The Dark One Cometh Chapter 3 The Threat

Chapter 3

A veiled threat

Marty’s eyes flick open, the bedroom is shrouded in darkness, no sun filtering through the drawn blinds. It feels like it has only been a few minutes since falling asleep, but the lack of sunlight makes him wonder how much time has actually passed. He is curious about what time it actually is, and attempts to turn his head to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

He is frozen in place, paralyzed, only able to move his eyes. A wave of panic washes over him as he tries to speak out. Although his voice is screaming in his head, nothing comes out of his mouth. He lay there looking frantically about, unable to focus on anything familiar in the room, his heart pounds rapidly.

He detects a low distant sound. At first, it is indescribable, but intensifies, gradually coming closer and becoming more audible. Eventually, Marty can distinguish the muffled sound of voices. Its Annette’s voice, talking with some guy. But they do seem to in the same room with him. It seems as if they are speaking from behind a closed door, or wall, all the while coming closer, and getting louder. The volume of their voices increases to the point that it seems like they are right next to the bed, but still strangely muffled.

A blinding burst of light floods the room. He remains utterly still, frozen in place. As Marty’s eyes adjust, he can make out the familiar face of his wife peering down at him. Tears stream down her cheeks and drip onto his hands, which are folded together on his chest. He remains frozen in position, unable to move or speak. Behind the silhouette of his wife’s head he notices the lining of a casket lid. The revelation that he is inside the casket they are peering into roars ominously into his thoughts. The person behind her gently grasps Annette’s shoulder easing her back from the casket, then reaches over closing the lid.

Marty’s mind reels, he braces himself to scream with all his force. No sound comes out.

“I’m not dead, I’m not dead, Annette please, please don’t leave me,” he pleads in silent desperation.

As the lid closes Marty imagines the events he will miss dying so young. He envisions the joyousness of Annette giving birth, the baby walking its first steps, the first tooth, the first day of school, learning to ride a bike, driving lessons. He feels sad and empty as he contemplates missing these milestones.
The lid closes with an echoing crash, leaving Marty, once again in total darkness. His mind races to figure out what is going on, and how to stop it. If this means the end for him he is not ready.

He hears activity around him just as the casket starts moving and vibrating, he assumes his body is being transported to the cemetery. Marty’s skin crawls, he is mortified at the idea of being buried alive. Surely, someone made a terrible mistake.

To his right Marty distinguishes the outline of a dark figure lurking in the shadows, just beyond the confines of the casket sidewall, with eyes glowing ember rea gazing upon him. Sensing the sheer power in its presence, Marty gains some movement.

"Who’s there?”.

“Don’t you recognize your own flesh and blood?” The figure crackles in response.

The casket continues clanking and banging, jolting Marty slightly. He hears muffled male voices outside, unable to distinguish what is being said.

“Help me,” Marty pleads with the shadowy figure.

The sound of the casket being slid across metal rollers resounds within the compartment, bumping to a sudden halt. The unmistakable sound of a heavy metal door closing and latching follows. Marty knows the pallbearers have loaded his casket into the hearse.

He gains the ability to turn his head fully towards the dark figure directing its unwavering gaze at him. Outside the casket, Marty hears a faint hissing sound, a quick, ‘whoosh’, resembling the noise their barbeque grill makes the moment the propane ignites. Within seconds, he feels an intense increase in air temperature. The seals of the casket begin melting to reveal a white hot, intense heat. The lid of the casket bursts into flames.

“I am being cremated!” “They’re burning me and I’m not dead!” He screams at the top of his voice. “Help me please!” his arms respond.

“Father don’t forsake me,” the figure beckons again.

The lid to the casket is completely engulfed in flames. Shards of burning material fall on his face and neck singeing his skin.

He pounds with both hands on the sides of the casket. The intense heat blisters and peels the skin of his hands. In desperation, he pushes upward with his hands and legs hoping for some chance the burning lid would give way. It won’t budge. He pounds upwards for all he was worth, catching the sleeves of his jacket, and pant legs aflame.

“Someone, please help me, he wails, realizing that his voice is being drowned out by the roaring flames of the cremation chamber. The flames spread quickly engulfing his entire body, leaving him writhing and screaming in pain.

Marty bolts straight up, clutching his chest, dripping with perspiration, and breathing rapidly.

“I was dreaming, he thought staring down at his legs. Looking around reveals he is not in the familiar bedroom, instead, he sits at the intersection to two separate roads. On one, he sees a city burning and hears torturous screams in the distance from that direction.

At the foot of this road sits a limosine, engine idling. The back passenger side door opens.

“All this can be yours.” An eerie voice spills out engulfing him. “Just give me what I want.”

