Therapeutic Stumbles

*This is Part III of a four–part series. If you would like to read Part I, you can find it here: Therapeutic Stumbles – Horror Obsessive

Phantasmagoria and Nightmares

Thomas was living his kind of terror and despair that night. The white–knuckle kind that had a man on the brink of drinking. In his home, it was a dreadful scene. In his mind, it was phantasmagoric. He made it without a sip. Thomas woke up (if one could wake up after a mostly sleepless night) feeling as if someone had nailed him to the couch; he couldn’t hear the A/C, and the room was boiling. His body ached all over, and dried sweat caked his bare stomach. He pulled himself off the couch, showered, and went to his Sunday meeting. He had fed and watered Lady, who had dutifully watched him through the night, and then reset the A/C before he left. Another day of recovery. He looked like hell.

Bad News

The tile floor and beat-up chairs didn’t look much like comfort, but the members of Thomas’s group didn’t mind at all. On the contrary, these walls were about as comfortable as they felt all week. Thomas had trouble relating to everyone in the group on many topics. Still, he knew one thing: after every meeting, he heard at least one thing that would stick with him throughout the day. Sometimes, a member would express something like self–doubt that Thomas was dealing with that very minute. Other times, it would be something that would be filed away, with a “Do Not Open Until Xmas” stamp seemingly applied to it.

The Dam

In fact, it was on Christmas Day of last year, after being surrounded by noise and chaos, that Thomas felt like wave after wave breaking on a fragile dam. On such a day, one thing that was said to Thomas applied. He heard the whispers of the old timers in the group telling him that his brain wanted him dead. Do not listen to it. Indeed, it was. His brain wanted him to grab a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and finish the job that had nearly killed him the summer before. But he didn’t. He listened to the voices in his head (the good ones) and carried on through the holiday. Sober.

Thus, Thomas did his best to pay attention in all the meetings. Even if only half–alert at times. Waiting for that “share” (as the group called them) that might carry him through a dark storm one day. Sometimes, he shared; other times, he waited. Today, he was in no mood to share. It was all he could do to tune out the incessant ticking of the clock above him. Tick – tick – boom! Again and again. He pressed his hands against his ears and squeezed his head, trying to make it stop. It was noticed by Clement. Few things weren’t.

Death Warmed Over

“You look like death warmed over,” Clement said with a grin that revealed his Hollywood smile. He reached out to shake Thomas’s shaking hand. “Everything all right?” He asked, this time more seriously.

“Fine,” Thomas grumbled. “I just had a rough night last night. I was in and out of sleep and having these awful dreams. It doesn’t help that the damn A/C keeps cutting off, leaving me to bake all night. Just awful.”  Thomas grimaced.

“Is that right? Well, that will happen from time to time. Don’t let it get to you, though. We’ve all been there.”  With this, he gave Thomas a pat on the back. “You have any idea what they were about? The dreams, I mean.”  The serious stare bore into Thomas’s eyes, making him look away as if he had been staring directly into a solar eclipse, the thing his dad had always warned him never to do when they would check them out as a kid.

“Nah.  Maybe a flashback from my old drug habits,” Thomas cracked with a smirk. “No, I just think that 10 months in, and I’m still having a hard time here and there. Probably nothing to worry about. Perhaps my body is still going through some changes now that it’s not being drowned in booze 24/7.”

Outside Talk

Clement straightened up and said, “Hey, let me talk to you outside.”  Thomas obliged and followed him to the door. Opening the door might as well have been a step into hell. The intensity of the heat contrasted with that of the coolness inside was shocking. The sun was blasting, and Thomas immediately squinted and pulled down his burnt orange UT baseball cap to shield himself from the sun.

“What the hell do you want to talk out here for? It’s miserable!”  Thomas said, looking into the parking lot and seeing waves of heat streaming up from the pavement. He saw the cops from last week pull up in their same spots, the ones next to his Kia. They gave him a wave and smile as they got out of their cars, eyeing him from across the parking lot, and walked towards the café.

“I’m worried all this trouble with the girls might get you off kilter. I don’t want a bunch of shit from the news to be what sets you up for failure. You know you have no control over all that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”  Thomas asked, slowly turning his head away from the stovetop full of cars and facing Clement. “I don’t know anything about any girls or the news. I avoid all that crap as much as possible.”

“Surely you’ve heard about the girls. Hell, I think you used to teach them. Bangor is a damn small town. Are you sure you’re not cheating? Taking sips between the meetings?”

“No, Clement, no cheating, and no bullshit. What the hell do you mean I used to teach them?”

Clement sighed and looked around. Now he was the one avoiding contact and didn’t know if he had screwed this all up. He was wishing he hadn’t brought any of –

“Hell, man, let’s hear it!”  Thomas urged him on.

