Winter Wakes

Yelping I found myself jolted awake. I blinked rapidly staring blankly into the darkness of my room. My head was flooded with images from my dreams, unpleasant and horrifying in every way. I guess that’s what you call nightmares. Shaking, I lifted my hand to push the hair away from my face. I looked over; the bright blue numbers on my digital clock read 4 AM. Great. I wasn’t going back to sleep; that I was sure of.

I hugged my shaking legs to my chest, burying my face in my knees. The images of what I’d seen were still dancing wickedly through my head: a dungeon; a guillotine-like pendulum; the walls closing in; and a bottomless pit.

“Sleep well?”

I jumped again, startled. My head quickly jerked up to find a figure sitting on the navy cushion of the window seat. I almost panicked at the sight. I say almost because what had happened the night before pushed its way to the front of my thoughts. Shock quickly dissipated; it was replaced by an uneasy irritation.

Even in the dark of the night I could see him clearly. In the preparation room back at the funeral home he head taken a faint glow, and could be made out against the blackness of the then surrounding area. Where he now sat, the moonlight hit him in a fascinating way. He was radiant in a way I never would have imagined. Simon’s figure appeared to be cast in a silver lining. It was marvelous to behold, and reminded me of some paintings done by the masters of the Renaissance. The ones that depicted Mary and Jesus illuminated in a holy light. I then remembered Simon and the word “holy” were antonyms. What I was witnessing was more than likely his evil aura.

My eyes ended up flickering down to the one part of him that was inexplicably dark. There was an object nestled in the corner of his elbow; I could make out the box-like figure against his illuminated form.

“What are you holding?” My voice reflected a hint of grogginess as I spoke. Four in the morning was not the time for conversations. I hadn’t realized until then that a smirk had been plastered on his face since I had woken up. I didn’t trust that look. Scratch that; I didn’t trust him, period.

“A book,” He shrugged nonchalantly. For some reason I found that answer far too innocent.

I raised an eyebrow, “What book?”

“The Complete Works and Tales of Edgar Allan Poe.”

I stared at him, completely mystified. That answer had come too quickly and cheerfully.

What a sick bastard.

“You’re trying to get ideas for how to torture and or kill me, aren’t you?” My reply was monotone. It’s fairly depressing when someone’s using your own books to plot your demise.

“Actually I used the book to see if I could torture you in your sleep,” He stated with a cruel glint gleaming in his eyes. “So, sleep well?”

Just the look he gave me reflected far too much amusement over the situation on his part.

He really enjoyed this. Wait. What did he just say?

“You… did what?” I fumbled to process his words. It wasn’t working. Instead I found myself attempting to recall the dimming images from my nightmare. A pit, a pendulum, and walls closing in. “The Pit and the Pendulum. How… the hell did you do that?”

“Oh? So you have been educated to the extent whereby you know some literature,” He remarked offhandedly. I was getting sick of his snide comments.

“How did you do that?” I demanded for the second time.

He looked over at me with a sneer on his glowing face, “Second thought, you’re not bright after all. I didn’t use my ghostly powers if that’s what you’re insinuating. I just wanted to test something. I read the story to you while you were asleep. Amazingly it worked. Next time how about The Murders in the Rue Morgue? Or The Fall of the House of Usher? What about The Cask of Amontillado? I’m sure those would be absolutely thrilling.”

I then concluded without doubt that he bore nothing but malicious intentions when it came to me. He was finding ways to torment me in my sleep for crying out loud. You must hate someone if you’ll go that far.

“Is this because I told you off earlier?” I queried as I shot a glare at him.

“You tell me.”

Sources say: That may be a trick question. Sources also say: I’d prefer not to be physically abused at the moment.

“Pass.”

“Ah. So you’re a coward as well as an idiot,” He commented idly. I looked up to find him flipping through the thin pages of the book, seeming indifferent to the conversation. Not being the focus of his attention was a blessing I could never explain.

“And you’re dead.”

I found myself contemplating the reasons I had let that slip out of my mouth. His attention wasn’t on me for once. That was sure as hell a good way to ruin that brief reprieve. But the stupid remarks were getting old fast, and subconsciously I think I’d decided to throw something back at him. It had been an uncontrollable reaction.

I stared wide eyed down at the sheets and comforter of my bed, which in the absence of light looked black instead of navy. The dead silence of the room screamed danger much more clearly than any actual words possibly could have. I managed to swallow the lump growing in my throat as I looked up in his direction. I winced slightly at his expression; it left me wondering if I’d live to see the dawn. The chaotic fire of rage boiling behind the chilling blue eyes assured me that death would not be quick, nor painless.

