Edna

The Man wore black leather. He was as black as the night. As black as a nightmare stealing through your open window and worming its way into your ear.

Ethan’s eye flew open, straining wide, his mouth stretched into a silent ‘O’. He couldn’t breath. Sweat stood out on his forehead, his hands clenched at his sheets as he writhed; as he twisted wildly to free himself of the fear that had overtaken him. Slowly the nightmare faded, shattering into small and fading fragments as the reality of his room became solid around him – the tick of the ceiling fan, the soft breathing of his wife beside him, the snore of his dog, curled up in the corner. But the air felt heavy. Stagnant. His mind grasping against his will, trying to hold onto what he had just experienced. What had it been? What had scared him so much? Something about a dark hallway, a hidden stair, an old woman at the top, rocking slowly as she stared at him and willed him upwards. What had that been about?

The Man was frustrated. His work couldn’t complete if the subject woke up, the nightmare could never finish. Another hour wasted. He huffed silently, trying to calm down, trying to regain the creative energy that had evaporated as soon as Ethan had opened his eyes. Had he pushed too hard? He felt that Ethan should have been able to handle what he’d thrown at him, should have been able to make it to the end of the dream. He sank into thought... perhaps the old woman had looked a bit too much like Ethan’s grandmother? He would have to re-double his efforts.

Ethan sat up in bed. He was fully awake now, no helping it. He looked at his bedside clock. 3am. Sigh. Another night without enough sleep. The day would be wasted. He would be like a zombie. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to keep him awake. He was pacing now. He didn’t know how he’d gotten into the hallway, but here he was. It was nearly pitch dark, just a small amount of light glinting from around the corner toward the kitchen. Had someone left the fridge open? He walked slowly toward the light, placing his feet carefully, he didn’t want to wake anyone else up, it was bad enough that he was awake at this ungodly hour.

The Man was humming softly. If you could have heard him you would have thought it was a sad tune. A dirge perhaps. All minor keys and odd timing, something suitable for a funeral procession or playing over the ashes of forgotten battlefield. He was humming because he was enthralled with creation. Focused. Totally committed. This time it was going to work.

Ethan felt the hallway was longer than it should have been. Longer than he remembered it anyway. Perhaps the dark was playing tricks on him. He was more tired that he thought. He kept walking and the light grew steadily brighter. This couldn’t be the fridge, it was far too bright now. Bright enough that he was having trouble seeing anything else. It was surrounding him, moving towards him as he move towards it. He was compelled. He couldn’t stop. And then he stepped through it and he was in a small attic, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, brushing against his hair and his face. He had to stoop, couldn’t stand up straight in this small, musty, wooden space, a slow rhythmic creaking coming from close behind him. He turned slowly, knowing what he was going to see, dreading it, hating it, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned and saw the old woman in her chair, white wispy hair, papery skin showing through, her skull barely covered. Her eyes were on the floor as she rocked, head bowed, her small shoulders hunched up around her ears. Ethan couldn’t look away, he had to look away. And then her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his, a strange fire in those eyes, energy arcing across the small distance, stunning him, freezing him in place. He tried to scream but his breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide and straining.

The Man plucked at the strings of the dream, carefully now, trying to extract what he needed from it, trying to teach Ethan what he needed to know but…

Ethan found himself in bed once again, his mouth open, a silent scream stuck in his throat, his hands like claws on the blanket. He stopped moving, focused on breathing, the fragments of the dream evaporating like a morning mist. Morning. What time was it? He looked at the clock by his bed. 3am. He was wide awake. No chance of getting back to sleep now. What had the dream been about? An old woman? An attic? What had been so scary? Something about her eyes…

The Man was breathing heavily. He had been so close... but it had fallen apart during the most critical time. All his effort wasted once again. He settled himself into a lotus position, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. He would get it this time.

Ethan stood up and walked into the bathroom. He needed to use the toilet and get some water. He took a couple of paces and swayed dizzily. He was so tired. The floor felt strange under him, too hard against his feet, painful almost. The bathroom felt too empty, like all the life and energy of his house had been drained away, replaced by these bare walls and empty corners. He tottered toward the sink and turned on the faucet, needing to splash some water on his face, but nothing came out. He turned the handle backward and forward, staring dumbly at the fixture, hearing it squeak and grate under his hand. What was that smell? Rotting leaves and musty mold. The smell emerged from the drain, dust and grime covered the sink, dirty and evil looking. Ethan stepped sharply backwards. This wasn’t his bathroom, something was wrong. The floor was warped and broken wood, the ceiling too close and claustrophobic, the toilet broken, cracked and leaning against a wall. From over his head he could hear a rocking noise, the wood squeaking, dust sifting down to settle in his hair. He knew what it was. His feet led him slowly out of the room and up the hallway toward the stairs. One by one, footstep by unsteady footstep, he moved upward toward the sound of wood groaning under the weight of the steady rocking. He tried to close his eyes, he tried to look away, but he was glued to his course. Compelled to open the door, to step inside, to see once again that ghastly face and shrunken body. With an incredible act of will he forced his eyes closed, squeezed them shut, stopped walking and willed himself awake. Willed himself to open his eyes into reality and out of this awful dream.

The Man smiled. He was close now.

Ethan found himself in his bed, snuggled deeply into his covers. His room was warm around him, welcoming. He could hear the steady breathing of his wife, her solidity and warmth comforting to him after those horrible, awful dreams. He didn’t want to wake her, but he needed some comfort, needed someone he could share these racing thoughts with and terrible fears. He’d woken up so many times, was he really awake now? He slowly moved his arms and legs. Everything seemed normal, his body felt like his own. He turned slowly over onto his side, still unsure if he’d wake her, but needing to see her at least, to take comfort in her presence. As he was thinking these thoughts he noticed that her breathing didn’t sound right. Too raspy. Like there was something in her throat. Like her lungs weren’t working, her breathing labored and forced, and so he started to worry. And then he startled backwards in horror. The woman in his bed, laying at his side, was not his wife. The old woman stared back at him, a crooked smile on her face, her hair wild and floating about her head like a ghostly halo.

“Hello Ethan,” she said in her croaking, crones voice. “Don’t you remember me?”

“Oh my God,” he screamed, unable to form any other more coherent words.

“Now now, my sweet, no need for profanity. I’ve been waiting for you for such a very long time. It’s OK to enjoy this moment.” She reclined her head backward and closed her eyes in contentment.

Ethan’s chest ached, his heart beating so hard he felt as if it was trying to escape through his ribs. “Who. Are. You?” he managed to pant out.

“I’m your Aunt Edna. You don’t remember me? Oh well.”

“Why are you here? In my room? Where’s my wife?”

“Oh? This looks like your room to you? I guess that would make sense. Don’t worry about your wife, she’s fine. It’s you I would worry about. You aren’t so fine. Not so fine at all.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Welcome to the afterlife Ethan.”

Edna started laughing and it wouldn’t stop. Cackling laughter poured out of her as the room around Ethan spun and changed, the walls fading to grey, the floor becoming insubstantial. The only thing left in Ethan’s universe was the cackling crone, bent over coughing and wheezing in merriment.

The Man stood up and brushed off his hands. His job was done. Another human delivered from his Earthly existence into the Astral Plane. Ethan had died peacefully in his sleep earlier in the night. A heart attack. Sometimes it took people a while to come to terms with their new reality, but Ethan would be fine now. He had Edna. He would be just fine.