t working right, but wasn’t…yes, yes, the door was starting to open just a crack.
I jumped as a horn blared a few yards away. Blinking, I faintly recognized my car coming toward me. But that didn’t matter. The door was opening and…
Daniel squealed to a stop next to me and jumped out to grab my arm. I glanced at him in confused irritation, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring past to where the door was starting to open, his mouth slack and his face pale. Shaking his head, he clamped down on my other arm and pulled me toward the car. I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong and fast for me. Before I knew it, he had thrown me in and got in himself. I yelled at him to stop, to let me out. I’d get out myself, but I was so confused and weak feeling and I wasn’t sure how the door worked at all. The door! I needed to get out so I could see the door open, it was going to be so wonder…
I blacked out then—for how long, I’m not sure, but by the time I came to we were nearly back home. I’d come back to myself, at least most of the way, and when I realized what had just happened, and what had almost just happened, I had Daniel stop so I could throw up on the side of the road. He got out with me, patting me consolingly on the back.
“Not going to bolt are you? Feeling better now?”
I looked up at him, my vision still blurry in the dimming light. He frowned and reached into his pocket to fish out a paper napkin. “Here man. Your eyes…they’re bleeding some. Hey, do you want me to take you to the doctor or something?”
Taking the napkin, I wiped at my eyes. He was right. The white napkin was dark red now. Still, I didn’t want to be around strangers right then. Shaking my head, I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “No, just take me home please.” Nodding, he helped me back into the car and started driving.
For a couple of minutes we just sat quiet as I tried to stay calm and not think about anything. But then something struck me.
“Dan, how did you find me? How did you know to look for me in the first place? How did you know I was in trouble?”
Daniel glanced over at me, and even in the shadowy interior of the car, I could see the fear and worry on his face. It had started to rain, and his hand trembled slightly as he reached over to turn on the wipers. Their steady back and forth swish filled the silence for a few moments until he began to talk.
“I…I saw the man again today. Not in a dream. I saw him in real life.”
It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the car. I wanted to respond, but didn’t know how. Then he went on, his voice low and sad.
“Andy…Goddamn it, I think this might all be my fault. I don’t know. But this isn’t the first time I’ve had something strange happen. Or the first time someone’s else has been hurt by…whatever it is. When I saw him today, I started trying to find you. To warn you. When I saw your car and phone were at the house, I was scared something had gotten you, but that lady with the poodles said she’d seen you go out running. So I started hunting for you.”
My head was throbbing now, but I managed to push out a single question. “Why is this your fault?” And then another: “What’s happening to us?”
He kept his eyes on the road as he shook his head. “I don’t know what’s happening. Not really. But I think it might be connected to something that has been with me my entire life.” Daniel swallowed, his voice uneven when he continued on. “I…I wasn’t always this chill slacker dude, you know. When I was in my twenties, I was more like you. I had goals. I was on my way to becoming an HVAC specialist. Air conditioners and stuff, you know? I didn’t have any family or close friends, and my job was really important to me. I was good at it, and I was proud of that.”
I was confused. I didn’t know what any of this had to do with anything. But he seemed to think it was important, so I kept quiet.
“But then I got a job. To go to a house. To go underneath the house.”
“And there…there I found a door.”
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Credits
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