Bad Dreams
Bryan F. Orr
Billy sat up like a shot in his sweat soaked bed. He was breathing hard and his eyes were wide, his dilated pupils trying desperately to see through the dark. Perspiration oozed from every pore, even though it was a chilly October night. Was that a draft he felt coming from the hallway? He tried to remember what the bad dream bad been about, but all he got were meaningless fragments.
It was just a dream, he told himself, but his mind and body were still flooded with adrenaline and weren’t responding to his reasoning yet. He wiped his brow with the sheet and finally got his breathing under control. Man, that must have been some nightmare, he thought, falling back on his pillow. If it was that bad he wasn’t so sure he wanted to remember it.
A sound coming from the bathroom directly across from Billy’s bedroom caused his heart to resume the race. He sat up again and peered into the night. Both his bedroom and the bathroom doors were open, but except for the faint moonlight filtering through the frosted window in the lavatory it was too dark to make anything out. A tree branch scraped the bathroom window, as a gust of chilly October wind moaned outside. Billy let out a heavy sigh of relief. And even though the waving limbs of the tree were casting weird shadows across the tiled floor of the john, he allowed himself to relax a little. He turned on his side and faced the wall closest to his bed. Every inch of wall- space was covered with his obsession: monsters, and the men who played them It was, as his mother liked to point out, the very reason for his recurrent nightmares.
“If you’re not careful Billy,” she would often lament. ”You’re going to get lost in that awful world of horror, and never get back.”
He wondered if Forrest 1. Akkerman was plagued by his imagination as well. F. J. Akkerman was the Editor and Chief of Billy’s favorite magazine: Famous Monster’s of Film/and. A monthly publication devoted to the horror genre and its devotee’s. It was from that magazine the 8xlO, black and white stills came from that papered his wall. Of course, this sacrilege was only committed if he had enough dough to buy two copies of that month’s issue.
Once a month, Billy would bike over ten miles to the only newsstand in town that carried Famous Monsters. The magazine’s covers were nearly worth the one dollar price tag alone! With their blood-dripping font, they featured a different monster every month. The classics, such as Universal’s Creature Quartet: Frankenstein’s monster, Dracula, the Wolfman, and the Mummy-played respectively by Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, Lon Chaney Jr., and the great Karloff once again-were usually sure bets to grace the cover. And all had found their rightful place on Billy’s wall. But lately, the great imitators at Hammer Studios-in England, of all places-were taking their bloody turns as well.
Christopher Lee-who in Billy’s opinion was the greatest Dracula of all time- stared down at Billy from his spot on the wall. His blood-smeared mouth was open, lips curled back to reveal two razor sharp fangs, which were ready to plunge into the neck of the next available virgin. But if a virgin weren’t about, an eight-year old boy would do in a pinch, Billy supposed.
He pulled his Spiderman sheet up to his chin and tore his eyes from the hypnotic gaze of the Dark Prince. He quickly passed over the color pictorial featuring a scene from The War of the Worlds—those weird Martian dudes, with their long rubbery fingers, really freaked Billy out-and tried to focus his sleepy eyes on the relatively benign countenance of the greatest monster of all time: the undead creation of Baron Von Frankenstein. Boris Karloff’s gentle interpretation of course, not the remorseless creature Christopher Lee played in the Terror of Frankenstein.
A feeling of overwhelming Deja vu swept over Billy just as he closed his eyes to go back to sleep. His eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed once again. Over in the bathroom, the shadows still played eerily across the cold tile floor.
”I’ve seen this before,” he muttered softly.
He reached over and picked up his wind up Mickey Mouse alarm clock from the night-side table. Mickey’s glow in the dark hands told Billy that it was nearly twelve o’clock. He &owned as he set the clock back down. Feels like it should be later, he thought, as he reached for the pull chain on his bedside lamp. Nothing. The bulb must’ve burned out, he reasoned. But the feeling that he had already been through this before grew ever stronger.
He was swinging his feet from out of the covers when he heard a sound that made his balls shrivel up into a tiny wrinkled sack. Plink, plink, plop, it went. The wind outside had settled down and the house was deathly still, except for the strange dripping noise, which now seemed amplified for the lack of outside noise. He quickly discounted the idea that it might be a leaky faucet or showerhead.
Plink, plink, plop.
No, the sound was coming from in front of the bathroom window. Besides, what- ever was dripping had a viscous quality to it, like maple syrup or.. .the feeling of deja vu became more pronounced, and a tangible sense of anxiety was playing along the hairs on the back of his neck.
Plink, plink, plop.
What the heck was that? He took a deep breath and tried to reign in his emotions. It’s probably the toilet making that noise, he told himself. Just go in there and jiggle the handle and it’ll stop.
Another shadow flickered across the bathroom floor. I sure wish the wind would stop shaking that tree... it hit Billy like a punch in the gut that the wind had stopped. Then what made the shadows move?