Without warning he moved forward, causing me to flinch backwards into my headboard. With the blink of an eye he was right there in front of me; and in a lightning motion both of his arms shot out. Two chilling hands clamped onto my wrists before impacting against the headboard with a loud thud; a small whimper escaped my throat. Trembling erupted throughout my body; I could feel how close he was due to the cold that seemed to radiate from him. I refused to open my eyes as to not see exactly how small of a distance there was between us. I did not want to know.

Something soft, that felt like it had been left out in the night air brushed against my left ear, my body involuntarily shivered.

“If you ever say that again, I will kill you,” Simon whispered gently in my ear. “Do you understand?”

I gave a few quick, sharp nods, praying his grip on my wrists would release. I could feel the circulation being cut off. With a final squeeze and push though, his icy fingers released me. I opened my eyes, rubbing my wrists in time to see Simon vanish through the wall that separated my bedroom from the hall. Had that small comment disturbed him that badly?

“Shit,” I looked down at my wrists, by the time the sun rose the finger imprints on them were going to undoubtedly be bruises. I’d look nothing short of a victim of domestic violence. Wonderful, just wonderful.

For some reason I sat in the dark a few minutes, waiting. I couldn’t rightly tell you why I was waiting, but I was. Perhaps it was my fear that he’d come back chainsaw in hand, or something along those lines. Despite the abuse I received there was a part of me that felt something close to regret for saying something like that to him. But, that spawned many questions; why was he still here? Why was I the only one who could see him? Why could he touch me, but not vice versa? But the one that I couldn’t get out of my mind, and was bound to plague me until I fell asleep a few minutes later, and even after that was by far the most important: Why was he dead?

*******

“Son of a—“

I cut off my own words with a groan as I groggily reached up to rub my head. Something rather blunt had made impact with the side of my skull, waking me up. I felt another whack, this one cold and quick; not near as painful.

“Get up,” The sheets were jerked away, exposing me to the chill of the air in my room. I let out an irritated growl, remembering the source of my misery. Simon Dreyton.

“It’s eight in the morning jackass, why do I need to get up?” I tried to pull my sheets back up; unfortunately he had pulled them completely off my bed. “What the hell did you hit me with anyways?”

“Stephen King’s Everything’s Eventual,” He replied shortly. “Now get up. You need to get ready for the funeral.”

I finally gave him an incredulous stare, contemplating his mental state. Sadist bastard. I wanted to comment on the choice of book, but I decided not to. I’m sure he’d use it for ammo whether I said something or not. It crossed my mind to burn it before he had a chance to read it to me while I slept; I didn’t need nightmares about a crazed waiter cutting off my ear.

“I could have gotten up at nine and been ready, you know,” I grumbled falling back onto my pillow and curling up into a ball. My pillow was swiftly jerked out from under me.

“You mean like you half-assed your appearance last night?”

At that I shot straight up, swinging out pointlessly. I watched my hand go straight through him, as though he was just a hologram. It seemed as though I’d run my hand through a pocket of cold air, nothing more. I glanced up to see a severely irritated look gracing his face, but I didn’t get a good chance too look for long as the pillow he’d snatched was suddenly pressed over my face as I was pushed back onto the bed. Suffocation; wow he was getting creative. I struggled against the pillow and the cold, untouchable force that had me pinned down on my bed. I inhaled nothing but the downy fresh scent that lingered on the pillow case unable to grasp any oxygen. My mind was sent into a frenzied state; I did not want to die.

Suddenly it was roughly jerked away from my face, leaving me gasping for air; my body shaking. My ghostly assaulter stood above me with his arms crossed around the pillow, glaring acidly down at me. I could only look fearfully up at him with malicious words dancing dangerously close to the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t spit them out though, I was afraid to.

He appeared to lose interest in me, dropping the pillow on the ground before walking towards my closet, “Stop being stupid. Go take a shower and do something with you hair. I’ll pick out what you’re wearing.”

I gingerly crawled off my bed, mute with fear and not daring to oppose or ask why he was doing this. I managed to shuffle across my room, to the closed door of my bathroom. It opened with a loud whining sound; WD40 would be good right about now.

“I hate you.”

He scoffed across the room as my fingers fumbled to find the light switch, “Now we’ll just have to deal with that won’t we?”

I responded by slamming the door.