The Dominant One

The Dominant One

PROLOGUE

A hypnagogic jerk is an involuntary twitch that occurs just before one falls asleep. According to those who suffer from this phenomenon, it’s often followed by a falling sensation. Why this happens is still a mystery…

CHAPTER ONE

CREEP

Logan Malone jerked awake in the hazy, black confines of his room. His system reacted to the jolt of panic in the same way it would as if struck by a sudden bolt of electricity. His back went rigid and his legs kicked out before him in a peculiar sort of dance. At first, he found it hard to catch his breath, and so he lay patiently, staring up at the ceiling in hopes the feeling would pass. He released the bedsheet and brought his hand up to his chest. From beneath his palm, his heart drummed like a furious fist. Another nightmare, he surmised, as his pulse slowly returned to normal. Still, this seemed wrong. He couldn’t register being asleep long enough to even produce such a state, but… he supposed it was possible. He searched his memory for any clues about his dream. There were none. Most people didn’t remember their dreams. He had read that somewhere but this was ridiculous. In fact, this was not the first time he’d awoken this way, his heart racing and his skin slick with a feverish-like adrenaline. It was happening more and more.

If this were a dream (and what else could it be?) nothing else seemed to make sense. Was his consciousness trying to tell him something? He didn’t know. There was one thing in particular that bothered him more than any other. Logan zoned in on it, already working the time frame out from inside his mind and there it was. He had only been asleep for a mere few seconds, of that, he was sure. He turned and glanced at the bright blue numbers on the large digital clock upon his nightstand. He closed his eyes at exactly 9:43 and it had now just turned 9:46. He subtracted an estimated, but conservative, two plus minutes it took to reset his system back to its normal state—it was basic math after all—when another thought occurred to him. This thought, however, was infinitely more terrifying.

“No,” he said out loud, forcing the affirmation so he himself could not only hear it, but the universe could as well.

This was nothing more than a byproduct of an over extended imagination, coupled with an equally exhausted mind. Tired… Yes, that’s it… That’s what you are, kid… just plain-old, tuckered out, as his mother would surely say. He needed to move on from these self-imposed nightmares. Once he did that, these stupid dreams would no longer plague him and he could get a decent night’s sleep. These last few weeks had been hard for him, exceptionally so, but he had gotten through it. The monster, the one that had tormented him in real life, was gone and he wasn’t coming back. It was a stroke of unbelievable good luck, and even if it weren’t, what did it matter. Gone was gone. Someone that deranged and perverse was better off where he was, forever lost in his own nightmare. It’s what that creep deserved for what he did to me. As for Logan, it was simple. He needed to recharge his engine. The body cannot give without take. Deprivation would eventually cause it to burn out. Again, it was simple math. As he lay there sorting through the incessant reel of the last few nights, he couldn’t help but become increasingly uneasy once more. Then the thought, the same one he pushed away just a moment ago, came steadily creeping back. It threatened to devour all rational sense, leaving nothing in its place but a relentless paranoia. What if it’s not a dream? What if it’s something else? Say it, Logan… go on… it’s already there, right on the tip of your tongue. You just have to speak the words.

“Is there anyone there?” he said, and then instantly regretted it. He rolled his eyes in the darkness, both disgusted and ashamed over giving in to this foolish desire. For what purpose? To scare himself? Why would he even want to? He gave a quick scan of his room. This action was nowhere as ludicrous as checking to see if there was a monster hiding under his bed, or lurking inside his closet, but it was close. He followed the sliver of moonlight that illuminated the frame of his window. At least that was still closed, so that left only one other way in-his bedroom door. However, this was also a dead end. He accepted this reasoning based upon a single definitive fact-the house alarm. Since his father had left, his mother had made this her nightly task. Why Logan was even willing to bet, she could set it blindfolded if she had to. That’s right, Nancy Malone would never forget. There would be a better chance of the Browns making it to the Super bowl than that ever happening, he thought with a faint chuckle before turning himself over.

“Is… there anyone… there?” An eerie voice spoke.

Logan froze. The voice, which resonated in his ears like a fine-tuned microphone, penetrated the surrounding space. He couldn’t scream; his throat held his breath captive. His pulse marked each second, pounding in his eardrums as he waited for whatever horrible thing to come next. To his surprise, nothing came. His face burned, first with apprehension, then with humiliation. He had once again let his juvenile imagination take control. There he lay, not unlike a possum feigning death as an imaginary hand tightened over his voice box like a vice grip. What if he hadn’t imagined it? What then? The thought of moving was for now an impossible task, almost as impossible as growing a set of wings and flying away from there.

