Not a Night for Sleeping
Chapter 1
Jonathan Frost fumbled through the heavy blankets in the buzz of a mild drunk until he managed to turn over onto his right side. The wooden paneled walls felt good against his back, a stark contrast to the warm body lying next to his. She was sleeping now; he could hear the air slipping between her lips as she steadily breathed in and out. He'd never had any trouble sleeping before, especially after he'd been drinking—but there was something different about tonight. Maybe it was the long trip to China looming over his head, or maybe the recent fight he'd had with a drunk kid in Mount Liberty, but in any case, tonight was not a night for sleeping.
Snowflakes drifted slowly by the window. He could barely seem them slide past the narrow spots between the blinds. Behind them a full moon floated just above Ceslap Hall in the distance, by far the tallest building on campus. The moonlight tainted the snowflakes, turning them a vile, sulphurous yellow.
He listened to the monotonous humming of the fan over his head. The clinking sound it made as the chain rattled up against the light bulb was settling. The heavy thudding of bass speakers and the yells and singing of a Friday night from the bar downstairs had trailed off half an hour or so ago, leaving the whirring of the fan alone to occupy the night silence.
Jonathan slid his hand back under the blankets, relishing the feel of her warm skin as he squeezed her closer to him. She sighed briefly and then resumed the rhythmic breathing that almost seemed to beat in time with the fan chain. He never wanted to leave. Not in a million years.
The outer door of the apartment whined open and tapped against the countertop, then much more quickly slammed shut. Jonathan heard hands fumble for the lock on the door as his head fell back against the pillow. They all must have gone to Trevor's after the bar closed, Jonathan thought to himself. Something bumped heavily into the wall that the two apartments shared and the mirror on Jonathan's wall fell to the ground and shattered. Shit, he thought, now I'm going to have to buy another one of those things. Forget it, I'll deal with it in the morning. Amanda groaned and rolled over. So that's what it takes to wake her up! Jonathan thought to himself. She'd been drunker than Trevor that night and he'd even had to carry her home. "She'll regret it when she wakes up in the morning," he whispered out loud, "and remembers how many people saw her strip dance on the bar…if she remembers, that is." He snickered to himself as the rustling in the next room seemed to pause.
He wasn't quite sure what it was, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a shiver rippled down his spine. He could faintly make out the sound of muffled breathing through the wall.
"Amanda," Jonathan said quietly as he whisked her jet black hair behind her ear, "do you hear that?" She shrugged and rolled onto her stomach. He propped himself up on one elbow in order to listen more carefully. The springs under the mattress squealed as if in pain as he readjusted himself.
Jonathan had never pretended to meddle in his roommate's affairs, yet something seemed…different. Geremiha had come home this late before, but not often, and had never made this much of a ruckus. Something crashed over in the next room.
He glanced over to the clock then positioned himself so as to not to disturb Amanda while sliding over her and lowering himself down onto the cold floor. 1:00. He shot an eye to the window once more, tracing the frost around the window sill then sighed to himself and slowly opened his bedroom door. The common room was still dark; even the welcome light in the kitchen was out. The bathroom light was flickering on and off periodically, lighting up the common room like a storm would. Jesus, he thought, Geremiha must've been drunker than he thought.
The muffled breathing in the next room had faded off, but something still didn't seem right. Neither one of the roommates had ever gotten drunk enough that the other one had to take care of them, and he hoped tonight wouldn't be the first time. Jon glanced into his roommate's dark room as he passed by the door on the way to the bathroom. Sometimes he hated how his roommate had put up black curtains over his widows. There was something about the beautiful silence of a night like this that just begged to be enjoyed.
Something sharp pricked his foot as he stepped onto the linoleum floor of the bathroom and he leapt back, steadying himself against a wall with one arm while trying to see what it was that had poked him. One of the bulbs in the bathroom was broken. Shards of broken glass littered the toilet seat and the floor of the room. The medicine cabinet hung open, band-aids, medicine bottles and razors strewn across the sink. He might've been worried if this hadn't been the norm. Wasn't it at the last party they'd thrown that they broke yet another ceiling panel as they were playing baseball with empty beer cans and a golf club? As his eyes traced the drunken devastation his roommate had caused, they fell on a dark liquid on the floor and long white gauze that ran all the way from the bottom of the sink out the door and off towards Geremiha's room.
All of a sudden the light bulb in the bathroom flickered out and didn't come back on. Jonathan took a deep breath in and held it, listening for something. The silence was deafening in the common room; even the faint clicking noise his fan sounded like it was amplified.
"Geremiha?"
