Alone (4 page)

He was dreaming. He was still asleep in his bed and this was all just one big lucid dream. Or perhaps the term lucid nightmare might be more apt. He glanced around the room, studying everything. It all seemed so real, and his mind seemed so sharp. There was none of the ethereal fuzziness that dreams usually had, although it occurred to him that the gray fog outside most certainly had that quality about it. Other than that, everything else seemed permanent. He felt things when he touched them—their weight and textures. He splayed his ink-stained fingers apart, feeling their stickiness. But his sense of smell, taste and his hearing were both off, just like in a dream. You couldn’t smell or taste things in dreams, could you? He didn’t think so. He didn’t remember ever having done so before. But then again, Dan was fairly certain that you couldn’t feel things in dreams, either.

So, what the hell was going on? Was he dreaming, and if so, how much longer would it go on? If he wasn’t, then where was everybody? What had happened to them? It was terrifying enough that Jerry and Danielle were missing, but where were his neighbors? More disturbing, who
else
might be missing? How far did this situation extend? Just how alone was he, really?

“I’m dreaming,” he said. His voice sounded small in the silence. “I have to be dreaming. It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. This is all a dream. Either that ...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence aloud.

Either that ... or I’m going crazy.
 

Dan looked around his daughter’s room again. Each toy or book or piece of clothing was a memory. His stomach roiled again, as a new bout of fear and dismay gripped him.

“Where are you?” he moaned. “What has happened to you? What is happening to me?”
 

“Daddy?”

Dan raised his head and saw his daughter standing in the doorway looking at him.

“Danielle?”

“Daddy! Are you here?”

As Dan leaped up from the bed, he noticed that Danielle’s voice didn’t match her lips. Watching her speak was like watching an English-dubbed foreign film. Her lips moved, forming the words just slightly ahead of the sounds.
 

“Yes, baby.” Dan rushed toward her. “I’m here. Daddy’s here. I’ve been so worried about you. Where have you been?”

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

“It’s okay, pumpkin. I’m here now. It’s all going to be—”

He reached for her, intending to sweep Danielle off her feet and hug her tightly to him, reassuring both his daughter and himself that things would be okay (because Dan had noticed over time that one of the odd things about being a parent was when his child skinned her knee or bumped her head, giving her comfort gave him comfort, as well). Instead of pulling her close, his arms went right through Danielle, as if she were composed of smoke. Dan cried out in surprise. His momentum carried him into the bedroom wall, which he bounced off of. Dan tumbled backward and landed on the carpet with his rump. When he looked around, Danielle was gone again.

He sat there for a moment, stunned.
 

“Danielle? Danielle, come back!”

She didn’t. He was alone again. Moaning, he curled into a ball and trembled.

“No. No no no no no ...”

The noise started as a whimper, deep down inside of him, before spewing out as a long, breathless shriek.

Dan wasn’t sure how much time passed—how long he remained there on his daughter’s bedroom floor, curled into the fetal position and screaming with each new breath. His voice didn’t turn hoarse and his throat wasn’t sore, nor did his tailbone hurt from his fall. He supposed that was because he was numb from shock. The pain would probably catch up with him soon enough. He hoped so, at least. He looked forward to it, because feeling pain would take his mind off feeling scared and helpless, if only for a little while.

Eventually, he found himself downstairs again, seated at the kitchen table. The pad and the paper were where he’d left them, and his notes were still there. Shaking his head, he stared at them. The list was bullshit. In the aftermath of what he’d just witnessed, his options were narrowing. Either he was crazy—which seemed more and more likely—or this was indeed some bizarre dream from which he couldn’t awake. Maybe Jerry was still lying next to him, and would wake up any moment, notice that Dan was having some kind of nightmare, and would wake him.

He took a deep breath and waited for it to happen.

Any moment now.

Any moment ...

FOUR

H
e waited for a very long time, but nobody came to wake him.