Another Dose of Reality

Clement faced him again, grabbed him by the shoulder with his wide hand, and started walking him down the sidewalk, passing the local shops. “Two brown-haired girls here in town have been murdered. Local girls.”  Thomas stopped dead in his tracks.

“What?”

“Let’s keep walking.”  They did. “I hate to be the one who told you about all this, but I thought it might be what’s been screwing up your sleep and causing you to look like roadkill. One girl, a student at UNT, was found dead. Her name was Jess, Jessica, Jessie, something-or-other. I think they said she had been a student here in Bangor.

“The other one, well, she’s not dead yet. At least officially. But given that she was a girl around the same age, with brown hair, they are expecting the worst but hoping for the best.”  Clement was back to looking around, avoiding eye contact, and looking over his shoulder.

“What in the he . . .” Thomas trailed off and started rubbing his forehead as if he were going to wipe away the bad news. After a bit, he looked up again. “And the second girl? What was her name?”

“Marissa Starkey.  A nice, pretty girl. I’ve done some business with her dad. A damn shame. Did you teach her?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said. “I did. She was a nice kid. What in the fuck.”  He was suddenly flooded with memories of her in class. They moved through his mind like a slide show. Where had he last seen her? Sonic? The grocery store? It seemed like he had just seen her somewhere. “So, what the hell happened?”

The Murder

“Apparently, she went to the movies and, just like that, was never seen again. The damnedest thing. Cops are trying to figure out why she was alone – ”

“She was one of the popular kids . . .” Thomas mused. He wondered if Jan was following this case.

“Yeah, and left the theater, and no one saw her again as far as I know, but I only half–heard the story on the radio. You got any ideas who might have had it in her for her?”  Clement asked.

“Me?”  Thomas was taken off guard. “Heck no! I taught her, for God’s sake, I didn’t hang with her on the weekends.”

“That’s not what I meant, Thomas,” Clement said. “I was just curious if there were rumors at school or anything. But that’s not even what I wanted to talk to you about. I thought you knew all this.”

“I didn’t,” Thomas murmured, staring back at the cop cars in the parking lot. “No . . . sure didn’t. Wish I didn’t still, to be honest.”

“Yeah, I understand that.”  Clement rubbed his cheek as if he were going to say something but then paused. Reconsidered and said, “Listen. I know you’re close with the students and their families and all, but don’t get any ideas about chasing this girl’s death to the bottom of a bottle. That won’t change anything. I’m not saying you were going to do that, but just keep that in mind.”  He gave Thomas a soft pat on the chest.

“No. I don’t have that in mind. I’m just dumbfounded. Two girls, huh? That’s nuts. You know what’s wild? I used to follow the news like some kind of damn weirdo but had tuned it all out lately. Now, here we are talking about the biggest story in Bangor, Texas, and I was oblivious. A fucking serial killer on the loose. Holy hell.”

“Well, I’ll tell ya this much. You’re not much better off knowing it now than you were about 10 minutes ago. Maybe worse.”

Don’t Lose Focus

“No, I’m glad you told me this. I’ll have to check my work computer and see what the school district’s line is on this whole thing. That is gonna make for a terrible return to school for all of us. Cops got any leads? Maybe we can ask them next time we see that crew that’s been coming up here the last couple of Saturdays.”

“None that I know of, but don’t even worry about all that.”  Clement grabbed Thomas’s shoulder again, this time with a tight grip. “You just focus on yourself for the time being. Give me a call if you get down about this, or anything for that matter, and need a friend. In the meantime, get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Clement, I’m not using a phone these days, but I know where ya live if I need ya.”  The two shook hands, and Thomas walked back to his Kia. This time in a daze. He sat in his car with the air–conditioning blasting and staring out the window. He was trying to piece the thing together in his head. Marissa Starkey, the popular blond girl who was always helping anyone who needed it and was on the student council. Why would a girl like Marissa be all alone at a movie theater on a Saturday night? More importantly, why in the hell had she been in and out of his dreams the night before? He put the car into gear and drove straight home, shaking more than he had in about a year.

Newsflash

That evening, Thomas did what he hadn’t done in quite some time. He pored over the news. He had removed himself from the constant onslaught of media nonsense to clear his head and minimize his stress whilst kicking the booze. Now, it hit him like a tsunami and shocked him even as he prepared for it. The local news articles screamed from the page:

“Local Girl Dead – Another Missing”

“No Suspects in Case”

“Residents Locking Their Doors with Stalker on the Loose”

These were reasonable by many standards, but then came the inevitable sensational spaghetti thrown against the wall to see if it sticks:

“Is Your Neighbor the Killer – 5 Signs That Say, “Yes!”

