Night Terror
By Sattrega

He awoke unexpectedly, a sudden shiver shooting down his spine. He stared deeply at the dark, lifeless wall next to him for a few minutes – it seemed like an eternity.
He finally came out of his comatose state and turned over onto his side glancing at his digital clock on the bedside cabinet in the process. ‘3.09am’, it glared, the red lights just strong enough to illuminate the side of the pillow where his head rested.

As his mind began to wander again he became aware of the cold breeze that was surrounding his upper body. He looked up and saw the curtains blowing slightly in the window frame. He had left the window open before he had gone to bed that night, his room having felt stuffy and warm. But now the room was sufficiently cool so he decided to close it.

Pulling the duvet away, he winced as felt the chilly air bite into his legs and another shiver ran down his spine as he sat up on the side of the bed.
He stood up slowly and plodded over to the far curtain. Lifting it up a tad with his right hand he reached under it with his left, grabbed the handle of the open window and with a sharp tug, pulled it shut. The cool breeze dispersed almost immediately.

He ambled back to the bed after completing the menial task and sat down again, grimacing as a quick, acute pain shot through the lower part of his back. He began to rub it softly, trying to ease the suffering. He viewed the glass of water standing on top of the cabinet beside him, suddenly feeling thirsty as he did so.
He reached for the vessel, experiencing the abrupt freedom of pain from his back as his hand clasped itself around the glass. He brought it to his lips and took a huge mouthful. He felt a sense of pleasure as the cool liquid flowed down the back of his throat, quenching his thirst. He let out an agreeable sigh and replaced the glass.

He checked the time once more – ‘3.16am’. Time to go back to sleep he thought. He dragged his legs up and tucked them once more underneath the warm duvet. He lay down the rest of his body slowly as not to re-awaken the back pain again, his relief clear as the pillow cushioned his head.

He lay there staring straight up towards the ceiling, unable to quite make it out, such was the density of the night. He gave a quick, fleeting glance around the room and noticed just how dark it actually was.
That’s weird, he thought, I don’t recall it having been this dark before…..his eyes reverted back towards the ceiling as his mind became almost immediately ignorant to his last notion.

The staring lasted a couple of more minutes, when without warning his ears picked up a strange sound. At first he did not think much about it – there were always weird noises in the dead of night – but it forced him to take more notice as it gradually became more persistent and a touch louder.

At first he thought it sounded similar to someone clapping in tune to a beat of a song but then realised that it sounded more like a hammer tapping on wood. The tone was very consistent. It would get a little faster and then, would slow down again. Then without pausing it would repeat itself once more.

He considered the possibility of it coming from outside, but now, with the window closed it would be virtually impossible to hear anything this clearly from out there. He concluded that the sound was definitely coming from somewhere inside the house.

He was now extremely curious, he would have to find out where the noise was emanating from. There was no way that he would be able to return to sleep until his mind was at rest.
He sat up in his bed, oblivious to the sharp pain that had reappeared in his back, his mind too concentrated on distinguishing the sound. He pulled the duvet away and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

A sudden notion hit him like a blow to the head. What if it was an intruder? But surely that would be highly improbable? He had thoroughly checked the house before going to bed, as he did every night. All the doors and windows were secure, he was positive about that but he supposed it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility.

He marched over to a nearby cupboard, opened it and took out his beloved cricket bat. He really didn’t want to use it, after all his hero, Ian Botham had personally signed it, but if it meant protecting himself then of course he would have no alternative.

He advanced cautiously over to his bedroom door. He always kept the door open at night – living on his own he had no reason to close it. Walking out onto the landing he reached for the light switch. He pressed it. Nothing. He pressed it a couple of more times. Still nothing. He shrugged and assumed that the bulb must have blown, so he turned around and pressed the light switch to his bedroom. Again nothing. That’s weird, he thought, the electricity must have gone…..but what about the digital clock?!

He went back into his room and peered over towards the clock. Nothing. Just blackness. He turned back towards the landing, the noise still continuing its steady beat. He edged towards the stairs, but stopped in haste.
He looked around. Was it just his imagination or had the darkness just got that much denser? He was sure it had!

