I finally got some nerve!
a short story by Matthew Alan Bennett
The temperature was fluctuating so much that month that it was difficult to stay comfortable as happens often in May. The night before, I had turned the heater in my bed to 90 degrees, and never turned it off. (This infuriates my roommate, who will most certainly try some creative mathematics when bill time comes ’round.) But it was this mistake, and no other, that led to the events of which I write.
The blazing hot and humid day combined with a hard day’s work and a hard night’s play left me exhausted. The downward spiral of depression I had been in for several weeks left me lazy. (I guess it would be pertinent to mention at this point that I was completely unmedicated, unless you count energy drinks.) I crawled onto my bed without bothering to undress, or even get under the covers.
As I tried to fall asleep, the usual self-depreciation haunted my thoughts. When will people stop underestimating me? Why can’t I be as effective in life, when I am this capable? I feel impotent in my decisions and actions. Lack of integrity, lack of interest, alone, angry. The list goes on and on, the thoughts go on and on.
I woke up around 3 a.m. (I didn’t look at a clock, I just knew. I might even be wrong, but I don’t think so) in a pool of my sweat. It felt difficult just to breathe. I crawled across the bed to my window with desperation, just praying to suck in some cool air. Window was shut. Crap. All of the sudden, I began to get nervous, almost panicky, when I realized that I needed to open that window. That damn window. Heart beating faster, I peaked through the blinds. Seeing nothing but darkness and a couple of distant street lights, I relaxed a little, raised the blinds, unlocked my cheap modular home window, and raised it. The air was cool.
Pushing my face against the screen to feel the coolness of the night, I saw something move. My eyes, already adjusted to the dark, fixed on the slight movement. The shape outside my window. A little kind of piggish breathing sound in my ears helped me see, not a quarter inch from where my nose pushed on the screen, a nightmare face glaring in at me. Evil eyes burned with hatred, the strange breathing caused the nostrils to flare as this creature pondered its next move, and I froze in indecision and fear.
Although incapable of moving for the moment, my powers of observation worked as smoothly as they ever have. The ears raised off the head of the abomination about six inches before flopping down behind its head, almost rabbit-like in appearance. Mouth and nose resembled a cat’s but were, like the ears, completely hairless. Whiskers (if that’s what they were) hung down from the behind its nose like several thick worms. Several wickedly curved fangs (like a snake’s, but greater in number) dripped black venom into a pool in its lower jaw, which overflowed in a nauseating drool down the creatures chin and neck. If I were a writer, I could probably come up with a more fearsome image than what I am describing, but I’m not. With something as unearthly as this creature, I can only describe it through the filter of my experience. I guess that means animals. Below the neck, I could see nothing.
Fierce intelligence shone through the eyes, and I broke. That’s as simple as I can phrase it. I broke. I punched through the screen into the thing’s nose with all the strength I could summon. It wasn’t enough. Tearing the screen off, the infuriated creature reached in, grabbed me from behind my neck, and pulled me towards him so we were nose to nose. I remember thinking that he should have bad breath, but he didn’t. And I wondered if my breath smelled bad to him. The strange things we humans think when we’re about to die.
I had seen him twice before. I was eleven years old, it was summer, and the days were fun, but the nights for some reason were spooky. My mother left my windows open to keep the room cool. One night, as I lay awake in my bed, I heard a child scream outside, and it seemed to me to be pretty late for that, so I looked outside. Seventy five yards away in the evergreen hedges that bordered my back yard, I saw the thing. I didn’t see the child that was screaming, just the creature. He turned and looked at me, and I jumped off the bed, laid on my floor, and prayed until I fell asleep. About a week later, I awoke to see him peering into my window. I remember involuntarily screaming at the top of my lungs, causing my brother who shared the room to also start screaming. My parents came flying into the room, asking what happened, but I was unable to speak through my crying.
This fear has stayed with me since that time, and it makes me feel powerless. I am convinced that my social awkwardness, my inability to say the things I want to say, my fear of rejection, and simply all of my weaknesses can be attributed to this damn monstrosity.
Face to face, actually nose to nose, with this thing that has haunted my life, ever present though I had only seen it for a combined total of fifteen seconds in my existence, the abomination somehow became the object of my wrath. “Kill me you stupid son of a bitch. Just do it, if you’ve got the nerve. I’m through with this. Either kill me or leave me the hell alone.” I screamed all of this through punches to a face that didn’t seem intimidated, stoically taking my blows, and continuing its evil glare. I wrapped my hands around a neck so muscular that I knew my hands wouldn’t have the choking effect I desired. Still, I tried to wring the neck, as I continued my tirade, “I’m sick of the fear, I’m sick of the powerlessness, I’m sick of the failures. I will no longer live under your diseased control of me. Kill me now or be done with me, it ends tonight.” Pounding the face, pounding, pounding pounding…
I awoke, cool and comfortable, though I was outside, laying in the grass. Wet from the dew, but feeling oddly energetic. This was my only proof that the night before was real. Until I started to communicate with people over the next several weeks. I have a newfound confidence and energy that startled everyone, including myself. I began to voice my ideas and opinions, valid or not, without the fear of rejection. Yes, sometimes I do get rejected, but it doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t stop me. The power of choice I once coveted was mine. I am no longer depressed, and I am strong. Which leaves me with some intriguing questions.
Can heaven produce something that ugly, that evil? Can hell produce something that did so clearly have this kind of an effect? Am I done with this entity, and is it done with me? Do I have any responsibility as far as my new found potency goes? Was this a gift, or merely the sharpening of a tool? Am I being used, and by whom?
Copyright 2009 Matthew Alan Bennett
I really do want to dedicate this first story to the other Matthew Bennett in Louisville, who inspired me to put stuff like this down in writing. Thanks, Matt.
Hey, if you all liked it, please share my story!!!
