AN: 'Fear of being stared at'. Or, what happens when the Sleep Paralysis Lady makes herself comfy on the rug by my head and makes the death-rattle noise. Written at like three AM as a result. Recommended listening: Mudvayne's 'Trapped in the Wake of a Dream'.
McStaken-Bruce? Is that the brat's name? Humph. No matter. Maybe he'll think twice about nosing around where he shouldn't.
Forbidden Moons-Don't love me yet, Halloween collections are a grab bag. One a day all month long! Dr. Crane loves it. Civilians and guest stars not so much.
Layla Schnoke sighs. It's been a while since she's worked nights, and she'd forgotten the pain in the ass that came with 'sleeping' after. And she's gotta sleep-nobody in their right mind trusts the Gotham school bus routes (too many crazies) and Max has to be at school a little early anyway. Something about helping the librarian, she can't quite remember. (It's been a few too many long nights…)
She's just thinking she could sleep, maybe, when her door creaks a little bit and Max whispers, "Mom?"
"Yeah?"
"Someone's outside my window."
"Sweetheart, we're four stories up-"
"I saw him."
She doubts it. Max has been having nightmares for weeks now-runs in the family-but…but. It's Gotham.
Eh.
She gets up anyway and says, "Come on, let's go see."
"Nah-uh. He was there."
"What did he look like?"
He shrugs and yup, nightmare. Nothing to worry about.
She looks out the window. Nada. Not even Batman. (Like she'd see him.) Max gets back under the covers, sulking a little, and grumbles, "I saw him."
"Just a dream, sweetheart." she says, and then the front door shuts.
Layla can't breathe. She looks at the window-at her reflection in the window.
God, no.
"Mom?" Max whispers.
"Sh. Stay. Stay here, don't make a sound."
She grabs his baseball bat and pokes her head out. The apartment is silent, now, and she inches out towards her room to get her phone. Her bare toes hit something crunchy and she looks down.
Straw.
There's one explanation for how that got there.
There's more straw, forming a trail that leads towards the front door. The pathway to her bedroom is clear, though, and she sprints faster than Usain Bolt and hurdles over her bed, fingers grasping for her phone. It's still there and she's frantically dialing 911 before she can even think.
"911, what's your emergency."
Gulping now, still feeling scratchy straw against her toes, it takes her a second to remember how to breathe.
"I-I need police, I think-t-the Scarecrow, he's inside, please-"
"What's your address." She rattles it off. "Ma'am-Ma'am. Breathe. Do you have a weapon?"
"A baseball bat."
"Hold onto it, lock yourself in the bathroom, a car is en route."
She hangs up and goes back for Max. He's under his bed now, lips chewed raw, and she drags him into the bathroom and checks the shower. It's empty. She shoves the laundry hamper against the door and makes a line of socks to hide the light (she can't sit in the dark, she can't, she can't).
"Mom?"
"Shh." She pulls him into her arms. "Shh, shh, it's gonna be okay."
One of the socks moves and she snaps her jaw shut. A piece of cardstock shoves the sock partly out of the way. She can see Crane's spikey handwriting.
-talk soon, Doctor-
She muffles a cry in Max's hair and squeezes her eyes shut. All is silent outside and when the police finally arrive, they report the apartment's empty.
THE END