“Is the Serial Killer of the Decade in Our Backyard?”

“Fucking scavengers,” Thomas said aloud.

Bloodthirsty Vamps

Bangor, Texas, was a relatively small town. Yet, it had an air about itself that was enough to support its local publications. Typically, these would draw heavily from the Associated Press‘s coverage of Dallas. Still, they would often be a good place to find out what’s new in town, whose business opened, whose business closed, school events, and anything local worth checking out. This murder mystery was probably the best thing that had ever happened to these guys, Thomas thought as he stared at his screen. Suddenly, the guys and gals downtown were writing about major crimes instead of which high school kid was going to be starting in the fall.

Bloodthirsty vamps are probably eating this up.

The jolt of adrenaline that was being shot into a lackluster publication brought Thomas no reprieve. He spent the next half hour carefully reading the news stories with his blinds shut and a Waterloo carbonated water by his side. He didn’t get it. Both girls vanished. One girl showed up dead, the other without a trace (for now). No suspects for the cops. No enemies of the girls.Nothing. How the hell did this happen in Bangor, Texas? Twice!

Emails

After reading, Thomas was filled with a sense of dread. He was unable to shake the feeling that the nightmare the night before had given him. Uneasiness. It was like knowing that you had said a bit too much the night before. You didn’t feel awful, but you felt like you had done something wrong. And in Thomas’s case, he usually didn’t remember just what he had said. That’s how the nightmare felt. The whats and whys were unclear to him. He sat back in his chair and thought about it for a minute but decided that was getting him nowhere, so he decided to log into his school computer and find out what the buzz was from the school district.

His email list was unusually long for a summer break and, to no surprise, contained multiple announcements from the school. They all said something to the same effect: “We regret to tell you that the student was part of our family here in Bangor. We offer our thoughts and prayers. “Always the fucking “thoughts and prayers” in Texas. It drove Thomas mad. He didn’t find out anything new, but his anxiety was growing at a fever pitch.

The itching on his face grew incessantly. The damn rash. Why the hell wouldn’t it go away? Thomas got up and walked out of his office door, only to find Lady sitting there waiting for him. Her eyes looked like she was hurting and sorrowful. “Hey, pooch,” Thomas said and went down to pet her. She growled.

“What the hell?”  Thomas ignored the growl; he figured it was her being a needy, spoiled dog. Take a number, there’s a million of ya, he thought as he refilled her water bowl and set it in the usual place. He moved on to the bathroom, assessed the rash on his face, and applied some cream. He reconsidered how Lady felt and went back to feed the pooch. Two scoops of Alpo.

“If I can eat hot dogs, you can eat Alpo.” He told Lady, but she was already nose – deep in her dog bowl.

Open Wide

Then it happened. The door in his mind had cracked open just a bit, and like a cat squeezing its way into an open window, the thought overtook him. It hit him like an electrical shock and stunned him.

You need a beer.

Thomas stared at himself in the mirror in disbelief. He splashed water on himself and brushed his teeth to hopefully shake the haunting voice in his head, but it came back.

You deserve a beer.

But he didn’t want one. Not now. Not with so much to think about. Instead, with trembling hands, he grabbed a towel and dried his hands. The thought of his cell phone suddenly occurred to him. He hadn’t used it in weeks, at least. He took it from his pocket (always there for emergencies) and started to call Clement but thought better of it. It was the middle of the day on Sunday. He’d be at church for sure. He was usually at home for most of the day on Sundays. He walked away from the bathroom mirror and moved to the connecting bedroom. The bedroom’s blinds were closed, and the dimness brought him some measure of relief.

I’ve gotta take out some of those lights in the bathroom, blinding!

He put the phone down on his nightstand’s surface next to three shotgun shells and his sleeping pills. He grabbed the orange bottle of sleeping pills his doctor had prescribed and started to open them, but his hand began to shake too much, and the bottle fell from his fingers with a clank.

Blood Stain

“Damn it!” He yelled. This got the dog’s attention, and she came to the doorway alert. Her big, round eyes stared at him, and her tail was at attention. “Go away, girl.” He said and bent down to retrieve the pills.    As he did so, something caught his eye. There was something that looked like blood on the carpet. Dried blood. He pressed his palm against it and felt the crusty texture flake away. He slowly lifted his trembling hand and stared at it with his mouth agape. What is this? Where did it come from? He closed his eyes, dropped to the carpet, and began to convulse all over, an anxiety attack slowly moving its way through, gliding from his hands down to his feet like a black mamba.