Plink, plink, plop.
Another movement of shadow followed the dripping. Billy quickly drew his legs back under the sheets and pulled them tight to his quivering jaw. The bathroom was shaped like an L, with the toilet being hidden ftom view at the end. He squinted into the darkness, as his eyes began to adjust to the night. By the faint moonlight coming through the window in there he could just make out the tiled wall where it turned the corner.
Plink, plink, plop.
It would be so easy for somebody to hide back there, he thought, as his pupils drank in all the available light. Then when 1 go to use the toilet... Oh, great! Why’d you have to think about that Einstein? Now J really do have to go!
Plink, plink, plop,
Okay, this is really creeping me out. Maybe 1 should call mom, he thought, but immediately dismissed that idea. Eight years old was too darn old to be calling for your mommy! She really would make him tear down his pictures then! No, he’d just have to turn on all the lights in the hall and bathroom. That would make it go away. The shadow returned.
Plink, plink, plop.
The combination of the two nearly caused Billy to cry out in fear. The shadow moved again. it almost looked like...he shook the disturbing image from his mind. He couldn’t have seen that I Billy knew that if you stared into the dark long enough you could make yourself imagine anything. He took a fortifying breath and once again swung his feet from under the protection of his covers. Usually when he got up in the middle of the night he worried about something grabbing his legs from underneath his bed (the Creature from the Black Lagoon sometimes hid underneath there) but all thoughts at the moment were on the dripping monster in his bathroom.
Plink, plink, plop.
Billy got out of bed and swayed there for a moment on shaking knees. The shadow was moving again, but he kept his eyes pointed on the light-switch on the wall beside his bedroom door. If he could just turn on that light he was sure it would chase the bogeys away. Besides, staring at the switch kept his mind from visualizing what he thought he’d seen.
Plink, plink, plop.
His bare feet felt like blocks of ice on the hardwood floor of his room. (Where was that draft coming from?) He slowly tiptoed across the floor-as if that might fool a bogeyman-until he was standing by the door to his room. An STP motor oil sticker glowed on the wall just above the light-switch. The mundane memory of putting the sticker up somehow bucked him up and he reached for the switch. He flipped it six times before he realized the power was down. Either that or the overhead bulb was out too. But that was too much of a coincidence.
Plink, plink, plop.
Then again, someone could have cut the power by killing the switches in the breaker box upstairs in the kitchen. Billy stepped out in the hall and was about to run upstairs to his mother’s room-screw being too old, right now all he wanted was to smell the Noxzema on his mommy while she hugged him tight-when the shadow caught his attention.
Plink, plink, plop.
From where he was standing, Billy could clearly see the end of the bathroom wall where it turned into the corner. In the darkness a hand waved up and down from behind the corner. Billy opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out. He faintly felt the hot urine as it splashed down the front of his Scooby Doo pajamas, running down his legs and warming his ice cold feet. But his piss hitting the hardwood floor still couldn’t block out the immutable dripping.
Plink, plink, plop.
It was too dark to make out any features on the hand, but Billy knew without a doubt that he wasn’t imagining it. The hand moved deliberately in an up and down motion, as if waving hello to him. A cold draft coming down the hall made Billy aware that a door or window was open somewhere in the house to the elements outside. That IS how it got in.
A giggle from the bathroom turned his blood to ice.
”Hee-hee-heel” followed by the interminable, plink, plink, plop.
A gust of wind outside slammed the open door shut with a loud bang. Billy screamed and ran for the questionable safety of his bed. He pulled the covers over his head, but the muffled sound of the bogeyman’s laughter made him realize his mistake. Why hadn’t he run upstairs to his mother? His bed would be no sanctuary from the monster in his bathroom! Spiderman wouldn’t leap from his covers to save him, nor would his monsters come down from his wall to rescue him.
Plink, plink, plop.
If only he could turn on a light! The light always vanquished the bogeymen! Suddenly, Billy remembered his Boy Scout flashlight tucked away in the drawer of his night-side table. He yanked the drawer open-nearly pulling it all the way out-and rummaged through the mess of boy-stuff he kept in there. Past the loose marbles that rolled and clattered, past the useless slinky with the bent wire, and past his nearly complete collection of the Planet of the Apes trading cards, to get to the flashlight that was shaped like a periscope.
Plink, plink, plop.
He frantically pointed the light at the bathroom and slid the on switch up but nothing happened. From the tiled” floor of the bathroom, Billy heard the distinctive sound of a footstep. Then another, followed by the unearthly giggling. “Hee-hee-hee!”
Plink, plink, plop.
Everything was louder now. Billy realized he’d taken the batteries out of the flashlight so they wouldn’t corrode; they were also in the same drawer. The bogeyman took another two steps towards him. He could feel the lengthening shadow of the monster as it crawled across the floor and into Billy’s room. Billy refused to look up though; for he knew to look in the monsters eyes would be the end of him.
