Tales from the Yeller House: A Horror Collection

Sweet Dreams

    Paul Miller hadn't slept in days.

    It wasn't for lack of trying. And it wasn't that he needed sleep anymore either. No, on the contrary, Paul had never felt more awake, more alive. He'd become immune to sleep, and that was what worried him most.

    That, and the creatures chasing him.

                                                                    **************

   Paul's week had began the way it always did. Sleeping until noon, showering, and getting ready for his twelve hour shift at the base. Working at a well-known yet top-secret military base had its perks, but also its downfalls too. It took more than an hour just for the security guys to verify Paul was who he said he was. But it was a job, and jobs for disabled Iraq War vets were few and far in between. Plus the pay was out of this world. And all he had to do was keep his mouth shut. It wasn't like he had anyone to tell, anyway. His parents were dead and he hadn't spoken to Marla in over a year, not since she'd packed all her things and left a well-worded note on the kitchen counter that detailed, bulletin-style, all Paul's shortcomings and the reasons she was unhappy. Between the hours and the pay rate, Paul was more than happy to keep his mouth shut.

    If he had known that Monday would be the last time he would sleep, Paul would have just stayed home.

                                                                            **************

    Paul pulled his truck over at an all night rest stop. He sat behind the wheel for several minutes before he opened his truck door and stepped out into the night. If they were close, I'd sense them, he told himself, and stepped into the diner. The ding of the doorbell pierced the silence inside the diner, and Paul cringed. The restaurant was empty save for the man behind the counter, who looked as weary as Paul felt.

    Paul staggered to the counter and took a seat on one of the empty barstools. The man - Jimmy according to his nametag- handed Paul a menu without a word and went back to wiping the already immaculate marble bar. Paul glanced at the menu before ordering a large fountain Dr Pepper and a hot ham and cheese sandwich.

    "Comin' right up," Jimmy said with a tad too much sarcasm for an empty diner. Paul sighed, shifted off his stool, and walked to the picture window that faced the parking lot. The sky was a dark purple, and just the sight of it made every hair on Paul's body stand at full attention.

    They were coming. Paul could feel it.

                                                                      ************** 

    The night Paul was passed over was a blur. He was in his bed on a Saturday night, the girl he'd picked up at Marvin's Bar in his bathroom, and if he were being honest, he was seriously contemplating using his .45 under the mattress to end it all. The girl -Paul had already forgotten her name, or maybe, in his current state of inebriation he hadn't even asked it- was taking too long in the bathroom. He just wanted her gone so he could get some sleep. He stood, steadied himself on the bedpost as the room spun, and stumbled to the closed bathroom door. He pressed his forehead to the cool wood to ease the steady heartbeat that throbbed in his temples.

    "Don't," he heard the girl whisper. "He didn't do anything." Someone replied to her in a language Paul had never heard. "I don't care where he works. He doesn't deserve that."

    More of the strange language followed. Paul pressed his ear closer to the door. The owner of the strange voice spoke faster, and sounded almost agitated. Paul heard a thud, followed by silence. He gave a light knock on the door, but got no response. He turned the knob, and to his surprise, the door was unlocked. Paul inched the door open and peered through the crack.