Logan shifted his gaze toward the furthest corner of the room-the darkest corner. The voice seemed to emanate from there, or so he thought. He stared at the impenetrable, black sheet, trying to decipher what shapes lie hidden beneath. He pressed his bedspread firmly to his chest, his body damp with sweat. He refused to give up this make-believe barrier. Minutes ticked by and still, he waited for something sinister to emerge from the invisible curtain to take him away. That did not happen. In an act of sheer will, he forced the blanket down, past his hips. It was a good start, he decided, before he made himself yet another deal. Any sound or movement, no matter how insignificant, and he would call out for his mother. Damn the consequences. She would hear him and she would come. Nancy Malone had proven herself long ago to be the champion amongst light sleepers. A minute shift in the earth’s axis, miles beneath their feet, would no doubt rouse that woman from unconsciousness. For this, he was grateful, though not always, especially on those lonesome nights when the urge had struck, and he would have no choice but to retire to the bathroom down the hall to take care of business. Suddenly, the idea of calling out for his mommy in the middle of the night in search of the bogey man had once again sharpened his senses.

Not real… All in my mind… No one there… Not real. He repeated the words over and over in one continuous loop, deeming the voice as nothing more than a momentary glitch, an auditory hallucination of his own fatigued mind. And the more time he spent awake, freaking himself out, the less time for a restful sleep.

Then it happened, amid this ill-fated and mistimed declaration, a swift streak of movement burst past his periphery, this time from the opposite side of the room. He jerked sideways in his bed and his hand shot out beside him. Logan reached, fumbling for the desk lamp next to the clock, nearly knocking it clean from his hand as he flailed for his shot in the dark. Finally, he seized it by the base before snatching it up with his fingertips, and flipping the switch upward, casting the room in an instant circle of light. Panting, Logan leapt from his bed, the lamp still clutched inside his hand.

“MOM,” he shouted, as he wielded the light like a machete, swinging it both back and forth, cutting through each section until the room spun and a fleet-footed dizziness swept in. With narrowed eyes, he allowed himself barely a moment before realizing there was one last place left to look. It’s hiding under your bed, Logan. Maybe it was. It’s always the last place you think to look.

  He placed the lamp down and took an exaggerated step back before dropping to one knee. His bedspread lay crumpled at his feet. On the count of three, he nodded without knowing and then reached out his hand toward the quilt.

One… Two… Three… Three… Three… Now!

The bedding shot up and over his shoulders in a whirling cascade of motion and then released from his grip as if he were performing a magic trick. All the while, Logan watched in an almost stupefied fascination for the monster to emerge. Beneath his bed hid nothing-nothing at all. He kept searching, convinced that something would at any moment appear. Logan plopped down onto his ass. You’re looking for something that’s not there. Without thinking, he shifted his attention to his bedroom door. Where was his mother?

He called for her. Hadn’t he? Yes, he must have, but if he had, she’d be standing here beside him, red-eyed and ill-tempered. A chill came over him. It spread across both arms and down the entire length of his spine. What was happening? He didn’t know, couldn’t even begin to take hold of the ever-mounting questions that tormented him. Why was he jerking awake, night after night and why couldn’t he remember his dreams? Then there was this, hearing voices, seeing things he knew were not there and now, the absence of his mother. She should be here. As sure as God made little green apples. He heard the words as if she spoke them, remembering that moment like it happened just yesterday. They had walked hand in hand from his kindergarten class. Bobby McPhee’s mother was late that day. Logan, in hindsight, hadn’t remembered her coming at all, leaving the little boy standing all by himself, wide eyed, and searching against the wall.

“You’ll always come, won’t you, momma?” he asked her.

“As sure as God made little green apples,” she replied with a smile, but what if what’s going on in here is going on out there? He unlocked his feet and bolted straight for the door.

Stop it! Just stop it! You already have a rational explanation as to why this is happening, Logan! He chastised himself for yet again, falling back on to the supernatural. You’re being stupid! You have to let it go or you’ll drive yourself crazy! Tears filled his eyes, but he did not stop them. Instead, he let them come. Reveling in the pain as they overflowed past both cheeks in a single, continuous stream. He bowed his head and rested it against the door frame. He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s over. Logan repeated the words until they filled him, and he could neither see nor hear anything else. He can’t... hurt you… anymore. You’re afraid to close your eyes because you’re afraid he’ll be there. What he did to you was awful, but it’s in the past and you’re going to be okay. As sure as God made little green apples. He laughed despite himself, already feeling the exhaustion of the next day settle in.

