I will warn you, I had a nightmare and couldn't get beyond it. It plagued me and kept me up for almost a week.It's not like most things I write, but I had to; for the sake of sleep and sanity. It's creepy and dark; an extremely vivid dream. Welcome to my nightmare. Let's stay up together. It's what friends do, right?
Love,
Tess
SLEEP TIGHT
Silence screams at me. “Wake the Hell up!” I jump out of my chair and strain my eyes to focus. It is night, the hardest time. My stomach pinches and grinds in my belly. It feels like it’s trying to abandon me; hot and sour. I swallow it back and claw my upper arms. The sting is too familiar. I will have to move on to something else. Stimulus is key. I must stay awake at all costs. My life depends on it; my life, once so full of opportunities. I laugh in the darkness almost bringing myself to tears. My voice cracks like a screen door in a summer breeze.
“I could go for a walk.” I chirp to no one. “C’mon. What could happen in this neighborhood at three O’clock in the morning?” I giggle some more. I’m a regular comedienne. I open the door and simply begin to wander around in a t-shirt and panties. What do I care? There is no one on the street; nor will there be any time soon. There will be no birds or squirrels to run around in the early sunshine. There will be no newspaper deliveries, trash pick ups or morning exercise nuts; no one but me. They all fell asleep.
I told them not to. I told them what would happen. I talked until people ran from me. I begged until they called police to take me away, committing me to sleep in a huggie-jacket forever and ever. I cheeked the sleeping pills they gave me and by the time they realized I was doing it, they no longer cared. I had become their Messiah. Who was crazy now? They huddled in my room late at night; at first. We listened and kept watch. We could hear them coming: “skeetchie-skeetchie-skeetchie…” their legs or claws or whatever- they- are ticking on the floor as they hunted us in our sleep. I could hear them from miles away. That noise brought a wave of nausea and panic. It forced me to move.
What are they? Who knows. A science fair project gone horribly awry? Could be. I would have stuck to the baking powder volcano myself, or the in-a-jar tornado, but no accounting for taste. I call them bed bugs: about as big as a fox with four legs and two front “arms”, they use to hug, which are draped in thin furry “wing-like” veils. Their feet are cloven hooves but with those little grippie hooks like June bugs have, enabling them to climb walls and things. They are sneaky, quick and always hungry. There is a proboscis that rests under their chin like a lizard but it serves as a straw…a sharp nasty piercing straw. They have eaten their way through this town with their little giggling feet “skeetchie-skeetchie-skeetchie” and their sucky straws.
But right now I’m safe. I’m awake and alert out here in thirty-five degree weather in my “propers” “What would the neighbors think?” I sing and do a cartwheel in the grass. I begin to play ding-dong-ditch. It’s no fun by yourself. My adrenaline is up. My heart is pumping; I’m getting safer by the beat.
There is movement to my right; a rushing in the bushes and that noise. The one that has taught me like Pavlov’s dog to fear and run. I pick up a garden gnome and smash through a window letting myself into somebody’s house. I’ve never seen them feed while a person was awake, but there is a first time for everything. I move indoors and wait, hoping they will pass me by. I hear them laugh up the street hunting and carrying on like a group of teenage girls at the mall. Man, it sounds like they’re having a blast. I see a light in Mr. Brendel’s house. It’s been lit for days now. I haven’t seen him though. The light doesn’t fool them. They come anyway.
I browse the fridge and make a sandwich. I leave what’s rotten. They won’t eat it. If they did, I wouldn’t be in this position. I lean against the sink and take a couple of bites. My head is cloudy and my eyes are burning. I feel them close and shift my weight. I think they have only been closed for a second; a blink, but then my chin hits my chest. I dozed. Oh Shit I dozed! I hear the bed bugs gleefully coming back. I dash out the rear and head across the yard. I’ve got to move. They smell my fatigue and begin a happy hungry parade in search of their next meal. If I am quick enough, I can lose them. I’ve been lucky. I pray to God or Vegas or Whoever is in charge of this crap-shoot that I can dodge them once more. I head into town.
I grab a pair of pants and some clothes from the shoppes I’ve already pillaged. I have this unique charge account; sponsored by CHASE bank…stay alive and you can have whatever you want. So far; not sleeping? PRICELESS.
I let myself into the cook store and select a knife. I’ve had to cut myself. I fight for anything that releases adrenaline, endorphins or intense sensation. The inside of my stomach probably looks like ground meat but it keeps me alive. I know that it isn’t good and I should see someone for that, but it seems my shrink was sleeping on the job. We had some marathon session where he told me I’d have to open up. I’d have to let him in and I did. I kept talking well into the night, telling that old fart everything he’d need to know to survive. But he’d pulled too many shifts. He was exhausted. He dozed during my session and they came; crept right up the back of his chair and gave him a good night kiss. He struggled at first, but then the poison set in. He went limp and got this almost blissful look on his face. He shrank back into his comfy chair and said nightie night forever. I ran. I vomited and then I ran. I’ve been running for three weeks. I feel pretty good; pretty crazed and tired and angry. Mostly just lonely.
So I keep going. I venture all through town and take what I want; what I need to stave off the bed bugs. I move in the dark and zombie through my days. The closest thing to sleep I’ve had is the slapping of the lake against the shore. I listen until my eyes close and I can hear my breath inside my skull or when the floor falls away making me dizzy; and hear the laughing, the marching.
I sat in the kitchen of Mr. Brendels’ house. I discovered his body. He sat peacefully in his rattan chair; a small blissful smile on his face, a hole in the back of his skull…and empty.
I sat and talked to him for a moment. See, he taught me Geography when I was a freshman in high school. He looked like a cute Peter Brady (including the body). We discussed the weather and movies on tv. He didn’t say much. Dead people don’t. But I took a moment to think about him. I closed my eyes. For that instant I was jealous. The wave crashed down around me causing my mouth to fall open; my eyes to close. My snoring couldn’t wake me. The fear couldn’t stir me. I heard them coming. They were far away though. I had enough time to just sit. Sit and enjoy this relaxing chair, sit and enjoy Mr. Brendel’s company. He sat and listened to me breathe. It was HIS turn to be jealous maybe.
“Skeetchie-skeetchie-skeetchie…”
The chair moved; shifted against me like someone kicking it. Someone pushed my hair aside. I leaned forward unable to run anymore.
The pain was intense and my eyes shot open.
“NO!” I shouted but the grip was strong. There was a warmth spreading through my body melting me into Mr. Brendel’s chair. The light was on. They wouldn’t come here. There was another sting and I jumped as if shocked like a penny in a socket. My view softened and blurred. My mouth slackened and I felt myself drool…I giggled.
“Skeetchie-skeetchie…”
“I will…I’ll stay with you…” I laughed then. It no longer gave me fear or pain. I felt the warmth and comfort of welcomed, long over-due sleep. Hot dreams flooded my brain, my body. I drifted away like sand blowing off the tops of dunes. I understood I would sleep tight.
Forever.
