13 Tales To Give You Night Terrors (15 page)

Hunter had considered asking Corey’s
foster brother for a fake ID of his own, but his short blond hair
and boyish looks meant he’d never pass for twenty-one.

“
Hey, man, could you help a
veteran?”

Hunter jumped up to his feet. A smelly
guy with a ratty beard and a torn coat stood only a foot away.
Hunter backed up a step.

“
What?”

The man shook his head warily. “I’m
trying to make it to my family in Sylvanville. I just need some
money for a bus or even some coffee, man.”

“
Oh.”

“
If you can spare anything,
brother.”

Hunter grimaced. The hobo
probably wasn’t even a veteran. And he’d just use the cash to buy
booze. Or drugs. Or booze
and
drugs.

“
Uh…” It crossed Hunter’s
mind that if Corey struck out, they could pay the beggar to buy
them something.

“
Don’t make a vet beg,
man.”

“
I don’t have any money on
me,” Hunter lied.

“
Thanks anyway.”

Hunter leaned against the wall and
felt his wallet as the beggar lumbered away. He expected Corey to
get kicked out any minute, but the seconds ticked by and nobody
emerged from the store apart from a creepy old woman. He watched
her hobble past the beggar on the other side of the parking lot.
He’d make Corey chase after him if they needed his
services.

The front door opened again and Corey
emerged carrying a large paper bag. Hunter hurried over to
him.

“
You did it?”

“
Of course. Trust in the
stubble.”

That night, red and gold lights burst
in the mid-summer sky. Hunter gaped back at Corey, who sat beside
him looking equally awestruck.

Melissa’s party was everything Hunter
had expected. No adults. Tons of booze. He’d graduated in June and
most of his old classmates were set to go to college or some branch
of the military, but Hunter hadn’t made up his mind yet.

Corey had been accepted to Prescott
University. The only consolation was that Hunter could drive over
to Prescott, crash in Corey’s room, and have access to a whole
campus of girls.

College was going to be good for
Hunter even if he wasn’t enrolled.

“
Come on,” Corey said,
slapping Hunter’s back. “There’s only so many Jell-O
shots.”

They made their way through the crowd
toward Melissa’s kitchen and found the hostess handing out
shots.

“
Hey Corey,” Melissa said.
“This music sucks, can you put something better on?”

“
Yeah, I have This is My
Roommate on my phone. I’m on it.”

“
Thanks,” Hunter said,
grabbing two Jell-O shots.

“
Careful. Those are
strong.”

● ● ●

HUNTER’S
eyes opened. Blinding light poured in. He lay face
down on his mattress, the sheets bunched all around him. He was
naked and his head throbbed.

His stomach rolled and he barely
managed to make it to the trashcan before he added more puke to it.
He stumbled down the hall into the bathroom, thankful his parents
were on their cruise, and stared at himself in the mirror. He
looked years older. The spit and puke around his lips didn’t help.
He splashed water on his face and opened the mirror cabinet. After
downing some aspirin, he cradled his head in his hands.

What happened last
night?

Fireworks and Jell-O shots and—what
else?

The night was a blank but Hunter had a
feeling something bad had happened.

You’re
paranoid.

He couldn’t believe he’d made it back
to his house in one piece. He wobbled back to his room, grabbed his
underwear and jeans and went into the living room.

“
Corey?” he called
out.

No one answered. The couch was empty.
So Corey hadn’t driven him home or slept over.

Had he hit on Melissa? Had he made a
move on one of the other girls? He pictured himself stumbling up to
his former classmates and throwing himself at them. Maybe he’d been
too forceful? Maybe he’d been slapped or something.

What if he got in a fight with Corey?
Hunter could be a real jackass when he got that
hammered.

Maybe his phone held some clues. He
returned to his bedroom and searched for it on his bedside table
and in the pockets of the dirty jeans on the floor. The longer he
went without finding it, the more worked up he got.

It’s going to be bad. What
the hell did I do last night?

He tossed clothes off the floor and
kicked others out of his way.

Where the hell is
it!

Hunter slammed his fist into his
mattress. He felt like pulling his hair out.

He stalked back to the living room and
dialed his cell on the house phone.

As soon as he heard the ringing, he
held the receiver to his chest. A soft ringtone sounded. He set the
receiver down on the stand and followed the sound of his phone
until he found it in the kitchen sink.

“
Huh.”

Hunter grabbed his phone, wiped the
sour cream off the edge, and scanned through the last dozen texts,
his heart beating madly.

To Brenda at 2:03
am:
hry cutie u upp?

No reply. Not too bad.

To Heather at 3:47
am:
oreiage?

Little worse. Call it a butt text.
Salvageable.

From Corey at 4:01
am:
You get home all right?

To Corey at 4:04 am:
saop wpou s

From Corey at 4:04
am:
all right man, get some
sleep!

But what about
email?

Hunter logged into his account on his
phone and checked the sent folder. Nothing from last night. He
turned on the instant coffee maker and sat down. Maybe nothing bad
happened after all.

People black out all the
time, right? Well, not all the time, but still.

As the smell of cheap coffee permeated
the room, Hunter remembered to check Facebook. No messages. Nothing
but a few new pics of him drinking that he swiftly
untagged.

Even after finishing a cup of heavily
sweetened coffee, Hunter couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling.
Something had to have gone wrong. A fight with someone. Something
broken. He needed to figure it out and fix it before it was too
late.