Across the hallway was his mother’s room. She always slept with her door open. It was quiet and submerged in darkness. The supernatural aside, it wouldn’t hurt to at least check on her, he decided, as he pushed the door open and tiptoed past her entryway. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing she hadn’t heard him, for he knew what she would think. A boy your age, still acting like a baby. You should be interested in girls not chasing monsters, and while we’re at it, you could do a lot better in the friend department too, kiddo.

Prey, that’s what the creep had called him. “In life you’re either the predator or the prey, Logan. So, what’s it going to be for you?” He wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to combat the memory. When the terrible thing had been happening, his mind let go, as all he could do was lay there and wait for it to be over. Then he came, an older boy, one that seemed to know the monster, to save him.

In the end, it was the creep that had become the prey. He owed his life to this boy and so he had made him a promise, a promise that he would never break. He would keep what happened a secret. Logan never even asked the boy his name. Didn’t want to know. Thought it best that way in case someone found him out. He would never tell-never! He would take the blame himself first.

“Mom?” Logan spoke the word with barely a whisper. He had no intention of waking her but to tell her in his own way, that he was okay. It was at that moment important to him. “You must be as tired as I am?” Logan smiled, wearily.

“Sleep well, Mom. I love you.” He hovered just a moment longer while she slept, watching the rise and fall of her chest, and he felt at peace. He retreated backward towards her door.

“I’m going to get some sleep tonight if it kills me,” he announced with a firm pump of his fists as he made his way back to his room. And with one last look around for good measure, he jumped back into his bed and turned off the light.

“You’re out of my head, creep,” he stated, the declaration as reassuring as the pillow beneath him. He then closed his eyes and bunched the bedspread all around him. Just as he had with his mother, he focused on the rise and fall of his own chest, counting out each breath as his body went slack and his mind drifted further and further toward sleep. Eventually, his hold upon the blanket loosened and the darkness behind his eyelids became a silent and welcomed blank.

“CREEP!” The menacing voice came again.

Logan reacted to the voice that boomed inside his head with a maximum effort. His eyes shot open and his mouth bore a diaphragm fueled scream. Only none of those things happened.

The world in which Logan knew was no longer. He passed through it, a helpless spectator to an atrocity that transcended even the wildest of imagination. As his actual body slept, the other part of himself, the part that existed without the flesh, bone, muscle and organs, was already fleeting. Logan, in sound mind, would have likened it to being drawn into a parallel dimension. His gamer friends would have described it as being sucked into a black hole, a mirror universe of sorts. Either way, it was terrifying. Within this place existed an invisible force. Its hold infinite, a boundless energy that stripped him from his corporal being, as a snake would its skin. Something had attached itself deep within Logan’s core. And the weight in which it sank was unfathomable. He closed his eyes, but the joke was on him, for he could still see. His vision morphed into that of a supernatural viewer-a third eye to a place that showed him both the inside and the out. Logan’s head passed through his pillow and he glimpsed its inner making. He had no choice but to accept it, as his sight moved past the thin-cotton layer of his fitted, blue sheet and onward through his mattress. He then watched in complete horror while it swallowed him whole, bursts of thick, white filling. Panic had him cold in its grip as next came the needlepoint, like threads of the wooden bed frame.

Another pull, and with it another view. This time it was the underneath of his bed, his mother’s fuzzy, pink slippers peeking out at him from the bottom of his door frame. A moment of hope quickly turned to dust. His will was no match for the force that claimed him. Oh, God, how badly he wanted her. He called out to her, wailing and praying for a miracle that would never come. She vanished, and in her place, the downstairs ceiling. It appeared to him from up above, worn from age and in need of a fresh coat of paint. In a flash, that had gone too, along with the house and the life that he knew. That in which he passed, now, an empty, black space, he could see or hear nothing else. It was everywhere, on everything. He was dying. Yes, maybe this is how death went? You just kept falling and falling until there was less and less of you left. Soon, I’ll just fade away… and disappear. The thought brought with it an almost cathartic relief.

Then it came, that final jerk, but with it, not the end. Logan travelled further down to what appeared to be an endless,

black corridor. On the opposite side of this tunnel- a doorway outlined by pin points of light so faint he wasn’t sure they were really there at all. To his disbelief, the invisible weight that had fastened itself deep inside his core suddenly let go.

He searched the surrounding corridor. Should he try to stand, to escape? Was there a beginning and did it have an end?