Plink, plink, plop.
Trying to ignore the now booming sound of the dripping, Billy scrambled around inside the drawer until he came up with the batteries. The slow and methodical footsteps towards him, and the insane giggles, which accompanied them, weren’t nearly as awful to Billy as the intolerable dripping though. There was something altogether evil and potentially earth-shattering about the otherwise innocuous sound.
Plink, plink, plop!
Billy didn’t want to see the cause of the dripping, but the light was his one lone hope. His mother couldn’t help him now. She didn’t believe in bogeymen and wouldn’t see the monster until he was on top of her. His father couldn’t help him; he had died when Billy was but a baby. But the light.. .yes, the light could save him! If only he could correctly insert the batteries into the flashlight in time. Was positive up or down?!
PLINK, PLINK, PLOP!
The dripping was nearly deafening now, making it difficult for Billy to focus on the task at hand. It’s up stupid! Up! He slammed the batteries home, nearly dropped the screw on top, and finally spun it on. The monster was almost out of the bathroom now, Billy could hear its ragged breathing and throaty laughter, as it approached him. The thing’s shadow now fell over him like a lion over a lamb.
PLINK, PLINK, PLOP!
Still refusing to look up into the eyes of the monster, Billy instead pointed the flashlight at the creature’s feet and, with trembling fingers, flicked on the light. He had known the thing was near, but was unprepared for just how close. It was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, not ten feet away. There was no sigh of relief though when the light came on, spotlighting the worn work-boots. Monsters and bogeymen didn’t wear boots, so naturally the light didn’t banish the creature back to hell, from whence it had come.
Plink, plink, plop.
The volume inside Billy’s head became muted as he realized for the first time in his young life that some things in this world are far, far worse than the horrors of make believe. He watched in stunned terror as a thick, red liquid dripped on the intruder’s boot three times in succession.
Plink, plink, plop.
Quiet. Billy’s world had become deathly quite, as all of his senses became narrowly focused on the scarlet splashed boot. The only clamor now was of his own terror driven breath; loud and violent, as it hammered his eardrums. The toe of one scuffed work-boot was covered in the crimson stuff. Blood, Billy’s mind numbly corrected him. It’s blood
Plink, plink, plop.
His bladder released the remaining fluid left in it, but Billy was beyond caring. Even his hands had stopped shaking. Death was at hand. He slowly panned the flashlight up the madman’s legs. The crazed intruder made no further attempt to enter Billy’s room for the moment, but seemed satisfied with standing in the circle of light. It was as if the man wanted Billy to witness something before...
Plink, plink, plop.
The source of the dripping, it had been in the man’s hand the whole time, dripping blood on his left boot at regular intervals like a leaky faucet. Billy’s eyes flew wide at the cause of the dripping. He could literally feel his mind begin to bend toward the snapping point and idly wondered, so this is what it feels like when you go mad?
Plink, plink, plop!
The volume had returned to Billy’s world with a thunderous crash. He blinked in confusion as his flashlight finally found the face of the murderer. The face of a creature more terrifying than any monster featured in his favorite magazine. The face of a man. His mother’s murderer. The killer, with hair wild, and eyes red, tossed the severed head at Billy. The head, his mothers head—oh dear God, his mother’s head!—turned end over end, flinging a parabolic splatter of blood across his room from the ragged flesh and bone jutting out from his mother’s neck.
Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat, went the blood, as it painted an abstract of madness on Billy’s floor and ceiling.
He felt a warm drop hit his face as the head fell heavily onto his lap. His mother’s final look of horror was frozen on her face at the moment of death. She seemed to stare up at Billy, imploring him to run, but Billy was gone. Whether it was his mother’s head falling into his lap, or the warm spatter of her blood on his cheek, or the once comforting aroma of Noxzema that now filled Billy’s nostrils, his mind had finally, and mercifully snapped.
He didn’t hear the monster (A real monster, mind you, not the sort you tore from your favorite magazine and taped to your wall. Real monsters went by the names of Ted, or Jeffery, and even John Wayne.) laugh loudly as it approached him.
But he felt its shadow descend upon him.
Billy sat up like a shot in his sweat soaked bed. Perspiration oozed from every pore, though it was a chilly October night. Was that a draft he felt coming from the hall? He tried to remember what the nightmare had been about, but all he got were meaningless fragments.
It was just a dream, he told himself, as he brought his breathing under control. A sound coming from the bathroom across from Billy’s bathroom made his heart resume the race. And as a foreboding sense of deja vu washed over him, Billy had a curious thought. What’s worse, being trapped in a nightmarish reality or a dream that never ends? Or was there any difference at all?
Plink, plink, plop...