FIVE

D
an sat there at the table, staring at the wall and not seeing it. Danielle did not appear again. The silence continued, uninterrupted. The light outside didn’t change. The grayness remained. So did his fears and sorrow. But while the haze was permanent and unyielding, his emotions were not. They came intermittently, buoyed on waves of numbness. One moment, he felt numb inside. Then, he would think of Jerry or Danielle and the emotions would rush back in. He wished that he could cry. He thought he might feel better if only he could cry. After a while, he realized that he was humming aloud to himself. The song was tuneless.
 

With a speed that belied his apathy, Dan pushed himself back from the table, knocking the chair to the floor. He leaped to his feet, screaming obscenities. Snatching the pad of paper from the tabletop, he tore his checklist off and crumpled it in his fist. Then he flung the wadded ball across the room. Still shouting, he rampaged through the kitchen, knocking pots and pans from their hooks above the glass-topped oven and pushing the microwave off its cart. The unit gouged and scratched the floor tiles before breaking. Its cord still dangled from the outlet like a disembodied appendage. Dan ripped the silverware drawer from its hinges and tossed it across the room. Then he did the same with the other drawers, spilling their contents into a heap. His rage carried him into the living room, where he kicked over the coffee table and snatched the cushions from the sofa. He punched a hole in the closet door, and then, unsatisfied, he punched it again. He gripped the knob and wrenched the door from its frame, leaving it hanging by only the upper hinge. Then he charged inside the closet and tossed items haphazardly—umbrellas and winter coats and shoes they hadn’t worn in years.

Emerging from the closet, he paused again, looking for something else to unleash his frustration upon. Grunting, he pushed the fifty-two inch plasma television off its stand. Then he jumped up and down on it, grinning as it cracked beneath his heels.
 

“Jerry! Danielle! Come back. Somebody come and wake me up!”

Still shouting, he grabbed pictures from the wall. He put his foot through a Monet print, his knee through an original canvas painted by a family friend, and then moved on to a set of family photos. Only then did Dan pause. Chest heaving, he stared down at Jerry and Danielle. They stared back up at him, smiling.

“WHERE ARE THEY?” He flung the framed photograph across the room. It slammed into the wall, shattering the glass. Shards rained down on the carpet.

“Bring them back,” he yelled. “God damn you God! You bring my family back right now. Right fucking now!”
 

If God heard him, then He too was silent. Dan glanced around at the wreckage. The tempest had occurred quietly—the sounds of destruction muted just like earlier.
 

“It’s not enough,” he moaned. “Make some noise, god damn it.”

Panting, he ran to the door and dashed outside.

“Hello,” he screamed. “Hello, I’m here! I’m right here. It’s me, Daniel Miller. Is there anybody here? Is there anybody left? Can anybody hear me? Please, if you can hear me, say something. Hello? Somebody? Anyone?”

His momentum carried him through the yard and out into the street. Dan stumbled over the curb, but regained his balance. Arms flailing, he fled toward another neighbor’s house. Unlike the Lopez or Kresby families, he didn’t know this neighbor’s name. His interactions with them were limited to nodding at the husband and occasionally waving at the wife. They were an older couple, and kept to themselves. Jerry had always claimed it was because the two were uncomfortable with a gay couple living next door, let alone a gay couple with an adopted child. But Dan had never gotten that vibe from them. They weren’t rude. They were just private. Right now, none of that mattered. They could be members of the Westboro Baptist Church for all Dan cared. He’d still be happy to see them. Hell, he’d march right alongside them, lifting his ‘God Hates Fags’ protest sign high for all to see, if only they answered their door.
 

Between him and their door, however, was the fog.

He stared at their house, and then turned reluctantly back to his. Dan gasped. His panic and rage dissipated. Seeing Jerry’s silver Lexus parked in front of his Ford Explorer made him realize he hadn’t tried the cars.

“I can just drive to the police station. Barrel right through this fog. That thing can’t get me inside a car. I can drive faster than it can run, can’t I?