A short distance on the road to his right he sees an image of himself lying in the casket. Annette, looking gaunt and withdrawn, cries as she gazes upon his corpse. The sound of her wailing mixes with a distant ringing sound piercing all around him. Marty is aware of Annette’s sorrow, and wishes he can ease her pain. The ringing is louder now, Marty is rising, floating up above the two paths looking down on them he still hears Annette’s sobs. All around him the ringing grows louder.

Marty continues floating up into darkness, the two roads below him become smaller, and eventually disappear. The ringing grows louder, and sounds closer to him each time. The light fades away leaving him shrouded in blackness. The ringing which had been coming in regular intervals ceases abruptly. Carefully, he feels around to see if there is anything surrounding him, nothing. The ringing begins again, this time he recognizes it is his home phone, but the tone drags lasts longer than he is used to. He concentrates on the sound, reaching towards it into the blackness. His hand brushes something hard; he pulls back startled by its sudden presence. The ringing trails off again, leaving behind a diminishing echo.

Marty reaches into the blackness again, curiosity takes the place of fear. Whatever it is in front of him is much closer now. He has drifted to within just a few inches without realizing it.

His eyes adjust to the darkness enough for him to distinguish he is hovering above horizontal rows of uniform wooden lying about eight inches in between each. This is familiar to him, he realizes he is in the attic of their home. Now that he has some grasp on his location maneuvers his body along the floor planks, towards the drop down door and fold down ladder. The spring-loaded door gives way with a creak, Marty (still floating) slips through the opening, guiding himself in the direction of their bedroom. As he enters their room he is astonished to see himself still laying in bed.

The ringing begins again as he floats towards his side of the bed. Instead of landing on the floor next to his motionless body, he sinks as if the floor is liquid, unable to halt his motion, as the walls melt away. As he sinks he now sees that he is still next to himself laying on the bed, but both lay at the fork of the two roads.

A haunting voice echoes from all around him,
“Do not forsake me.”

He is sinking faster, and panics reaching about frantically, trying to hoist his body onto the bed. It doesn’t work, and he slips further into the abyss. He unwittingly snatches hold of his mortal wrist. In his dream state Marty feels the tight grasp he has taken on his mortal wrist.
This slows his descent momentarily, and then his dream self and still slumbering mortal self both begin sliding from the bed. Now engulfed to his shoulders he knows that if both his mortal and dream self sink, they will be lost forever, and he will never wake. Just then he lets go, and continues frantically clawing at the sheets in a vain attempt to stop from sinking. His head disappears, then elbows.

Marty bolts straight up in the bed wincing from pain in his wrist, the fresh imprint from being grasped so tight remains on his flesh, a vivid physical reminder of the dream still evident.

Dripping with perspiration and breathing heavily, he searches franticly around the room as if he is expecting to find someone else present.

The phone rings again, it is the same sound that drove him nuts in his dream, but now is very real but not in the same room, unfortunately. it driving him nuts in dream, now is very real, but , ringing begging to be answered.

In the dim light he notices Annette is snuggling tight, her arm drapes over his stomach. She has one eyelid closed tight; the other is open, appears black and fixed upon him. She is twitching and groaning low. He wonders if she is dreaming.

RING… the phone sounds off again. Marty picks Annette’s hand from his stomach laying it on her side, he gets out of bed leaving the room to answer the phone.

Marty picks up the receiver of the phone, “Hello.”

It is Doctor Sohon calling to confirm an time to meet her at the local general hospital the next morning.

“Mr. Sooner is there something wrong?”

The Doctor’s voice indicates she has picked up his distress. Marty covers the mouth piece for a couple of seconds while gaining his composure.

“No Doctor don’t worry…I, um, stubbed my toe running to the phone.”

The time of the appointment is set for 10:00 a.m., Marty scribbles the time and place of the appointment on the magnetic dry erase board on the refrigerator.

“All right Doctor, thank you for calling back so promptly, see you then,” he says before hanging up.

He stands there, leaning against the refrigerator, rubbing his chin, feeling stupefied, pondering his terrifying new experience. It was unlike any dream he has ever had before, this was so real, like he was actually physically experiencing it, the sounds and sights so realistic, he actually felt the heat from the fire, and the pain of being burned. He has an unsettling feeling like this dream is more than just a dream. Instead he feels it is a vision, just as Annette had described to him on the phone the night before.

He is shaken to the core, reeling, perspiration still dripping from his face, silently freaking out. He is convinced that it has some veiled meaning, something sinister he does not quite understand.

He feels awful for Annette; and wonders if this is what she has been experiencing? During their phone dialogue, the night before she indicated her visions had been occurring at increasing intervals, becoming more intense each time.

“How could she have kept this to herself for so long?”

