Dead Ringer Page #3

I'm a huge fan of horror because I find that it is most often the most suitable genre to realize our fears in a safe space where the bad things that happen are make believe but the outcome is often a sense of catharsis. We faced our fears, and though we really had nothing to lose because it was all pretend, we still grew stronger for it. Horror is also a perfect vehicle to make a statement, whether creative, personal, political, or any way else, horror is an excellent way to make a point. That's partly why I wrote this story, but the other reason is a little simpler; I love a good scare.

• Horror

								

“Thomas,” it said, wafting up the stairs like a foul odor, nearly inaudible over the steady rush of the rain outside, yet it was also somehow as sharp and clear as the stab of a knife. “I’m in your house.”
No way this could be real! Uh uh, no way in hell! Surely, Tom was still asleep, dreaming and terrified but safe. After all, he had locked the front door, the back one, too. There was no way that anyone other than his parents could have just walked in. Yes, there was a spare key outside, but it was hidden beneath the seat of his father’s motorcycle. Someone would have to be exceptionally ambitious or stupidly lucky to find it there. 
“Thomas,” the voice said again, splitting the night like the gritty growl of a bear. “I’m coming up the stairs.” 
Panic strangled Tom, cutting off his air and pumping hot adrenaline through his veins. His heart was beating so hard and so fast that for a moment he thought it might simply burst behind his ribs. Colored spots flashed before his eyes, and he could see them clearly despite the darkness. 
“I’m on the first step, Thomas,” the voice said as the grandfather clock downstairs struck the hour of 2am hollowly.
GONG!
GONG!
Who was this? How did he know Tom’s name? How did he get in? So many questions with no hope of answers. Tom’s hot, terrified eyes flicked toward the small sliver of light which ghosted in from beneath his shut bedroom door. Had he left the hallway light on? He thought maybe, though he couldn’t remember for sure. Another bolt of lightning ripped through the night, then the deafening crash of thunder.
“I’m on the fourth step,” the voice growled up the stairs, louder and closer than before.
But still, no way this could really be happening. No way! Shit like this only happened in horror movies, not in real life. Or was this how those people that had been murdered earlier that night felt, too? Just before the final blow that took them out of this world forever. What an awful thought! Full of terror and dread, the likes of which Thomas did not want to get too intimate with.
“I’m on the seventh step, Thomas… and I’m coming to get you.”
It dawned on him then. This had to be his brother’s doing. Yes, of course! Dan could be mean like this, sometimes pulling pranks that eclipsed the cruelty of this one by far. Dan must have seen the news reports and decided to pull a mean joke. That was all. There was really nothing to be afraid of here.
“Dan!” Thomas finally mustered to say, though he didn’t much care for the wavery, unsteady way his voice came out. “Quit it! I’m tired!” 
There was a moment of silence, just long enough to put Tom at ease once more. It was just like he thought, his brother was being a dick. There was nothing to-
“I’m not Dan,” the voice said in a rattling snarl, breaking the silence and Tom’s nerve once more.
All hope that this was nothing more than a meanspirited prank were suddenly flushed in that one small sentence. And really, had Tom ever believed that this was his brother’s doing, anyway? He desperately wanted to, but it made no sense. Mom and Dad would never allow such a joke as this, especially not at 2am on a school night. Come on!
“I’m on the ninth step, and I’m going to get you,” the voice said, this time punctuated by the loud creaking of floorboards. Yes, the ninth step, it was the squeaky step. The one which had always been the bane of Tom’s existence any time he had tried to sneak downstairs in the middle of the night.
Despite his best efforts to find another innocuous explanation, Tom finally had to surrender to the facts. This was not his brother because his family had never come home. Some strange, unknown man was in his house, high enough on the stairs now, in fact, that if Tom were to open his bedroom door in that moment, he would certainly be able to see the maniac standing there, leering over the banister like a demon rising from hell in the sickly yellow glow of the hallway light. 
So, what was Tom going to do about it? He thought about reaching out from beneath the blanket, grabbing the phone and calling the cops, but they’d never make it here before the man in the hallway got to him. It seemed that all he could do was lay there in the dark with his heart racing and his eyes bulging wide and wait for the inevitable.
“I’m in the hallway now, Tom,” the voice rang out like the voice of a ghost. “I’m going to get you!” A shadow shuffled across the light which funneled in beneath the door.
With a lump the size of a boulder in his throat, Tom dropped back onto the mattress and pulled the covers over his head. What a baby move! He was twelve, not five. He knew perfectly well his covers wouldn’t protect him, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Through a small gap in his covers, Tom peered out, wishing that he could slow his locomotive heart. The doorknob rattled and a slant of hallway light splashed across the floor as the door slowly opened. Another creak of floorboards filled the air as a shadow draped across the floor. Long, stretching, and inhuman. What was about to happen next, only the stranger could say. 
“I’m in your roooooom, Tooooom,” the voice whispered.
Tom tried not to breathe, as if he thought that the absence of movement beneath the blanket would make the stranger think that Tom wasn’t in here. Sure. Right. And then he’d just leave, disappear into the night. Get real! Stupid as such a notion was, Tom simply couldn’t bring himself to breathe.
The mattress sank as the stranger sat on the foot of the bed, just by Tom’s cold but profusely sweating feet. For a moment, there was nothing to hear but the steady rush of the rain and the heavy, raspy breathing of whoever was in here with him. Harsh, deliberate breathing, and the overpowering sense of corrupt yet somehow childlike glee. Tom swallowed hard. Whatever was going to become of him, it would happen any second now, and the waiting was just as agonizing as the burning he felt in his lungs from holding his breath.
Slowly, the man sitting at the foot of Tom’s bed turned – he could feel it through the mattress. Two hands crept up Tom’s person, feeling the shape of him beneath the blanket, running the length of his body from both calves to his tensed and pained shoulders before resting around his neck.
Okay, if he didn’t do something now, he’d be dead in a minute! With all the strength he could muster, Tom raised one bare foot and planted it into the man’s gut.
“Oof!”
The hands retreated from Tom’s neck, and he gasped in one massive breath as he leapt from off the bed. The stranger crashed to the floor with a shriek of crazed fury as Tom clambered through the door and into the redeeming light of the hallway.
Though his intention had been to run down the stairs, out the front door and awaken a neighbor for help, Tom never got quite that far. Somehow, the stranger had caught up to him on the landing and shoved, throwing the poor boy down the entire run of fourteen steps until he crash landed on his back just before the front door.

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