The silence made him shiver. Dan hurried back to the house and retrieved Jerry’s keys. Then he returned to his driveway. Of the two vehicles, he would have preferred his, but Jerry had him parked in. He pointed the remote at the Lexus and thumbed the remote control, but the doors didn’t unlock. Muttering, he inserted the key into the door and unlocked it manually. Casting a quick glance into the fog to make sure the shadow wasn’t lurking there, he slipped behind the wheel and put the keys in the ignition.

Nothing happened.
 

“Come on. Come on, you bastard! Please. Please start. Please?”

Dan tried again, pumping the gas pedal as he did. The results were the same. Then he tried putting the car on accessory and trying the radio. Like all of the other electronics, it was dead. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel.

“Should have known better. Stupid, Dan. Real stupid. You’re wasting time.”
 

He got out of the car, pocketed the keys, and looked across the street again. After a moment’s hesitation, he crossed over to the neighbor’s house. The fog grew thick again, as if anticipating him. He paused at the edges of it. The mist swirled around his feet, lapping at his toes like surf. Dan cupped his hands over his mouth and took a deep breath.

“Hello? Can anybody hear me? Please, I need to know someone is there. I need to know I’m not ... alone.”

The word caught in his throat as that overpowering feeling of dread returned, a harbinger for the shadowy figure that appeared a moment later. The thing moved faster this time, closing the distance between them in only a few strides. It loomed over Dan, seeming to grow taller as it drew nearer. The mist parted before it, yet once again, Dan couldn’t see the figure clearly. It remained a black, humanoid shadow, devoid of facial features or any other distinguishing characteristics. It reached for him without speaking, long arms outstretched, and this time, he was able to see the entity’s hands. Like the rest of the figure, they were oversized. The shadow splayed its massive, elongated fingers. They were large enough to easily wrap themselves around Dan should the thing succeed in grasping him.

Dan felt rooted to the spot, as if he had stepped outside his body and was watching from above as the shadow reached for him. His mounting terror overrode every other sensation or thought. He couldn’t speak or move. The mist churned and spun, swirling around them both. The temperature grew colder—the first thing he’d felt, other than his emotions, since getting out of bed.

Was this ...
thing
responsible for everyone’s disappearances, he wondered? Could it have attacked the neighborhood overnight, while he’d slept, abducting or murdering everyone else, but somehow missing him, until now? What was it? Alien? Supernatural? A figment of his imagination? Just a new addition to this unending nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken?
 

The figure was directly overtop of him now, and the fog encircled them, blocking out the rest of the world. Dan gaped, transfixed. Even this close, the entity still had no features. Its face was non-existent. There were no eyes or mouth or nose. It wore no clothing, that he could see, and had no genitalia, belly button, or anything else that would identify it as human. Its obsidian surface was marred only by tiny, swirling specks. Dan had to strain to see them. His first impression was of dust floating in a beam of sunlight, but he was certain that the specks weren’t dust, and there was nothing light about his tormentor. Then all thought left him as the massive fingers brushed against his shoulders and waist.
 

“No!”

Turning, Dan ducked the creature’s grasp and fled again. He barreled through the mist until his house reappeared. He cast one terrified glance over his shoulder. As before, the figure wasn’t following him.
 

He ran into the house once more and slammed the door behind him. His hands were shaking and he fumbled with the lock. When he worked up the courage to peek out the window, he saw that the shadow was still there, lurking in the fog. It stood still as a statue, watching the house.
 

“What are you,” Dan whispered. “What do you want?”

Eventually, the shadow turned and slowly vanished into the gray haze.

And then Dan was alone again.

SIX

W
ith no electricity or even a working clock, it was hard for Dan to mark the passage of time. The murk outside didn’t help matters. There was never a clear transition of daylight or darkness. There was only the oppressive gray half-light, as if the world were being lit by phosphorescent fungus. Neither the sun or the moon could be glimpsed through the fog, and the sky was empty of stars.

He was alone.