Revenge

I’ve written before about the comforting noises at night in my old house. I learned them through decades of being up late, listening to wallboard crack in response to the pressures of a moving hillside. Unsettling, literally, yet soothing in their regularity.

One night there was a difference. On the eve of the release of the movie Disclosure Day, I feel compelled to write of my personal visitation.

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night. It was a regular night with just a taste of too much noise coming from the entryway of our split-level house. A half flight of stairs down from my chair was the front door. Was it locked? Generally, it was locked when we were home and unlocked when we were away. But was it locked now?

I slowly rose from the chair, hands gripping my knees for stability, but also to help silence any joint snapping. I straightened to full height and slid my feet slowly over the carpet, careful not to cause any floorboards to creak.

I got to the banister and looked over, searching for any movement. I had my 5.5-inch folding tanto in my hands, being careful to silence the snick of the locking mechanism. I gripped the banister hard as I leaned in to see if anyone had gone down the next half flight of stairs toward the garage.

Then I heard, and saw, a crouching movement at the end of the stairs directly to my left.

Only ten feet away.

Instinctively, I shouted, “Freeze!”

And it did.

I couldn’t gather enough light to determine which direction the crouched figure faced. I could only make out what might have been the central mass. The command to freeze was apparently in full effect, which left me confused about what I should do next.

I wasn’t going to get closer, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the still shape, straining to detect movement. I quietly shifted the knife into a blade grip.

Seconds passed.

No change.

I didn’t want to make a sound because if I was having this much difficulty seeing, then surely it was universal.

More seconds passed.

I moved slightly, positioning myself behind part of the wall while remaining riveted on the dark mass.

I said loudly, “Stand up now and move out the door!”

I waited.

No change.

I repeated the order.

Still no change.

“This is your last warning!”

I thought something moved.

Then nothing.

Maybe nothing had moved at all.

I made a decision.

I stepped forward and threw as hard as I could at the center mass.

I heard the distinctive sound of a clean stick.

There was movement.

For several seconds it was slow. The mass never rose. It stayed close to the floor and appeared to move to the carpeted stairs, coming up one stair at a time. As it got closer I could resolve the arms of my leather jacket reaching up for the next step.

I had nothing more to throw, I was now ‘frozen’ to the image pulling itself up to where I crouched. I had missed my throw.

Halfway up the stairs I could see the empty cuffs of my jacket reaching the next step, it seemed to increase speed, or perhaps it was just time compressing.

Very soon it was upon me, covering me with an unnatural weight. The cuffs were at my neck, as if hands were choking the life out of me. I was staring at the label sewn into the collar of the jacket, ‘Authentic St. John’s Bay, Established 1984’

The lights came on, and Sherry asked, ‘It’s 2:30 am, what are you doing?’

‘Putting my jacket away!’