The Night Walker {2}

The window was wide open and the heavy clouds threatened rain. But she didn’t care.

Perched on her windowsill she drummed her fingers against the clipboard.
Three years ago she’d been destroyed, mind and soul. But now, here, in this quiet town, she had finally found solace. Her neighbours car pulled out of their driveway, heading out to their weekly meal at the club. The smell of jasmine wafted on the humid breeze which also tickled her nose with moist earth and damp grass. But she was waiting. She didn’t know for what, but her pen was poised. A lightning bolt forked from the sky, illuminating the city skyline. Already her pen was flying across the paper. Behind her the bedroom floor was littered with lined paper. It was how she coped, she remembered hearing the doctor tell her mother. It was how she released her fear and anger, her misery and distress. It was also how she distanced herself from everything. And every page was numbered, everything coherent. Three years worth of thoughts. She honestly didn’t know what she wrote. She couldn’t read anymore. She didn’t know why, but letters no longer formed coherent words, though her mother had read some of them, and had seemed impressed.

Another bolt split the sky in three, and she squinted at a building three blocks away. She waited, counting as roll after roll of thunder crashed, specks of rain starting to pepper the pavement. When the next bolt of light came she saw it two blocks away, on the Connelly’s roof. She could have sworn it was a person. The page vanished behind her as she began a new one. A strong gust of wind creating a swirl or rustling behind her, hair whipping around her face as her eyes spotted the figure on a house just out of her range to be sure. But when she looked again it was across the road, standing silently as the wind whipped furiously at the trees, rain lashing against the ground as thunder roared overhead, shaking the earth. A car alarm a few streets away started wailing as a distant dog howled its fright.

Another page vanished behind her, her hand stained with ink as she stared in amazement. The figure was gone, standing in the middle of the street now. In her front yard. She blinked and found golden eyes before hers. Still the pen flew. She was unable to move. She had never moved in this state. His eyes shifted as he read what she wrote before glancing at her, then over her shoulder. He moved passed her, but she never felt him touch her. She vaguely knew she should be in awe of the honour bestowed upon her by seeing him, though she couldn’t discern why. Her head turned as she watched him pick a path through the paper, his clothes were dry, which made no sense.
And then he was stooping, picking up a page, and in a deep and beautiful voice, he began speaking.
“It is today that I felt him touch me. That evil caress down my cheek. I awake to find no one with me, yet blood trails from grazes obtained in my restless sleep. He haunts my every waking moment. Every crevice of my dreams. To me he is both God and the Devil. He is my saviour, and he is my Demon. To whom I refer to I know not, for he is but a shadow, a figment if you will. But I can still feel his breath against my flesh. His touch. The silence and the waking. I woke. I did wake. I did not dream. I lived. But I did not see. For me, my waking moment is now. The breath I inhale is my first though I am not yet a newborn. For where these words flow I know not, this wisdom I never asked for. But I do occasionally wonder. I wonder of many things. Of who he is. Of what he is. Why he spared me, when I was no more interesting then the rest. Why he heard my scream yet favoured my flesh over that of the others. When he comes, for I know he shall, he shall claim what is his. What he rightfully took, and what he will soon possess.” He looked up at her. “Rather poetic, morose, but beautiful. Who do you speak of?” She watched him uncomprehendingly. Had she written that? She looked down at the leaf of paper in her lap. It was filled with her scribble. She tossed it wordlessly to the floor and rose to face him, clipboard and pen falling listlessly from her fingers. “Ah, my little girl you grew up, and you changed.” He seemed to smell her from the other side of the bland room. “Changed far more then I could have anticipated for.” She glanced at the shattered mirror on the wall. Her reflection was as confused as she was.
“Who are you?” She was moving cautiously towards him, treading carelessly over the sheets.
“You will remember me when you awake entirely. You’re still sleepwalking.” His smile was seductive, but she was unable to feel anything for him. She was still distant, aloof from everybody around her. “Do you want to see truly? I didn’t mean to frighten you before, but I’d had enough, and I was waiting.” The words were meaningless to her. He was tall as he drew in front of her, menacing even as he stared down at her, golden eyes glittering, though with what she could not tell, for they seemed to shutter his emotions away so effectively yet reveal everything. She didn’t understand, but his hands were on her shoulders. “Why are you so different? You are she, but,” He bent down, faces barely an inch apart. “You will remember. Tomorrow. When you wake, everything will be different, all this,” He swept a hand around her room, “It will mean everything to you, and nothing. And I want you to read it, all of it. You will remember it all, but you must still read,” His lips pressed against hers, his breath swelling her lungs before he kissed her gently. “Understood?” She nodded, her curtains flapped in the strong winds as lightning speared their shadows against the wall. He trailed a finger along her cheek, down her neck, until it caught on her collar. With a rueful smile he seemed to vanish. An apparition.

Sleep seemed to swell in her mind now.

She stumbled towards her bed, falling against the comfort of her quilt and pillows as she fell into a sleep so deep that not even the roar of thunder and wail of sirens could wake her.