My Worst Nightmare

“Mom and dad are going to kill me!” I think to myself as a I check the time for the 100th time since leaving the party. 12:37 am. I was supposed to be home an hour ago. Of course, I had waited until the last second to leave and since I have the worst luck in the world, my car wouldn’t start. My only saving grace was that there is never a shortage of guys who can take an engine apart and put it back together with their eyes closed at a field party in the middle of nowhere, so they were able to get me going. I’ve been telling my parents for weeks that something isn't right with this pile of junk.

I navigate through the winding backroads, hugging the curves as tightly as I can without sliding into the ditch. I slow and take a left onto Baylor Road. I don’t usually go this way only because it’s always creeped me out, but it’s the fastest way home. The narrow road is completely isolated and thick trees line both sides, creating a thick canopy overhead that blocks even the tiniest rays of light, making it pitch black dark as soon as the sun goes down. About a mile and a half down the road, my stomach churns when the engine starts knocking hard. “No, no, no, no, NO!” I yell as the engine stalls completely and the car comes to a stop in the middle of the dark road, steam pouring out from under the hood. “Fuck!” I scream, slamming my hands against the steering wheel. Some rando at the party had offered to give me ride home, but I said no. I'm not trying to get murdered in the middle of the night.

I check my cell even though I knew I'm going to see zero bars this far our in the boonies. “What the hell am I going to do now?” I think to myself, trying not to panic. I weigh my options. I can sit here and wait for someone to come by, but the chances of that happening anytime soon are practically zero, or I can start walking toward the main road until I get service. Option two it is. I get out of the car, put my phone in my pocket, and wrap my coat tightly around me. God it’s cold out here. I start walking in the same direction I was traveling with the car shit completely out, pulling my phone out to check the time every few minutes. At this rate I should be to the main road by 2 am.

I’ve been walking for about 20 minutes when I come across something I’ve never noticed before: a mailbox beside a narrow dirt driveway that leads into the trees. My teeth are chattering and my hands are numb, so against my better judgement, I leave the hardtop of the road and step into the trees, hoping to find help at the end of the driveway. It’s a small town, so I’m more than likely going to know whoever lives here.

About 250 yards into the trees the gravel path widens, then opens into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing sits a huge, two story Victorian style house with a huge front porch adorned with intricate gingerbread trim and a towering turret to the left. As I approach the house, I see something I'm not at all expecting. Sitting on the front steps is a little boy. He’s around 8 years old with shaggy brown hair and is dressed in jeans and a dirty, long-sleeved striped shirt. He’s barefoot despite the freezing temperatures. “Hey. Are you okay?” I ask, more concerned about this poor child out in the cold than myself at this point.

The boy doesn’t answer. As I take another step toward him he jumps up and runs into the house, laughing. He leaves the front door open and I follow him into the front room of the huge house. The boy is standing on the stairs just to the right of the door that lead upstairs. “Where are your parents? My car broke down and I need to use your phone.” The boy just laughs again and runs to the top of the stairs. “Hello?!” I call out loudly, hoping to wake the boys parents or anyone else who might be in the house. The boy is standing on the landing above me now, leaning over the railing.

“Is anyone else here?” I ask. The boy slowly shakes his head “no”.

“Where is your phone?” I’m starting to panic.

The boy motions with his finger for me to follow him then runs down the upstairs hallway. Without taking time to think about what I’m doing, I climb the stairs. I hear a door close as I reach the top. I look in the direction the boy ran and see light coming from under a door at the end of the hallway. I walk slowly down the hallway toward the door. The door is fitted with antique hardware with a beautiful red glass doorknob and a keyhole for a skeleton key. I reach for the doorknob, but it doesn’t turn. I knock on the door. “Hey. Can you open the door? I really need to use the phone.” The boy doesn’t answer. I start to turn to go back downstairs to look for a phone when I hear the boy moving moving around inside the room. Instead of walking away, I ask, “Are you okay in there?,” as I bend down to look through the keyhole.

I see the boy clearly. He’s sitting on a steamer trunk in the middle of the room with his back to the door. Sheer terror washes over me as I realize the light coming from under the door and luminating the room is actually coming from the keyhole in the trunk. I know I need to get out of here, but I’m completely frozen. As I watch, the boy starts laughing the sweet, innocent laughter of a child, but then he begins to change. His head jerks down toward his shoulder on one side, then the other as bones crack and his neck begins to elongate. His shoulder broaden and thick, misshapen vertebrae tear through his striped shirt. He stands and his pants rip to shreds as he grows taller. Razor sharp claws split through the ends of his fingers and the sweet child's laughter transforms into a deep, guttural growl.

I stumble backwards, crawling away from the door and trying to stand. I find my feet as I reach the top of the stairs. The glass-knobbed door at the end of the hallway slams open and the doorway is filled with a blinding light that frames the beast's silhouette. I scream and fly down the stairs, almost tripping as I reach the bottom. Hard, heavy footsteps are pounding on the floor upstairs as I run out the front door and back into the dark of night. I run through the quick puffs of breath pouring out of my burning lungs. Tears pour from eyes, stinging my face. As I reach the gravel path leading back toward the road, the beast roars as it bursts through the front door of the house and onto the front lawn. I don’t dare look back.

I swear I can feel the ground shaking as the monster starts after me. Although I’m in the middle of the narrow path, branches start slapping at my face. It’s as if the path is getting narrower with every step, trying to hinder my escape.

I will my legs to go faster, but the beast is catching up - fast. As the sound of his pounding footsteps thunder behind me, I realize the ground is shaking. I start to lose my footing as the ground beneath my feet vibrates, then starts to give way. The beast is right on top of me now. I feel the heat of his breath hitting the back of my neck and the smell of rot and decay fills my sinuses. He grabs me, sinking his twisted, gnarly claws deep into the flesh of my hips. I close my eyes and scream...

I sit straight up in the bed, still screaming. My arms and legs are flailing, trying to break free from the grip of the blanket around me. I open my eyes, and find the sun streaming through the window onto my face. The boy, the house, the dark desolate road are all gone and the beast with them. But something isn’t quite right. Although I’m safe at home, I swear I can still smell the beast's putrid stench. I take a deep, calming breath and wipe my face. I’m drenched with sweat. Then I see my hands. Dirt is caked under my fingernails and there are deep scratches in both palms as if I’d caught myself falling to the ground. I throw the sheets off my body, seeing that they are ripped, dirty and bloody. I look down and the terror that filled my nightmare returns. On each side of my torso, just above my hips, are four long, deep gashes. I scream, and fall back onto the bed and into darkness.