Maybe I can’t fix it,
whatever
it
is.

He started checking the house over.
Maybe he’d stumbled into a wall or knocked a vase over. An easy lie
to his parents when they returned and that would be
that.

Everything seemed normal in the
kitchen and the hallway. The door to the garage was
open.

The car!

No, he couldn’t have crashed it. He’d
be bruised and more than his head and stomach would
hurt.

He caught his breath and stepped into
the garage. Boxes and tools lined the walls. Christmas decorations
and broken lawnmowers. An empty spot where his dad’s car usually
sat. His own car in its regular space. No cracked windshield. No
flat tire.

Just something dark on the
bumper.

Hunter flicked the lights on in the
garage. His blood ran cold.

The front bumper was bent and stained
with blood.

I hit someone! I hit
something. Oh God oh God oh God.

He must have driven home without even
realizing what he’d done.

Hunter’s mouth went dry, his head
spinning. His life was over. He’d done something unspeakable and he
couldn’t even remember doing it.

Clean up. Maybe no one
knows.

The following minutes sped by in a
blur. Bleach. Rags. That smell. All the blood. When he was
satisfied he’d destroyed the evidence, he grabbed a hammer and a
two by four and gently tapped the dent out of the front
bumper.

His shop teacher would have been so
proud. Presuming that’s not who he hit.

The house phone rang. Hunter jumped
and spun around. He hurried toward the living room.

It’s the cops. Has to
be.

He imagined an authoritative voice on
the other end. He glanced out the front window. No cruisers at his
front step.

Hunter Derrickson, you’re
under arrest.

Hunter answered on the fourth
ring.

“
Hello?”

“
Hello, I’m calling on
behalf of MacCaffety Realty,” a chirpy woman said.

“
No thanks.” Hunter slammed
the phone down. He cradled his cell in his hands. Was he a
murderer? Maybe it was an animal. A deer would have done too much
damage. There were backroads, could have been a cat or a dog. The
idea didn’t exactly please him but better than a person. Better
than a child.

He called Corey.

“
You’re up early,” Corey
said.

“
It’s past noon. How’s it
going? How are you? Anything happen last night?” Hunter
asked.

“
Just you projectile
spewing. And you decided which tattoos we should get.”

“
That’s all?” Hunter
asked.

“
It seemed like a huge deal
last night,” Corey said with chuckle.

“
Funny how three or four
Jell-O shots will do that.”

“
Or
ten shots. We had to hide the rest from you.”

Hunter could taste the
liquor on his tongue and his stomach rolled. “Anything, you
know,
bad
happen?”

“
You really did black out.
Um, I can’t really think of anything noteworthy.”

“
Good. Good. No news is
great, right?”

“
Sure. You all right? You
still coming over for games today?”

“
Just hungover. I need to
shower and stuff. I’ll call you later or something.”

“
All right.
Peace.”

Hunter dropped the cell on the couch.
If they came for him, he couldn’t act guilty. What did normal
people do? Normal people took showers, ate lunch, and followed
through with plans with their friends.

Normal people don’t ride
by the same backwoods route they drove home the night before
looking for signs of murder.

Hunter hurried into the bathroom and
turned the shower on. He stripped and jumped into the scalding
spray.

There’s no murder. Maybe
manslaughter…

He grabbed a bar of soap and rubbed it
over his body, the white goo collecting on his hands. The soapy
smell stung his nostrils.

I’m never going to drink
again. Never. Screw that. I’m smarter than that.

Hunter imagined the sirens and the
cops knocking at his front door. He turned the shower off and
listened. A dog barked in the distance and nothing more. He turned
the water back on and washed the soap off of his shaking
body.

He turned the shower off again and
listened. Blissful silence.

It’s too early. They won’t
come until tonight.

Hunter toweled off and put his clothes
back on. He ran back into the living room and looked out the
window. No cops.

He returned to his room and dealt with
the puke in his trashcan and then he opened his laptop. He checked
for obituaries in the city but couldn’t find anything from last
night.

It’s too soon. Hey, maybe
your victim lived. He’ll come after you himself.

Hunter pictured a limping hitchhiker
with bloodshot eyes and a butcher knife held high.

You left me to
die!

He ran into the living room and locked
the front door.

● ● ●

COREY
texted, asking if he was still up for hanging out, but Hunter
knew he couldn’t relax outside the house knowing he could miss the
cops arriving. He pushed it off every time Corey contacted him. As
long as Hunter sat in the living room in his boxers and a stained
T-shirt, he could be sure no one was coming for him.

He spent two days watching TV and
thinking about drinking, just to ease his nerves. But his parents
would know. They’d also know when he was arrested. He tried
showering but could only stand to be isolated away from the living
room for five minutes before he shut the water off, toweled dry,
and resumed his vigil waiting for his life to end.

His phone rang. An unknown caller. He
breathed slowly and answered.

“
Hello?”

“
Hey, it’s Julia. You said
I should call sometime.”

“
Cool.” Hunter barely
recognized the girl’s voice. They’d gone to school together since
they were kids, but they’d never hung out. Since when did she even
have his number? Blackout horny Hunter must have made a pass. He
didn’t even remember Julia being there.

“
How you feeling? You were
so trashed when you left Melissa’s house.”