The thought of a seizure gripped Thomas. He kept telling himself that DTs and withdrawal were long gone. No seizure is coming. You’re not epileptic. This will pass. He repeated these things like [repetitive word].   His dog, Lady, had come into the room, barking wildly and making circles around him.

“Lady,” he said. “Lady, come here.”  He tried to motion to her to come towards him for comfort, but she was frightened,

Or something different,

And would not draw near him. He reached toward the bottle of sleeping pills. His arms, at this point, were sheets in the wind, but he managed to open the childproof top. He grabbed what he could, three or four maybe, and shoved them into his mouth. While he was in the fetal position, he chewed them and swallowed. In five minutes, he was thrown back into his nightmares.

Awake.

Reaching for a Life – Line

Thomas stared into what looked like a well. He had tunnel vision, encased in a blur of yellow light. Get up, he told himself. Instead, he turned on his side and retched. Acid filled his throat, and he felt like he had just swallowed an open battery. A relentless pounding sound surrounded him—blasts rumbling outside. Anxiety gripped him all over, making it difficult to get up, but Thomas crawled from the bed – literally. After what felt like 100 yards, he got to the blinds and cracked them, his vision now somewhat back to normal. Through the blinds, he could see it was pouring rain.

Thank God. That explained the noises. 

Not at war. Or worse, not in my head.

Thomas focused on a streetlight outside. A yellow orb floating in the chaos helped him get his bearings and his vision back. He retched again and threw up all over the carpet; a sickening and sour taste filled his mouth. He forced himself up and jogged to the bathroom sink, where he stuck his mouth under the faucet and rinsed it out.

Speak with Clement. 

The thought crossed his mind, but he wondered . . . what would he tell him? It wasn’t withdrawal that put him here. It was the nightmares. After he had taken the sleeping pills, they invaded his mind, not creeping in like a burglar but storming it like revolutionaries. His last sleep was full of graphic images of his former student who had gone missing. Disembodiment. Blood everywhere. A head in the attic. Whose???

Speak with Clement.

Storm Brewing

The thought kept popping up, a punch-drunk fighter that wouldn’t concede the fight. Outside it was even less peaceful. The wind had picked up, screaming outside and making the rain slam against the windows in a violent barrage. The yellow orb was no longer visible, and lightning shredded the night sky. The room was suddenly lit up as if with a high beam of light, and then the thunder crashed all around. Thomas could hear the cracking of tree limbs as they fell onto his roof.

The sickness he felt, the retching, a headache, was a storm that was going on inside him as nature waged war on his small town outside of his windows. I have to make a move, he thought and began looking for his cell – phone. With the lightning illuminating everything around him, it wasn’t difficult to spot on the nightstand. During his search, he saw the dried stain again from the corner of his eye. It had gotten bigger. Had it? He grabbed the cell – phone as an ear–piercing crack rang out around him. Something had been struck by lightning; he knew it.

Clumsy

Thomas was clumsy with the phone, and his wobbly hands dropped it on the ground. Try again. He picked it up off the floor and switched it on. It was an old Samsung phone that was probably five years past its “sell-by” date on the market. The loading screen took an excruciating amount of time as the words “Android” and “Samsung” stared back at him. Thomas stared at the screen and cursed himself for being so damn stubborn that he had refused to update to a modern phone against everyone’s advice.

He was staring into the black screen when he saw it. Marissa’s face. She was staring at him with the whitest eyes. The dead eyes, like a fish that had been caught and put in the cooler all day to filet when you get back to shore. They were glassy and wide–open, just staring at Thomas. He couldn’t help himself; he screamed out and threw the phone away from himself as if it had scorched his hand. Thomas was trembling again and staring at it from a few feet away.

No Invite, No Problem

What the fuck is going on here???

He sat on the floor for several minutes while the rain slammed against his windows. He barely heard it, though. For some time, he was in his own world, oblivious to whatever was taking place outside of it. He could only think of Marissa Starkey. The girl had disappeared, and that’s when the dreams had started. The dreams, the convulsions, and the stain on his carpet. But why? Thomas didn’t know, but he knew he had to talk to someone before he lost his fucking mind. He willed himself back to the cell – phone and went to dial.

“Emergency Calls Only”. The cell – tower must have gone down in the storm. Thomas knew he had to make a move. Thomas got up off the floor, put on a pair of clothes, opened the coat closet, and grabbed his yellow raincoat and a flashlight. He was going to Clement’s house with or without an invitation.

• Part I: Radio Reveal
• Part II: Therapeutic Stumbles
• Part III: Phantasmagoria

*Follow Carson Knight Carson Knight (@CarsonKnightwr) / X

or read his previous serial, Shadow Man – One Man’s Redemption, Another’s Horror – Horror Obsessive