One by one they followed. A credited list of freshly squeezed souls, rising against the red, pulsating screen, while screams from Judas Priest ended Wes Craven's latest nightmare - Dream Reaper.
The room was dark, save for the light from the television. Inviting smells from next door's barbecue still lingered in the fresh, summer air, carried by the light breeze that wandered across the back porch - through the open conservatory doors, wafting the drapes across the oak, parquet floor.
"Freakin' A," hollered Josh, sprawled across the tan couch - glad his parents weren't home. "What a freakin' nightmare - Whoo!"
Geoff and Jenny Weisner had left in the station wagon for Springfield, earlier that morning. Off to stay with Jerry for the weekend, Geoff's psychoanalyst colleague; or so they'd said. A sordid motel more like, thought Josh, and he had said so just as they were leaving.
"It's okay Dad, you don't have to leave home to have sex, I'm seventeen now and this is the 21st Century. Everybody does it - it's cool with me if you guys wanna screw each other."
He could still picture his father's expression as he pulled out of the drive.
Josh groaned, stretching his slim body to its full six feet. His khaki shorts and camouflage T-shirt twisted to one side, cutting in at his waist, uncomfortably. He tugged them straight before fingering his hair, then picked up the TV remote - yawning deeply; just as the phone rang, making him jump. Picking up the receiver, he answered.
"Hello."
"Yo - Bro, it's me. What's up?" came the reply.
"I think I've dislocated my jaw you bastard - that's what's up."
"You dislocated what?" laughed Brandon. "Your brain more like!"
"Never mind," said Josh. "You scared me, that's all. It's late; I wasn't expecting anyone to ring."
"Oh I get it; call at a bad time, did I? Watching the Playboy channel with the lights out eh? Get a grip buddy or you'll do yourself an injury."
"Very funny no-nuts! If you must know I was watching a film about some dream demon that visits you in your dreams and steals your soul. Makes you wonder about dying in your sleep, I can tell you."
"Yeah right! Anyway Bro, you can tell me all about it tomorrow in class; I'm hitting the sack. Ball practice did me in this afternoon. I only rang up to see if Wendy turned up."
"No man - she didn't show," said Josh, frustrated. "She must've been winding me up. I should've known."
"Didn't think she would. Oh well, just think - if the dream demon calls on you later, you can imagine him wearing her cheerleader’s outfit. Boy was she hot today!"
"Yeah - you know that," replied Josh, "She's one babe. See you and her in the morning man."
"Later's Bro."
Josh replaced the receiver. If only, he thought, rising from the couch, switching off the TV. There wasn't a man alive that didn't fancy Wendy. Still, it didn't hurt to dream, and that was exactly the plan for now.
He turned toward the kitchen, shuffling in his football socks to the cupboard above the refrigerator. He knew it well; even in the dark. It was where dad hid his tin and his weed.
He replaced the tin exactly as he had found it, behind the kitchen cleaners, before jumping down from the breakfast bar to the hard, cobbled floor tiles. Moving in the direction of the stairs, he admired the tightly rolled cigarette. Nothing like a joint to ease the muscles, he thought, smiling satisfied. Having navigated the dark stairway, he closed the bedroom door behind him.
Once undressed, he positioned himself squarely on the bed; staring out of the open window to the large maple tree that took up most of the back yard. He lit the joint, inhaling deeply, blowing out half a dozen perfect smoke rings. Why hadn't she turned up, he wondered, closing his eyes. Brandon would have stayed otherwise. His mind strayed, constructing her from a thousand recollections. Then, at exactly 01:47, she appeared.
Outside, sitting on a branch of the tree, her short skirt riding her hips; snagged by her posture. Her long legs coiled, wrapping seductively around a branch, as her hair shone against the dark backdrop of the night; a harvest blonde in the moon's candescent light.
"Josh," she called, crying out to him. "Josh - I'm here!"
Josh hadn't even considered the prospect when she called out a second time, only this time her voice had changed. This time it seemed deeper.
Josh's eyes snapped open, his head turning quickly to the tree, searching, but Wendy had gone. Only the gnarled branches remained, swaying slowly in the breeze. Only branches and shadows.
He stared out - toward the shadows. All was quiet.
Then a shadow moved, detaching itself from the others. A large shadow. A very large shadow! Someone was outside, thought Josh, paralyzed to the consequences, but it wasn't Wendy. The shadow drew closer reaching the window, then it stopped, resting its corneous head on the sill; followed by the voice, the deep, familiar voice, its words grating and close. The Dream Reaper's voice!
Let those with fear repose the night,
In slumber safe, turn out the light.
Exalt the gloom, with plays profane;
In wretched hours the dead shall reign.
Come walk with me, who seem so brave,
Come! be my shadow, view your grave.
Join in our plays that grace the morn’,
The line where life, from death, is torn.
Come show you’re brave, as fearful sleep,
Come walk that line, let evil reap.
Behold your grave ~ dare lay your head;
Be brave or fear, choose your bed.
