Killing Secrets

The squeaking was faint, but discernable enough to wake the man.  He laid motionless, listening as it grew louder and more confident.  He fought back the emotions trying to rouse his body.  It was not uncommon for strange noises to echo through the walls of the old house, but this was different.  They seemed self aware, like they were trying to avoid detection.  His wife rustled beside him.  He could ignore it no longer.

The man slid sideways out of bed without lifting the covers.  His bare feet tiptoed silently across the new carpet with double thick padding.  It was now audible enough so he could determine its source.  He picked up a metal softball bat from the hall closet.  Like teenagers at the local mall, thoughts ran aimlessly through his mind.  He was confused and angry, but mostly he was afraid. 

Thankfully whoever was in the house had not ascended the stairs to his son’s room.  He stood at the top weighing his options.  If he rushed down the perpetrator would be surprised giving him the upper hand.  It was now or never.  He began counting in his mind.  3. . . His hand turned white as his grip tightened on the bat.  2 . . . He took a deep breath and crouched just slightly grabbing the handrail for support.  1 . . . He aimed for the fourth step down and began to spring.  Then everything ended as a dark figure flashed past the stairs and out the front door.     

He followed the trail of the intruder; nothing was disturbed except the front door which rested a third of the way open.  He stepped outside and scanned the yard and neighborhood.  Everything was silent.  He lowered the bat and relaxed his shoulders.  Confused he reached for the door handle to close it behind him when he noticed a key still lodged in the lock. 

The man looked at the single key and came to the only available conclusion.  His wife must have forgotten it.  It was an innocent mistake, the man thought, and if he told her about the intruder the key would definitely come up.  So he pulled it from the lock and decided he wouldn’t share the events of the night.  After all why burden his wife with so much guilt?

When the familiar sounds returned a few weeks later the man was furious.  Not at the intruder, but at his wife.  How could she make such an irresponsible mistake twice?  He repeated the process learned from his first encounter only with more courage.  He focused on quiet deep breaths as he descended the stairs.  A soft light glowed from the kitchen.  His biceps flexed as he lifted the bat to the ready position.

He turned the corner to see the fridge door open and a cloaked figure casually routing through its contents.  The man froze, bat still at the ready. The intruder lifted his head up above the open door.  They locked eyes.  The man saw something unexpected.  They were familiar, very familiar.  But only the eyes, the rest of the man looked less human and more like a monster.  He swung the bat, but it was an awkward swing, barely worthy of an infield blooper.  It wouldn’t have matter anyway as the cloaked figure had already disappeared.  The front door flashed open and the man found a single key in the handle.

Panic dominated the next few weeks of the man’s life.  Still unwilling to worry his wife he installed new locks, motion detector lights and a high tech security system under the guise of a reduced homeowner’s insurance premiums.  He sought outside help from security professionals, private investigators and a random priest at a random church.   After thousands of dollars and numerous vague explanations to his wife the man felt safe again.

It worked.  Days turned to weeks, weeks to months and months to over a year and the intruder had not returned.  He could now start working on the process of archiving the memories.  A few months of mental gymnastics and they were completely gone from his mind, as if nothing happened.

Due to a late project the night of their anniversary plans were made to meet his wife at dinner.   He decided to drop by the house for a shower and change of clothes.  He stepped out of his car and without looking shifted through three keys pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.  A few paces from the door he noticed something lodged in the door lock.  He stopped and slowly brought up the key in his hand.  It could not be the house key like he expected, for it was the objected protruding from the door handle.   .

The man ignored impossibilities and stepped inside.  It was more than empty.  It was deserted.  He glanced around recognizing nothing.  Numbness spread throughout his body.  The relays connecting his mind to his muscles were disconnecting.  After a long moment he sprung up the stairs to his son’s room.  It too was empty.  Not empty of just his son, but empty of everything.  The bed, the rug, the cloths, and the airplane paintings on the wall, even the smell was gone.  He checked his bedroom.  There was no sign his wife had ever been there. 

It had to be a kidnapping, he thought, but why?  The man was not wealthy, no possibility of ransom.  He had not caused anyone so great harm that required such harsh revenge.  It didn’t add up.  The only remaining explanation caused the man to collapse.  His hands covered his face and the tears fell through his fingers.  It couldn’t be true, could it?  He sobbed loud and hard.

Why would they leave? The question formed in his mind but had already been answered in his heart.  Then in that exact moment when he'd lost everything the floorboards outside the bedroom door squeaked.  The last ounce of hope, brought his eyes to the door.  It opened slowly and in walked the intruder.  He waddled around the man's legs and hunched his back so their eyes met.  Its hot breath rose the hair on the man's neck and the smell curled his stomach.  With great effort the muscles around its mouth formed a pathetic version of a smile.  Its left hand opened and house key fell to the floor. It nodded appreciatively. 
 Truth delivered blow after devastating blow and he could no longer withstand the effects.  The man laid on the mat like an over-matched fighter waiting for the ten count, but the truth refused to wait.  It stood over him and brought the soul of its boot to his head.  The last and final truth was uncovered when the scar in the intruder's palm flashed before the man's eyes.  It was the remaining evidence of good in his life and just as he saw it in the creature's hand it disappeared.  He felt the original scar in his own hand and it too was fading.  
He quickly called up the memories of the night it happened.  He saw his fiance nodding her head as he handed her the ring.  The sound of the glass breaking, due to the nervous death grip he applied to the vase of flowers, echoed through his mind.  Then, without warning, everything disappeared.  The scar was replaced with undamaged skin and he could no longer remember anything about that night.  There he sat, completely broken and despondent.  Alone except for the intruder that he protected for so long.  The intruder who crept around his house threatening his family.  The intruder who became so powerful it could not be defeated.  The intruder, that many years earlier,  he created.

A graduate student version of the same man woke from the dream, covered in sweat and breathing heavily.  The clock on his cell read 2:45 am.  He'd been sleeping for less than five minutes. A quick glance around his college dorm room confirmed he was dreaming.    It was more than a that though, it was a prophecy.    There was no doubt that he had already created the monster.  He scanned his memories looking for the grievous offense responsible for the birth of such a hideous beast.   It had been less than two hours since his boyfriend status had been upgraded, but the joy of that moment felt like a lifetime ago.  The fresh gash in his left hand provided a clarifying pain that lead his mind to the guilty act.  It wasn't the unintentional yet erroneous mouse click just before bed , what he saw or how disgusted he felt after seeing it. 
 The second he gave light to a monster that would become an unstoppable force took place just before he fell asleep.  A random thought trying to gain traction in his sleepy mind failed.  Call her and tell her. . . !  It said, but armed with defending ideas like, you did nothing wrong, it was an accident, you didn't pursue further, it's too late and what good would it do, the man ignored it and rolled over to sleep.  He now noticed something different about himself.  It felt like somewhere in the darkest corner of his soul a stowaway was hunkering down for a long journey.  His could barely sense its presence, but it was there, and it would stay there until he purged his vessel.
Wasting no time he called his fiance of less than a few hours and related everything.  The accidental encounter with a devious world and his triumphant victory.  He used at least thirty minutes to describe the dream and another twenty for its interpretation.  
At 4:30 am, the exact moment he was alone and full of peace for he tossed the stowaway overboard.  His entire body let out a sigh in relief of a dodged bullet.  Then to his delight, the throbbing from his hand grew so intense he fell back on the bed.  The way the blood mimicked the scar on the white gauze was beautiful.  The excruciating pain flowed through his body like massive waves.  He put his head back on his pillow refusing the pills on his nightstand.  He would endure every second possible of physical torment the wound created.  And he would never, never let anything take it from him again.