Sleepwalk

The brakes of the Subaru shrieked as Will crept to a stop and threw the transmission into park. Emma didn't know where they were. Will had instructed her to keep her eyes closed. The giddy smile on Will's face when they left their apartment had her nerves frayed. Will loved surprises, but anything unexpected pulled at the perpetual knot tangled in Emma's stomach.

"You can open your eyes now," Will said.

Emma opened her eyes to freshly manicured lawns and porches decorated with pumpkins and mums, a cozy cul-de-sac straight out of a suburban magazine.

A nervous twitch curled the corner of Emma's lips. "Where are we?"

"We're home!"

-

The next day, a slender woman in spandex with her blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail approached Emma as she wiped the sweat dripping from her forehead and grabbed another box from the car.

The woman's sapphire eyes were wide. "Are you the new owner?"

Emma nodded. "Yes, I'm Emma. My husband, Will, is inside."

The woman just stared at Emma, making no effort to introduce herself. The woman's eyes darted to the house and then back. She took a tentative step, leaning in with a whisper. "Did the realtor tell you?"

Emma's eyebrows knitted together. "Tell us what?"

The woman jerked back as the garage door rumbled open. She froze like a frightened cat. "Be careful."

Before Emma could respond, the woman slunk back down to the street and jogged away. Emma stood there gripping the box, the edges digging into her palms so deep she could feel her pulse through the cardboard.

"Who was that?" Will asked as he walked down the driveway, watching the blonde woman disappear around the corner.

Emma shook her head. "A neighbor, I guess."

Will shrugged and took the box from Emma's arms. He headed back to the house, but Emma remained rooted to the broken asphalt, her body numb.

-

A crash from the dining room jumpstarted Emma's heart. She was upstairs in what would be their new bedroom setting up their bed, trying to shake her weird encounter with the blonde woman. Emma dropped the sheets and ran to the top of the stairs.

"Will?"

"Em, come look at this thing!"

Emma descended the stairs and saw Will standing in the dining room surrounded by decaying boxes she had never seen before. On the mahogany table that had been left behind by the previous owners, sat a monstrous phonograph. Drawn to its pristine condition, Emma stood in front of the phonograph's magnificent horn and traced the intricacies of the wooden base with her fingers.

"Wow," she said. "It's beautiful."

"Right? I wonder if it still works."

Will rifled through the unfamiliar boxes and slid a record from its faded sleeve. He carefully lifted the needle and placed the record on the turntable.

"Let's give it a shot," he said, gripping the brass handle of the crank.

The crank was stiff at first before giving way to a creak and a squeal as the needle scratched across the surface of the record. Emma winced at the high-pitched sound screaming from the horn until Will steadied the crank and the needle glided smoothly across the vinyl.

Soon, the sweet voice of Ella Fitzgerald floated through the air and Emma's tense muscles relaxed. Emma closed her eyes and drifted on the waves of the calming melodies.

-

Later that night, Emma and Will sank into their mattress, their stomachs full of Chinese takeout and their muscles sore from lifting all day. Will seemed to fall asleep in an instant, his muffled snores a soothing rhythm to Emma's racing thoughts. Emma stared at the ceiling, the blankets fisted in her hands, until her eyelids became too heavy.

The thundering toll of the old grandfather clock shocked Emma out of her sleep. It boomed twice, the sound reverberating through the walls. Her heart rate spiked and then settled once the echoing dissipated.

As Emma drifted, there was a metallic sound that pierced the silence. The twang of guitar strings lifted her from the bed and pulled her down the dark hallway. Crackling from the dining room led Emma to the phonograph, still perched on the table, its brass handle rotating on its own.

In a trance, Emma watched the record spin, the needle scratching and skipping, as the melody of the guitar infiltrated her mind. Emma lifted her hand above the rotating record, then grabbed the needle abruptly.

Startled, Emma blinked in the darkness. She didn't remember walking into the dining room. Her eyes adjusted to the outline of the phonograph, now quiet and still.

In the weak moonlight seeping through the thin curtains, Emma could make out a small dot on her right index finger. A pin prick of blood.

-

The following few days were the same. Endless moving of boxes and furniture, unpacking and organizing. Emma was still rattled from the first night in their new house. She rationalized that she must have sleepwalked into the dining room for some odd reason. She didn't mention it to Will.

By their tenth night in the house, Emma's nerves finally began to settle. She and Will fell asleep in each other's arms, feeling as though they were truly at home.

But the grandfather clock would not allow Emma a full night's sleep.

Boom. Boom.

Emma sprang up, pulled out of bed like a marionette. The same guitar riff from the first night floated from the phonograph and guided Emma downstairs. Emma padded into the kitchen, her hand closing around a cold handle that stuck out of the knife block like black spikes.

Vibrating guitar strings wound up the stairs, leading Emma back to her bedroom. She stood over the bed, her eyes focused on the breathing mass covered in blankets. Emma raised the knife and plunged the heavy blade into the mass until a darkness began to spread beneath it.

The music stopped, and she screamed.

-

Author's Note: This story was inspired by the song "Sleepwalk" by Santo and Johnny and written for Kenny Penn's "Frighten Me! Please?" unofficial October challenge!