This single experience left him feeling profoundly disturbed. He is sure some sort of basic internal instinct is warning him of impending doom and gloom.

Suddenly something cold grips onto his shoulder, his blood runs cold as ice as it drains from his face. His heart leaps in his chest and he yelps, startled and whips around to reveal Annette there. He stumbles backward losing his balance, crashing backwards into kitchen chairs knocking them over and moving the table as he fumbles clumsily. The sharp blow from a toppled chair leg abruptly forces the air from his lungs. He doubles over gasping and grabbing his side unable to regain his breath.

What he sees is too much for him to comprehend. Annette hangs suspended, hovering about four inches from the floor. Her left eye open the color resembling a black marble, and her left hand reaching and clawing in his direction, her right hand and leg slump swaying in a motion similar to when an unconscious person is being carried.

Her mouth is open and unmoving as the words, “Don’t forsake me,” hiss forth, in the familiar voice Marty recognizes from his vision.

Annette hung there for about another second before floating towards him, her left hand still reaching and clawing vigorously.

“Don’t forsake me Father,” hisses from her unmoving lips again.

Marty, still gasping to catch his breath is unnerved the moment his wife’s body starts towards him. His stocking feet slip on the linoleum, as he tries to scramble away.

His thoughts are clouded by fear; he feels like a cornered animal scurrying to escape capture by a predator. The chair that he knocked over still located behind him hampers his movement. He pushes it out of the way with all his might, noticing as he turns that the back door is merely feet from where he had tumbled to the floor.

He moves quickly towards it as Annette’s body tilts horizontally, and flies at him, crashing hard onto his back, knocking him unconscious to the floor.

She is jarred to consciousness by the impact of her body crashing onto Marty’s back, he lay under her, not stirring . She raises her upper body onto the length of her outstretching arms. She feels fuzzy, shaking her head and blinking her eyes to get better focus. She has no idea what has happened, or how she has gotten in the kitchen on top of her husband. The last thing she recalls is laying next to him in bed as he slept.

She pushes herself up, crouching along side him, touching his shoulder gently. She noticed that he was gasping for breath.

“Marty,” she shakes his limp gasping form.

Although he had been knocked unconscious, he was still out of breath from the kitchen chair hitting him during his stumble backwards.

“Marty,” she raised her voice hoping for a response, “What’s wrong.”

He does not respond, taking short labored breaths.

Her mind races around the possibility of what must be going on with him. Could he be having a heart attack? Did he get drunk and pass out here? Should she get help?

She stands, “Don’t panic Annette,” she says aloud. “Try to get him up, she scurries to the sink, maybe a little water will help.”

Opening a cabinet door she grabs a cup, filling it with water. She rushes to his motionless body calling his name and shoving his butt with her foot, noticing that his labored breathing had stopped. Not wanting to waste time she aligns the cup with his head and pours about a quarter of the contents onto the back of his head and neck.

Immediately Marty bolts up, yelling “What the hell”, scurrying to his feet. He looks back to see Annette standing there.

“Marty, are you ok?” She asks, readying for a retreat, not sure what is about to happen.

He feels anxious, but does not remember instantly why. “Yeah Annette,” he replies regaining his composure. He leans forward groaning while rubbing his pounding temples with his thumbs.

“Have you been drinking?” She asks him as if she is about to scold him.

Annoyed with the inference of her pointed question, Marty snapps back, “Of course not!”

“Well, what is all this?” She began pointing around the kitchen at the moved table and the scattered chairs.

Marty picks his aching head from his hands looking around, remembering what had happened in there just moments before. He is not sure what to say, now that she is awake, and expecting an explanation.

He does not think the truth is the best option at the moment and stammers…”um, well you see.” He looks around the room noticing the appointment time he had written down.

“I got up to answer the phone, it was the doctor confirming your appointment time,” pointing towards the refrigerator. “After I hung up I tripped on Popsicle and must have knocked the chairs over.” “Now I’ve got one fierce headache, I must have whacked my head when I tripped.” Damn dog, he adds for believability.


At that moment, Popsicle saunteres into the kitchen her toenails clicking against the linoleum, stopping her advance short of where Annette stood. Promptly plopping her chubby butt down, and pulling her ears back, wildly wagging the phantom stub of her tail.

“Awe, look at her, she is saying sorry Daddy.”

Annette always overcompensates for the pooch, and once again rushes to her defense. She is unaware that Marty made it up, and the dog responded because she heard her name, and associated them being in the kitchen with her first love; food. Just about the moment Annette reaches down to scratch her affectionately Popsicle realizes there is no food, snorts, gets up and meanders her way out of the kitchen, having lost the initial zip and curiosity she entered with.

Annette snickeres, “She’s cute!”