He gingerly put his injured foot back down, careful not to step on anything else, and started to make his way back to his room. This was not the sort of night for this kind of creepiness. No, there was never a time for this kind of creepiness. He stared intently into Geremiha's room as he walked by, looking for any trace of movement. Something rustled in the inky black of Geremiha's room and two small balls of light glimmered back at him. They narrowed and wobbled from side to side, tracing little patterns in the air. Were they getting closer? No, he was just drunk, he told himself as his heart began to speed.
Jonathan was almost at his door—he reached out with one hand and once, twice, three times gripped handfuls of air before finally landing on the doorknob. Now he was sure, they were getting closer, and they were following him as he rounded the corner. He pushed open the door slowly, praying it wouldn't creek like the front door always did. The circles were getting closer and closer. He could see them clearly now, little balls of red light with smaller concentric black circles. They were hypnotizing and terrifying, yet at the same time beautiful. Swirls of yellow and orange churned around the small black circles like a river of lava. But the darkness in the center made even the gloom of Geremiha's room seem as bright as day. They were bleak and threatening—no, they were evil.
It was the heavy breathing that broke his concentration. He hadn't noticed it starting again, but now it was definitely present. A sour odor rolled out of Geremiha's room and puffed up Jonathan's nostrils. The doorknob slid around in his hand; a soft sweat now covered his whole body, and he shivered once more. Quietly he slipped into his room just as the red balls of light were about to enter the main room and shut the door as quietly as he could. It was already locked, but he fingered the handle just to make sure.
"Amanda," he whispered as he tip-toed to the edge of the bed, "Amanda, wake up…something's wrong." He shook her lightly, and then once again more vigorously when she didn't respond. She moaned and turned over, but he ripped the blankets off her, exposing her to the cold air—the only proven way to get her out of bed.
Something thudded on the door, like a dead weight falling to the ground. Jonathan's mind flitted back and forth almost as fast as his heart beat in his chest.
"What's wrong?" Amanda groggily asked, curling up into a ball and reaching down around her feet for the blanket that now lay on the floor.
Jonathan snuck quietly to his closet as another weight landed on the door, more heavy and more determined this time.
"Something's not right…get dressed…"
"What do you mean? It's only 1:30!" She struggled to see through squinted eyes, "Come back to bed, baby."
1:30, Jonathan suddenly realized—the bar didn't close until 2:00 on weekends. How was it already so quiet?
Jonathan rustled through his closet until his hand found what he was looking for. Now it was a steady pounding on the door, like something was trying to get through. Geremiha had never been the kind of person to play jokes like this.
"What the hell is that?" Amanda asked as she sat up with a start, finally starting to realize the oddity of the situation. She hopped off the bed and began dressing as the pounding on the door grew louder and louder.
"Should we call the cops?" Amanda asked, "Jon, answer me! You're scaring me!"
The pounding suddenly stopped as soon as Amanda finished her question. Jonathan looked down through the mess of his floor and hastily put on a pair of pants and t-shirt.
"I think he heard that…maybe he'll go away if we're serious about calling the police," Amanda continued, "Jesus! What're you doing with that!?" She yelled as she saw the knife that Jonathan had clenched in his hand.
"Shut up!" Jonathan sharply snapped.
Boom.
The door gave way a little.
Boom.
The screws holding the top hinge in place went zipping by Amanda's head.
Boom.
The locking mechanism gave way and the door flew open. The wide shoulders of a mid-sized man filled the doorway. He stood a head taller than Geremiha, but still a good few inches shorter than Jonathan. The bathroom light had flickered back on, illuminating the silhouette as it stood in the door. He was hunched over, one foot forward and one foot behind as he clumsily held himself up. His arms hung forward, like an ape, but there was a tension throughout his whole body. Jonathan took a step back and accidentally kicked over a small tin of popcorn. As if reacting to the noise, the man in the doorway looked up, and two bright red eyes glared back at them.
"Get out of here, you drunk!" Amanda yelled at the top of her lungs.
The man's head snapped towards her as he seemed to be considering something. His lips drew back, revealing darkened teeth, the color of someone who'd been dipping tobacco for their entire life. It was a sinister smile, like a rabid dog barring his teeth. Without warning he leapt towards Amanda, but misjudged his jump, slamming into the metal frame that stuck out from beneath the mattress. He rolled across the floor and bowled the two of them over. A hand clawed through the air and raked across Amanda's chest. Jonathan scrambled to his feet as the body lay there sprawled across the floor motionless. Blood trickled from a cut on the man's forehead and his eyes rolled back into his head.
"Is he…dead….?" Amanda asked.
"No…I don't think so…just unconscious…" Jon replied as he finished pulling on his shoes and grabbed his keys, "But I don't want to stick around here to find out."