Nerd's Words | A Short Story Collection

Just Sleep

I stared at him in both wonder and confusion. "Why don't you want to go to sleep?" I asked.

My son looked up at me with tears in his eyes and answered, "Every time I sleep, he comes for me. I don't want to see him anymore! He'll take me away!" He started bawling and rubbing his face into my shirt, weeping uncontrollably.

I glanced over at my wife, who smiled and shrugged helplessly. Groaning, I proceeded to lift my son up into my arms, and carry him upstairs.

When we reached his bed, he stared up at me and almost whispered, "He's going to get me if I go to sleep again, Daddy."

I took it as random babbling of a six year-old boy who claims he's not tired enough to sleep. Running my fingers through his curly red hair, I said, "Mikey, you have to sleep. It's good for you."

"No!" He hollered back. "I've been staying awake for a long time now, and I'm doing just fine!"

When he said that, I was instantly reminded of how a few weeks ago, Mikey's mental state had been declining. He had become more aggressive at school, and was almost bound to fall apart at home the same day. But after last night's movie, and after Mikey had fallen asleep on my lap, I didn't think much of it except for him being extremely drained.

"What are you talking about Mikey? You feel asleep yesterday."

"That's when he came!" More tears started streaming down his face. "Don't make me go to sleep!"

"Me and your mother are very tired right now, so go to sleep," I demanded. "When you wake up tomorrow, we'll talk about this 'he' you keep talking about."

He squeezed my hand in one final plea. His eyes were filled to the brim with tears as he managed to utter, "Don't let him take me."

"Go. To. Sleep," I replied without remorse.

He frowned, then retreated under his covers as I strolled downstairs. I didn't hear anything else from him that night.

~~~~~

I sat in my bed, viewing the dark room anxiously, awaiting his arrival. There was little light trickling in from my windows, created by the streetlights positioned just outside. I could see the full moon through the window directly in front of me, and the shrubs that seemed to sit under the moon. Glancing over to my dresser, I took note of my alarm clock.

It was two o'clock.

He would be here soon.

There was a rustling from my closet. I immediately turned towards it, startled by how one of the doors stood ajar. I was certain I had closed it before I went to bed.

Hadn't I?

The bushes outside my window shook in what I imagined to be fear as the cool fall breeze blew across them. I stared at them for a brief moment, my mind trying to decide whether or not he controlled the wind. I was about to turn away when a shadowy figure arose from the other side of the glass. I held my breath and ducked under my covers, desperately trying to hide the fact I was in the room.

It was him.

After a few seconds, I peeked over the covers, and he was gone. I could feel my heartbeat through my ears, every beat a testament that I was still alive. It had been this way last night as well, with the figure appearing outside the window. That was as far as he had ever gotten. It was all over now.

"I'm going to wake up soon," I muttered to myself.

There was a knocking from my bedroom door. I could feel my fingers involuntarily gripping my bed sheets, prepared to pull them over my head at the slightest notion. The knocking stopped, leaving a blanket of silence across the room. I realized I was still holding my breath, but didn't exhale. There was something behind my door, and I could feel it.

I tried to rise from my bed to investigate when I found that I couldn't move my arms. They acted as if they were restrained to the mattress, only capable of shifting to bring the sheets above my head. My legs couldn't move at all, barely being able to shake in fear of what was going on.

The knocking returned. The door opened widely as he walked in the room, sauntering around as if it was completely normal. He walked around my bed, stopping at my closet across from my door. He slowly turned his head towards me, and I raised the covers over my head again. I heard a crashing noise, causing my to remove the sheets from my face. The window was broken.

He was gone.

The crisp air was now flooding into the room, making the use of my sheets seem invalid. I could hear the rustling of the bushes as the wind swept across them. There were crickets chirping, and the sound of footsteps outside. I rose my covers momentarily, then slowly lowered them down to see if I was in any real danger. I immediately wished I hadn't.

I heard a raspy voice whisper, "Et'slay etgay ouyay uitedsay upyay."

He was there.

He was standing directly over me.

~~~~~

I heard the screaming, and immediately leaped from under my covers. It was blood-curdling, the scream chilling me to the bone. My wife mumbled something as she joined me in the march to Mikey's room.

The screaming stopped once we had opened the door, and Mikey lay sprawled across the bed, one leg hanging of the edge, and the other stretched across, barely touching the wall beside his bed. His eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the ceiling. They were not moving.

"Mikey," I said, distressed, "What's wrong?" There was no answer.

My wife whispered, "Mikey?" Still no answer. She turned to me and proposed, "Maybe he's asleep."

"Then where did the screaming come from?" I replied with a stern voice. "He's faking it."

I stomped towards the boy and said, "Mikey, get up this instant, or no TV for a week."

He sat there, silent, his eyes remaining still and unmoving. There was no snoring, and after a few seconds, I realized something.

There was no breathing.

"Quinn" I shouted, "call 9-1-1! He's not breathing!"

She fumbled out of the room, frantically searching for a phone. I lifted my son off of his bed, and was met with the oddly still feeling of lifeless skin. There was no pulse from his wrist.

Shortly after, I heard ambulances blaring their sirens from outside.

Two weeks later, and I stood over a grave, staring down at the dirt. I didn't want to look at the tombstone, but I already knew exactly what it read.

Mikey Thompson

2014-2020

He always followed his dreams