Some lives run short, no time to waste,
You choose to fear, be gone in haste.
We’ll part just once, take heed, I say;
The time will come, I cheer that day.
The hands of time will strike you down,
And wrap you in my darkest gown!
Safe slumber deep, repose the night,
I shall return ~ before it's light!
The voice ended in a gargled laugh, mocking and defiant, full of evil, but the shadow continued. Moving across the sill, it entered the room. Josh could see it, its dark form, but it bore no face! He froze, watching it creep nearer, until it reached the corner of the bed. He could not move. There was nothing he could do. He could only wait helplessly, as it came for him. Seeking his naked flesh - it reached out and touched him.
Josh bolted upright. His breath was tight; his lungs gasping for air as the sweat poured off of his body, seeping from every pore. He pushed his long blond hair, matted to his cheek, back from his face and turned to the clock beside the bed. It was 02:45.
The half-smoked joint still lay in the ashtray. He lit it, inhaling deeply. Thank God Brandon wasn't over for a sleepover, he thought, he would never have heard the end of it. A wry smile curled around his lips, smoke trickling from the corners. A close escape!
He turned his attention back to the tree. What had happened to Wendy? Had she been there or had that been a dream too? He didn't blame her for leaving; he'd have done the same had he been able to get off the bed. Strange how dreams inhibit us, he considered. He would have kicked the guy's ass for sure, otherwise. He lay back against the pillows, feeling the night's cool breeze, refreshing against his clammy skin. His breathing returned to a normal level and his eyes closed once more.
"So you like being all sweaty then," interrupted the voice, disturbing his thought. Calm and low it soothed, almost a whisper; "What d'you say we get sweaty together?"
It was Wendy. She had returned; this time swinging from a low branch, her arms raised above her in an almost captive, teasing manner. Her breasts gripped firmly against the straining cotton of her shirt, erect nipples protruding in the dim light, as she arched, her head cocked back in surrender.
Josh moved quickly across the bed, pulling the damp sheet out flat, preparing Wendy a space. He tossed the pillows to the floor, impatiently; they would not be needing them. His heart pounded in anticipation. Finally, she would be his. As he reached the bedroom door, a piercing scream ripped out, making him shudder; followed by another….. then the voice…
The night runs short, no time to waste,
You've had your chance ~ death comes with haste.
I left, but once, take heed I say;
You have to come, now come my way.
The chance has passed, to think it through,
I warned you once, I'm back for you.
Come as you are - you're mine tonight.
Our souls will join before it's light!
Josh twisted, reacting to the sound, his eyes searching for direction as he dived back onto the bed. He might just have time to….
The thought trailed off, unfinished, as he spotted Wendy's crumpled form, propped at the base of the maple. He saw her face. Her eyes - open in terror. Her skin was gray, ashen and lifeless; wrinkled with the resemblance of age. No longer beautiful, but haggard. She was dead. No doubt about it. By the look of the body, the life had been sucked out of her, leaving nothing more than an empty corpse.
"It can't be real," screamed Josh, "It can't be!"
"What, did you think you were dreaming?" came the reply, only this time there was no mocking laugh.
It charged through the window, fast and furious, hands locking tight around Josh's throat, squeezing, forcing his windpipe through his spine, as it pressed down, pinning him fast. He struggled vainly, trying to free the force that held him; the drawing force that wrenched him inside, tearing away bits of his life. He knew that if he could not get free it would not be long before he would be dead too. But the shadow was too strong.
He saw his mom and dad and called out to them. He saw Wendy, Brandon, even Mr. Fisher his coach, but they would not help him. They were images; quickly replaced by a thousand others. Brief glimpses of his 17 years' existence flashing across a digital screen. Reminders. Fragmented memories sent to replace him. His life slowly ebbed away, fading to nothing. Defeated, he gave in to the darkness. No bright light came to greet him, nor guardian Angels, only the bell-like sounds tolling his demise. Again and again they chimed, louder each time; until the hands no longer squeezed at his throat. The sound continued - the bell-like sound of the phone ringing next to him. The clock read 03:38.
His breathing labored as he picked up the receiver; ragged, heaving against the restrictions of his chest. Seconds later, without speaking, he replaced the receiver. It was Brandon - the asshole. It had to be. Despite the voice and scary message about being a demon coming to kill him; it was just like Brandon. He should have expected it.
He laughed uncontrollably, in spite of himself. Taking the half-smoked joint from the ashtray, he lit it inhaling deeply, savoring the taste. It took a few more deep breaths to gain the courage to face the tree, but Wendy had disappeared, much to his relief, along with the faceless shadow and he was left alone, resigned to exhaustion. All was quiet. Relaxed, as his mind emptied he slowly drifted into sleep.
It was 04:03 when the phone rang again.
"Sorry to wake you Josh," said the voice on the other end. "It's Wendy's dad. You haven't seen her, have you? Only she hasn't come home and I'm starting to get worried"
Josh took the half-smoked joint from the ashtray. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply.