Insomnia | Short Story

Insomnia

He can't sleep. He tosses and turns, flipping, mind twirling, swirling, spiraling down, down, down, as his thoughts turn to the dead of night. He shivers, hating the dark, always terrified by the dark. He huddles in his blanket. He flips on a flashlight, but the light only creates more shadows, dancing on his walls. He quickly turns it off, heart racing. He whimpers softly, tossing and turning again. He finally falls into some sort of half-sleep.
   
His dreams are filled with darkness creeping, closing in on him. His dreams turn to nightmares. He jerks awake, his breath uneven, shuddering, heavy. His eyes snap open, hurriedly shutting them again as shadows dart before him on the ceiling again. He whispers, breaking the quiet.
   
"It's not real. It's not real. It's just a trick. Just tricks of the dark. It's not real." He repeats, over and over and over to himself. He grips the blanket tightly, his knuckles turning white. He decides to get out of bed. Maybe walking around and seeing the familiar things in his house can reassure him. He thumps to the ground, slipping on a pair of socks, heading downstairs.
   
Something inside him tells him not to turn on a light. He puts his boots on and grabs his hoodie. His breath is frigid and visible as he steps outside, the door creaking behind him. Leaves crunch under his feet as he rubs his hands together. He quickly shoves them into his pockets, heading out into the night. His breath trails behind him as he hurries along, not wanting to be out too long, yet not wanting to be alone in his house.
   
Suddenly, he hears a faint noise. It almost sounds like...a howl? He hurries a little faster, trying to ignore the fact that the moon is full and the howl is getting louder. He hears a thump behind him. He whips around, his heart rate quickening. He doesn't see anything in the foggy air, though his eyes scan the forest. He feels a cool rush of air on his right. He spins on his heels that way. There's nothing. The wind whistles through the tops of the trees eerily. Something seems to brush against his left hand. He whirls around to face whatever's there. There's still nothing.
   
A howl sounds right next to his ear. His heart pounds. He clutches his pocket in terror, though there's nothing in it. He whips his head from left to right. He starts running, thinking he hears footsteps–or possibly paw steps–running after him. He fears that something is chasing him. Maybe something is after him. He hears panting, thumping, louder, louder, louder still. He stops, trembling and shaking, a terrible fear gripping him from head to toe, preventing him from moving another step.
   
He hears that appalling, echoing howl again. Then again. And again. Suddenly, a whole chorus of howls surround him, reverberating off of the trees, right to where he's standing. His heart seems to thump as loud–maybe louder–than the howls around him. They echo and bounce in one terrible, horrible, bone-chilling, blood-curdling noise that seems to ring in his ears long after one round of howls ends and the next one begins. His hands shake at his sides, his feet glued to the ground.
   
"Help." He whispers, suddenly realizing that he should have stayed in the comfort of his own home. He feels as though his terror of the dark were naught but a childish nightmare compared to this real, very real horror in front of–and behind and beside–him. He spins around again as two score or more wolves step out of the foggy, murky, thick air, surrounding him. They start to close in on him as more unseen wolves howl to the moon again and again. The wolves step closer, and closer until finally they are standing in a tight ring around him. One, larger than the rest, steps forward and stares right into his eyes. He shivers, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for the excruciating, blinding pain to come, but somehow, it doesn't. He cracks an eye open, but the huge wolf is only snarling as the rest of its pack howls, long, loud, and haunting.
   
He whimpers and edges away from the pack leader. The leader advances, as does the rest of the pack. He turns and runs, trying to tune out the sound of thumping paws and howls following him. His heart seems to hammer against his ribcage, threatening to burst out. His mind races as he starts to panic.
   
Starts to panic? I've been panicking! He somehow manages to think as he runs faster still. The pack is at his heels. Suddenly, jaws clamp around his ankle, dragging him to the ground. He hits it with a thud, scrambling backward as he turns to see the wolf who grabbed him. The huge pack leader's eyes scintillate back at him as his own widen at the sight before him. He props himself up on his hands a little to shuffle backward, almost hitting the monster of a tree behind him. He whimpers again. The large wolf, with its shaggy and pale gray fur, huffs in response. He kicks out a little, slipping as he tries to get up and run. The still, gelid air around him soaks through his hoodie, through his skin, finally penetrating deep into his very bones. He shivers, chills scurrying up his spine.
   