Marty notices Annette’s knee has been knocked open and blood is trickling down her shin. “Do we have anything for a headache?” He asks, pointing to her leg, “Your knee is bleeding.”

Annette looks down, but is not able to see her legs at all because her belly is in the way, and her nightshirt balloons out, hiding her lower body. She shifts her weight onto one leg and sticks her leg out to get a better view.

“Hmm, so it is,” she sounds genuinely surprised.

Marty continues curiously, “How did you get hurt?” He stands erect, as she guides him to the kitchen cabinet containing the pain reliever.

“It’s the weirdest thing, I’m not sure.” “In fact, I don’t remember walking into the kitchen to help you, it’s like I suddenly woke down here on the floor wondering why you are here, and how I got here.”

“Martin, I am so confused, I feel like I was dreaming the most horrible dream.”

Marty struggles to open the child resistant cap on the bottle; which always seem to give him trouble. His head pounds as he turns and handing the bottle to Annette.

"Help me with this please?”

Effortlessly popping the top off, she shakes two pills into her hand, offering them his way along with the water she had used to wake him. He put the pills in his mouth taking a sip to wash them down, groaning as he tosses his head back to swallow.

He glances over Annette’s shoulder to get a better look at the time display of the microwave.

"Oh shit, it’s 9:11 pm.” “I don’t think I can handle work tonight, I had better call in sick.”

Marty prides himself on his commitment to his job, so his conscience bothers him as he made the comment. He thinks how his absence might affect his co-workers, and how he hates when the same thing is sprung on him. But then his thoughts shift to his wife, and what impact his leaving her alone for the evening might have. He hesitates not a second longer.

He starts for the phone, dialing the number to the plant, offering his excuse why he wll not be coming in for his shift. The second shift supervisor says he will give the message to the third shift supervisor.

“I’ll have to go out onto the production floor to let Brent Culkner know he will have to pull a mandatory twelve hour shift.”

Marty knows this is the guilt tactic his employer often uses.

“I know this is short notice, but I rarely call off, and I am calling off because I don’t think I will make it through the shift.”

He says this, suggesting to the foreman that it is still early enough to call the first shift shipping person to come in at 4:00 am, without ruining his sleep.

The guilt tactic used by the supervisor works to some degree, but Marty consoles his guilt by reassuring himself that even if he does go into work he probably will not be very productive, continuously thinking over the events of the day.

After hanging up the phone Marty regrets his decision to skip work, he hates leaving his co-workers high and dry. Watching his wife tend to her wounded knee reinforces his final decision to stay home. He imagines the incredible sorrow and guilt he will feel afterwards if anything happened to Annette in his absence. This thought help ease his remorse somewhat; plus he reassures himself that missing work will never become a habit.

Displaying affection, Marty approaches Annette wrapping his arms around her waist, her belly shifts under the presence of his grasp, and a cold chill runs through him.

“Ooh, you made the baby jump!” She was immersed in bending, with her foot on a chair, cleaning the dried blood from her wounded leg and shin to notice him moving quietly behind her.

“I can’t believe it, you never call off, Mr. perfect attendance.” “So what’s the occasion?”

Marty figures it best not to share what had happened to him, he wants to digest it, wrap his mind around it before helping to confirm Annette’s sneaking suspicion about the baby. However, standing with his arms around her, he knows down to his soul that what she said is true.

“I don’t know, I think Popsicle may have knocked me out of my senses when she tripped me.” “Besides I still have a killer headache, I want to rest tonight.”

She turns around to face him, “Don’t get me wrong It’s ok with me, you never take any time off work, and besides it will be nice to have you home at night for a change.” “It is nice to be able to lay next to you and snuggle once again,” she said squeezing him tighter.

They decide it best to go straight to bed. Marty lay awake for hours, unable to sleep, trying hard to make some sense of the situation.

Annette is sleeping soundly about thirty minutes after lying down. She twitches and moans, he keeps a close eye on her, suspecting she might get up and start moving around. Each time he shakes her ,waking her momentarily.

Marty thinks long and hard about what happened to him since Annette’s phone call at work the night before. He wonders if it is a possibility they are sharing the same delusion. Maybe what is happening is being caused by something in the air they are breathing. The tests the Doctor will run might help clear up the mystery. He figures it is best to wait for the test results.

“Yeah.”

He convinces himself not to jump to any conclusions without having the test results. He needs to remain rational about the situation. Nevertheless, how will he bring it up to the doctor? The doctor is going to think they both are going crazy. 10:00 am seems so far off, he has to think of his action plan.

He lay awake for a long time, in part trying to come up with some enlightening explanation for what happened, but mostly he lay there because he is terrified of falling to sleep, afraid of dreaming, afraid of the dark figure looming in the shadows. Truly terrified of any consequence there may be if he is not in control.