A Visitor In The Night
by Simple Dude
BANG! BANG! BANG! The banging sound permeated deep into his dreams, disrupting his attempt to ask the prom queen out on a date.
“What is that sound?” the dream girl asks.
“What sound?” he tries to respond, but it’s too late. She’s fading away and the dark ceiling of his bedroom is slow appearing, bringing him back to the reality of his empty bed.
“Shit,” the sleepy guy says to himself as he realizes the dream has ended. At least this one ended before the disappointment began. In the ten years since high school he’s had this dream at least a dozen times, and it never ends the way dreams should end.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“What the fuck?” he says lifting up onto his elbows. As his head clears he figures out there is someone at the back door of his house. He glances at the clock… 1:32am. And on a Tuesday morning? He decides there is no way he’s going to answer the door at this hour. But he has to at least see who the hell is out there.
He’s had occasional police or emergency sirens wake him up in the past, which is probably to be expected living right off a freeway exit. But never someone banging at his door. Leaving all the lights in the house off, he sneaks out of his bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Whoever is at the door, he’s one impatient bastard. Quietly walking up to the kitchen window next to the door, he slowly moves the curtain to the side just enough to see outside. Standing on his back step is a very attractive blond girl, who appears to be in her early 20′s. She’s hopping back and forth, switching her weight from one foot to the other anxiously.
It takes him a second to shake the sleep out of his head and understand what he is seeing. She seems to be in some kind of trouble, so maybe he should open the door? Plus she’s kind of hot.
Him standing in his underwear may not make the best first impression, so he quickly runs back to his bedroom and pulls on jeans and a t-shirt. As he makes his way back to the kitchen door he hears his doorbell ring three quick times. Shit. His backdoor doesn’t have a doorbell. He looks out the kitchen window and sees nothing but a dark, empty back yard. She must have made her way around the house and is ringing the front doorbell.
He races back through the house to the front door but before opening it suddenly stops and thinks for a second. Is opening the door to a stranger at 1:30 in the morning a smart move?
Stepping over to a window he peeks around the curtain to see the same girl, looking as anxious as she did at the backdoor. He decides whatever her reason for being here, the right thing to do is help her out.
He unlocks the door and opens it, but she’s not there. He leans out and looks in both directions but doesn’t see her anywhere. The street is dark, deserted and very quiet.
Could she have run off that fast? Did she run to back door again? Maybe he’s still dreaming. These are all thoughts that go through his head as he closes the door and locks it. Then he goes to check the back door – no one there. He makes sure that door is locked too.
Climbing back into bed he decides he’s not going to let this mystery woman or anyone else disturb him again. He turns on his radio, lays on his side with a second pillow over his head and slowly falls back to sleep, oblivious to everything but the dream worlds his subconscious mind can create.
The next morning as he’s eating breakfast he turns on the TV, seeing a familiar sight. The morning news reporter is doing a story from the freeway exit behind his house. He turns up the sound.
“… at 1:30 this morning it appeared the semi driver fell asleep at the wheel, causing his truck to veer across the medium into oncoming traffic. He struck the young woman’s car head on, killing her instantly. She’s being identified as Amy Gleason of Roseville.”
The screen switches from the shot of the reporter to a photograph of a young woman. A young blond woman.
“No way,” he says dropping his spoon into his cereal. It’s her.