The large wolf lumbers after him, nipping his ankles again. The pack howls and grunts cruelly, as though they enjoy torturing him. The leader starts to bite a little harder, its hard claws scrabbling on the frozen ground. He groans and cries out in pain as the alpha's jaws close around his shin. He sucks in a sharp breath and grits his teeth. "Please. Stop!" He pleads as the alpha bites harder, a maniacal, sadistic glint in its eyes. "Please!" He yells hoarsely. His tightly balled fist collides with the head of the large wolf, but still, it doesn't let go. It simply shakes its head and growls. It jolts his leg back and forth, red pooling around its strongly clenched jaws. A metallic, revolting tang fills the air, and he gags a little, going paler than the alpha's fur silhouetted in the moonlight. The huge wolf finally lets go, crimson staining its beautifully dangerous face. He finally manages to stand up, crying out in agony as pain shoots up and down his leg from putting pressure on it. He grabs it for a moment, attempting to staunch the blood. He runs, trying to block out the steadily increasing, shooting, jabbing, sickening pain.

Howls follow him as he stumbles blindly in the semi-darkness toward the direction he thinks his house is in. He clamps his teeth together, biting his lip until it draws blood, in some broken, desperate attempt to ease the pain stabbing him like a barb in the leg. The pain is like a noose, binding him and keeping him captive. He can't escape, even if he tries to focus on anything, the moon, the trees, even his fear and panic. Suddenly, the shadows doing their little jig on his walls doesn't seem so bad anymore. He staggers and collapses at his door. He turns the handle with the last of his quickly sapping strength. He slams the door and locks every single deadbolt he has on it. He falls into a chair near his kitchen sink. He sighs in pain and relief as he dips a cloth in the water that now runs from the sink, safe at last in his home. The flesh around his leg is swollen and red.

His mind swirls about what just happened. Did a wolf really just do this to him? An alpha out of anyone? He slowly dabs the cloth on his leg, wincing. He presses the cloth on the wound in hopes of stopping the blood again. It's to no avail. The blood immediately soaks through the cloth, turning his hands a terribly pulchritudinous shade. He turns away, swallowing hard. He looks down again, just for a moment. The wound is clearly going to be infected. He thinks about how much he is going to dread taking himself to the hospital. What if the room they repair his leg in is dark?

Suddenly, he jerks and falls. He opens his eyes. His heart pounds and his leg throbs, but not quite as bad as it had been. The darkness seems to close in even more, triggering his nyctophobia, not to mention his fear of being alone; his heart racing is the only sound in the otherwise quiet house. He is alone. It takes him a moment, but then he realizes something. He's lying on the hardwood floor of his bedroom. The shadows seemed to have stopped their dance. He flips on his flashlight for a moment, staring in wonder at his leg. Where there was just a gash in his leg, now is only a thin, white, healed scar. He stares at it in bewilderment.

When did this happen? How long had it been since he'd last had consciousness? He stands up and turns off the light, still hating the shadows mocking him from the walls and ceiling. He stares around. How did he get back in his room?

He realizes that the pair of socks that had been on his feet are lying on a chair in the same exact position that had been in before he had put them on. He creeps almost silently–one floorboard creaks–downstairs to the front door. His eyes bug out slightly as he sees something that he had been hoping and praying would not be there. His boots and hoodie were lying just as they had before his little expedition outside. His breathing and heartbeat quicken again. He exhales a loud breath through his nose. "It's not real. It's not real," he tells himself for the second time that night. Was it even the same night? He tiptoes back to bed, only a barely noticeable throb in his previously injured leg. "It was only a dream." He whispers, "There were never wolves." There were never any wolves. It was all a dream. It must have been. It had to have been one. How else could his leg have healed like that? Of course, it was just a delirious nightmare.

He slides back into his bed, now cold from his absence. He can't sleep. He tosses and turns, flipping, mind twirling, swirling, spiraling down, down, down, as his thoughts turn to the dead of night and wolves. He shivers, hating the wolves, always terrified of the wolves. He finally falls into some sort of half-sleep. His dreams are feverish as he twists in his bed, messing up the crisp, smooth sheets. His eyes snap open before he lets the dreams turn to nightmares. His heart pounds louder than ever. Suddenly, a howl sounds in the distance.