He lays his head down. Pulls the covers up to his chin. Closes his eyes.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
For the many nights that this has happened, he has never seen what is causing the ruckus. Not yet anyway. And it never seems to awaken any of the other occupants of the household. The only conclusion that his adolescent mind can muster is, just that, it is his paranoid adolescent mind.
Then the whispers start.
We want you. We know you. You’ve seen us before. Death will bring you. Death will bring you. Death will bring you.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
With the combination of banging and ghostly whispers, he feels a loosening in his bowels and a terror growing in the pit of his stomach. He pulls the covers up to his eyeballs. Staring intently at his closet door, opening and closing with brute force. A brutality so strong that on the last closing, before he jumps out of bed, splinters the door into two pieces.
Out of bed, he storms down a hallway, tramples down his many stairs, bursts through his front door and heads to what he sees as safety. His auto. He runs to it, entering and immediately locking the doors. He breathes in then out slowly. Peace in Japanese craftsmanship.
He closes his eyes, trying to fall asleep. Fifteen minutes pass. His eyes open as if sensing something. He looks up to his bedroom window. His overhead light has been turned on. Behind the lowered blind, he can see a shape the size of an average sized adult. The shape starts to move, as if running in circles. Continuously running past the window. He watches in wonderment and fear. The shape then stops abruptly in front of the window. After a few seconds pass, the blind begins to rise slowly. The figure is human, male, naked, and red. The blind rises a little higher. Not red, its blood, the figure is drenched in blood. Its chest is revealed. Then neck. Head. He sits staring up at the window, having a blood-covered version of himself staring right back at him.
He wants a closer look. He reaches for the door handle, pulls it. The door opens slightly before he jerks it back closed in fright. For his blood drenched twin is now looking at him through the driver’s side window. Its hand touches the outside of the glass. Then begins violently slapping and leaving blood streaks against the surface.
He reaches for the ignition switch. No keys. He slaps himself in the head, he forgot them in his room, and he’s sure as hell not going back there. So he clambers over the gearshift and into the passenger seat. He quickly glances over to his bloody twin, he is still there, now with his face to the window, moaning.
Opening the passenger side door he leaps out ands runs. He runs like he’s never had to run before. He runs and runs. Every now and then slowing to a walk to catch his breath. Runs some more. Making lefts and rights. Onto avenues and circles, cutting through cul-de-sacs. Eventually reaching his destination. A small white Spanish style home on the corner of avenue and road. He goes to the back of the house. Opens a window and crawls in.
His girlfriend is sitting on the floor, whispering something. She jumps at the sound of him falling onto the floor behind her.
“Hey!” she says turning to face him.
“Hello,” he takes a deep breath. “What’s going on?” he asks pointing to the candles and open book.
“Just some breathing exercises. You know, I’m a yoga freak.”
“Yoga, you know, Pilates and shit. What are you doing here?”
“You want a blowjob?”
“Let me catch my breath,” he pauses. “Huh?”
“Do you want a blowjob? Is that why you came running over here? Looking at some Cindy Crawford pics? Watching a little Fair Game were ya?” She smiles. “Feeling a little horny?”
She moves along with the motion of his head and eyes, trying to block his view from whatever it is she was up to before his presence.
“Wait…What are you doing…Why are you doing yoga…at…three…in the morning?”
“It’s never too late, or early, whatever, for some stretching and breathing and shit,” she scoots up to him; he has now placed himself on the edge of her bed. She starts to unbutton his pants.
“The mood just struck me. You know like you wanting a blowjob.”
Finally catching his breath, but not stopping her from pulling his pants down to his ankles he completes a sentence.
“I ran over here…oh yeah….because a bloody version of me was, well, I don’t know what the hell he was doing exactly, scaring me…oh, God, yeah…my closet door, banging, bloody version of me…that’s the good stuff…in my room.”
She speaks, though with a mouthful it is indistinguishable. A translation:
“Bloody version of you? What? That’s ridiculous. Just admit you wanted some sucky-sucky.”
He doesn’t understand a word, though doesn’t really care. Because of the task she is engaged in, he has a chance to gaze at the mischief she was causing before his appearance.
“I don’t think a pentagram is used in yoga, I could be wrong…Ow!” she bites down, distracting him.
“Oh yeah, I like it when you invite the canines over to play. Woof, woof,” he says, confusing her just enough to pull her off. She looses balance and falls back a little. Giving him an opportunity to grab the open book that lies on the floor. He reads. Then looks at her.
“You’re a sneaky one aren’t you?”
He quickly puts his dick in his pants and zips. Looks at his hand. There is a glistening in the moonlight. He wipes in on her bed.
“Yeah, that’s the most important thing right now, me wiping your saliva on your bed sheets.”
“The whole time it was you? I was scared shitless. I was scared so shitless that I almost shit myself. I thought my closet was trying to kill me.”
“I guess I’m caught,” she holds up her hand, there is the same glistening. “Dickhanded,” she laughs.
“Now is not the time for jokes, my dear.”
She gets serious. “What is it time for, huh? More blowjobs? I might as well get Nickelback tattooed up my spine for as much as I suck.”
“What are you talking about?”
She farts. Then looks him in the eyes.
“This, this whole thing. You coming into my room at anytime of the day or night or whenever and expecting me to be your fuck rag. I just wanted to scare you a couple of times. Then it got fun. So I kept it up. I knew if it got bad enough you’d come running over here seeking out my pussy as a comfort zone, you small dicked, insecure, scaredy-cat. So, I’m caught. Hardy-fucking-har.”
“I’m not staying with you after this.”
“I’ve got a line of long-shafted sailors just waiting for a piece of this. It’ll be nice being filled up for once, not feeling as though I’m empty inside,” she farts.
“You’re fucking crazy.”
He stands and walks to the window. He sticks a leg out, stops, looks at her as though he is going to speak, he says nothing, climbs all the way out.
“Hey!” she calls to him from inside.
He sticks his head inside. “What?”
“Sweet dreams,” she farts.
He flips her off, turns, and walks away. He pulls up his shirt and removes the book from his waistband.
“Yeah, sweet dreams to you too, you gassy bitch.”