Spectrophobia

3: Late Night Awakening

Tap, tap, tap

He heard it in his dream. The inky void that presented itself after sleep. It seemed to ricochet around the dark corners of his mind.

He dragged his eyes open.

Dark.

He frowned. Groaning as he flipped himself over towards the other end of the bed. Towards the opposite set of twin cabinets. A clock sat, blaring the red glares of the digital numbers, like some sort of alarm.

2:07 am

What the fuck?

Ray had never woken up so early before. Not even when he had those devilish hangovers all those years ago. He silently cursed his mind for waking him at such an odd hour in the night.

Tap, tap, tap

That noise. He heard it in his sleep. He assumed it was him dreaming, but now he could hear it. In his house. The slow steady raps of someone's knuckles against the hardened walls that held his home in place. Or, so he assumed. 

Maybe there was someone at the door. This fucking early? Nobody gets up this early in Harriet. No-one at all. This place runs by a steady system, everyday. Knocking at someone's house in the dead of night, annoying the piss out of him, was not one of the rules in the book.

Holding all his tired anger in his arms, he lifted his aching body out of bed. He turned and noticed the candle light had been engulfed in darkness. It was cold to the touch, as if it had never even awoken at all.

He switched on the light. Nothing but his room. He threw on his dressing gown and wrapped it around him before he heard that dreadful knocking again.

I'm coming, I'm coming you annoying bastard.

He opened his bedroom door and stepped out. It was as soon as he stepped out in the hallway did he notice something strange about the noise.

It was nowhere near coming from downstairs at the door. It was close. Very close to him. Maybe the pipes again? They were damn old and needed urgent repair. 

No, this did not sound like pipes being irritating. It was clear, a closed fist knocking softly against the wall. The wall - where?

He took heavy yet muffled barefoot steps down the blackened hallway. His pupils slowly adjusting to the grim darkness; hung heavily and moist with inked paranoia, leaking through the walls and creating shadows that stood beside him. Giggling at the pleasure of seeing Ray, tired and afraid, slump past towards the sound that disturbed him.

Tap, tap, tap.

He was close. The further he dragged himself into the hallway, the darker it seemed to get. He was drowning in it, the pressure building up in his chest - forcing the oxygen out of his lungs.

The mirror.

It was coming from the mirror.

He stopped and turned to it. Waited for confirmation from the soft tapping sound.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was there. Behind the mirror? Maybe there was something lodged behind it. He carefully pressed his fingers under the hanging mirror and lifted it as best as he could - without smashing the thing and gaining seven years of bad luck for him. He squinted behind it through the darkness.

Nothing. No shadowy blob of some object trapped between the wall and the mirror. He attempted to feel through the cracks, try and make out if anything was there. The noise erupted again.

It sounded as if it was coming from the mirror. Within the actual glass itself. Someone trapped on the other side of it.

He carefully replaced it back onto its original spot and peered into the looking-glass. All that was there was the dark silhouette of his own exhausted, confused face. Distorted and dancing in the wavering glass like radio waves. It looked like it was smiling. Again.

He gently shook the mirror. Hoping there was maybe some critter stuck in it.

Bang, Bang, Bang!

The sound roared across the empty hallway. Ray almost dropped the entire antique. Stepping away from the mirror - staring at it. Someone had knocked with all their mighty strength against the surface of the glass. Or something. Something angry. Or desperate. So loud he was certain he would get a noise complaint from the neighbors.

Raymond noticed the aches drawn across his lungs; he had forgotten how to breathe. Truthfully, he was spooked. He had every right to be.

He waited, small pants rattling his lungs. 

No sounds. Nothing at all. Just the darkness and the silence. 

It must have been from his sleep deprived mind. Nothing but sounds and shadows created from fiction by his pissed off mind - punishing him for restricting the sleep he needed. There was no other explanation. It must have been a hallucination. He refused to believe he was going crazy. No way in hell.

Refusing to touch that framed glass once more, he turned himself away from the dragging darkness and made his way back towards his empty room.

He sat on the bed and re-lit the candle at the edge of his bed. He stared. He calmed. He thought of nothing but his girlfriend coming to return during the weekends. Just a couple more days. Days destitute of laughter and company. Warmth and comfort.

No matter how long he thought of Jane, that sound continuously rapped his skull, causing his brain to rattle irritatingly against his head. That slow knocking sound. It must have been the pipes, or his weird paranoia that sprung up from his lonely days. The sound haunted him. Mainly due to the sound coming from his own home in which he had lived two years in. It was a new sound, a sound that instilled fear in him.

From the corner of his eyes, figures stood in the corners of his room, laughing mockingly at him. Mocking him for his fear over nothing.

He wanted a drink. Wanted to drown the fear, drown the sound of the knocks with the cold awakening of chilled beverage. But his body refused to move from the small comfort of his room. Chaining him to the corners of his bed.

Frustrated with himself - cursing himself for creating false fear - he lay back down against the marshmallow cushion.

He lay there, softly breathing.

But no sleep came for him.

Not tonight, nor any other night.