Upon a Fearful Summons

It's midnight. The doors are locked. The curtains are drawn. The house is empty. The only light is the soft glow of the computer screen as I write this message.

They're coming; I know they are.

I try to sleep but all I hear is the sound of beating drums. Every time I close my eyes I fear that it's the last I'll ever see of the world. I feel as if someone has take sandpaper to my heart, and they'll just keep scratching away until there's nothing left inside of me.

"Just one more breath. Come on. One more."

I don't know how long I've been here. Minutes turn to hours. Hours turn to days. Days turn to weeks. I don't know how long it's going to take, but I know what's coming.

The sound is getting louder. At first I could barely notice it; just a soft beat in the background of an empty room, like a ticking clock. They've never believed me. "I can't hear anything," they'd say. Well, I could hear it. I still hear it. It's not going away. They're almost here.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I haven't slept in days. I can barely eat. My eyes are bloodshot. My mouth is dry. I can barely lift my fingers. I feel as if I am about to collapse at any second, but I know I won't. I can't. The moment I close my eyes I'm gone. I know it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I can hear them outside. Shuffling. Murmuring. The sound is almost deafening to my ears. I cannot take much more of this. This is the end, I'm sure.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound stops. It's quiet. All I can hear is the soft hum of my laptop. This is it. I know it.

Ding-dong.

My doorbell rings.

I'm done. I cannot take anymore. I stand up slowly and begin my first step towards the door, taking my laptop with me. The floor creaks under my weight. I'm reminded of an inmate walking the green mile. I hold my breath as I approach the door. My hand slowly reaches out.

Click.

The door flies open. I am greeted by the visages of a thousand angry street sharks. Half of them are on motorcycles. The other half are performing elaborate dance routines from such popular Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals as Cats and Evita. I hear one sing Common People in the voice of James Taylor. Two are playing catch with the ghost of Kublai Khan.

"Hello," they say in unison. "So good of you to join us."

I turn around, and notice a mirror. In the mirror I see a face staring back at me. It is not my face, but the face of David Bowie from the movie Labyrinth. The floor opens up, and I fall through the earth. I see nothing but darkness. A voice calls me by name and I wake up.

I'm in my room, sitting upright in my bed. It was all a dream. It's morning. My curtains are open. The sun is out. The birds are singing. It's a beautiful day. I sigh, and fall back on my pillow.

"What a strange dream," I think. "At least it's over."

I wake up, and it isn't a dream. The titular creature from the movie Pumpkinhead is staring at me, its gaze unmoving. My hands are tied. I try to scream but I have no mouth. I try to tell them I'm popular on the Internet but they cannot hear my voiceless voice.

The world pans upward, and it was all in a snow globe. An autistic boy stares at it. His pupils turn black and he lets out a shriek.

Another autistic boy wakes up. It was all in his head. He was in a coma, and in his nightmares he dreamed of me. I was the doctor. I wink at him and walk out of the room, clutching my clipboard. As I walk through the door, a mist creeps in.

And you were the serial killer.