The apprehension he now felt going downstairs scared him a little, but this continuous noise was now annoying him to the extreme.
He went down two steps. “Is there anybody there?” he called out.
Why did he just do that? He shook his head - as if they would answer him, especially if it was an intruder. But this was something that he now doubted. He was sure that there was a simple, logical explanation for the strange noise, although right now he just couldn’t think of one.

He told himself to stop being stupid, to stop the conjecture and just go and find out. He started to make his way down the stairs.
As each step went by the darkness seemed to get thicker and thicker. The streetlight that usually lit up his front door was invisible. Again he shrugged and muttered to himself that the whole area must be suffering from a power cut.

As he reached the bottom, he noticed that the noise was now as loud as it had ever been, and it appeared to be coming from the lounge.
He moved attentively towards the room, his hand outstretched to use the wall next to him as a guide, the darkness now incredibly intense. His other hand gripped the cricket bat a tad tighter as he arrived at the doorway.

He stared hard into the room hoping his eyes could pierce the darkness but it was no use. Unquestionably though, the tapping sound was definitely in this room – the far side of the room.
With his left arm still outstretched he made his way to where the noise was coming from.

The ferocity of the night simply amazed him. He felt like a blind man whose Guide Dog had run off and had left him to fend for himself.
He stopped. Looking straight ahead he could just make out one of the curtains. Perhaps the denseness was lifting?
His concentration returned to the sound. It was coming from behind the curtain.
“At last”, he murmured and he made up the final few steps towards the hanging drape.

He hesitated, but then took hold of the edge of the curtain with one hand, his other ready with the bat just in case. Taking a deep breath he flung back the drape.

It was so quick, he had absolutely no time to react. The blade came crashing down on him, piercing his skin at the top of his right shoulder and departing from the side of his stomach.
There was no scream, just shock as he recoiled from the attack and fell backwards onto the carpeted floor, dropping the bat in the process.
The blade came down again, this time penetrating his left thigh, blood spurting out of the wound once the dagger had been withdrawn.
This time he did scream. A high pitched, terrifying scream. He could clearly see the silver knife in the black background hovering above him. It was ready to attack once more.

He clambered to his hands and knees, blood seeping freely from his lacerations as he crawled towards the doorway, or at least where he thought the doorway was.
He collapsed in agonising pain as the dagger entered his back just above his right buttock. As the blade came out, he turned over as quickly as he could, ignoring the agony he was in.
He wanted to see who was doing this to him but all he saw was the silver weapon flashing down on him again with huge velocity – this time ripping through his stomach.

Blood gushed up into his throat, some of the thick bile spilling out the sides of his mouth, but the majority staying within causing him to choke slowly.
He tried to kick out at his attacker, even though he couldn’t see anything before him except the dark air, but the pain made him unable to do so. He couldn't even raise his hands.

He could feel the life in him slowly ebbing away bit by bit as his invisible assailant continued the frenzied attack on his body.
Looking straight up he could see the silver glint of the dagger now floating directly above his head. Floating, he thought…..he was about to be killed by a floating knife! He chuckled inwardly at this preposterous notion.

He wanted it to be over soon, for the pain he endured to end. It was unbearable.
He thought that if he had stayed upstairs in bed then this would not be happening. If he had ignored his curiosity then he would not be facing imminent death, but he concluded that this assailant could just have easily come upstairs to his room and attacked him anyway.

His eyes focused on the instrument above him. He tried to move once again but couldn’t, his body entering into a spasm. His breathing became more and more laborious. He noticed how the darkness seem to surround him as the dagger made its descent for one final time.....


.....he awoke suddenly. His bloodshot eyes staring up at the ceiling. A cold sweat pouring down his face. His body was like ice.
At first he thought he was dead. He sat up and looked around. He was in his room…..in his bed. He didn’t understand.
He glanced over towards the window, the curtains blowing freely from the chilly wind entering the room. He pinched himself. A dream, he thought, had it all been just a dream?

He felt a huge sense of relief as he got out of the bed. He even afforded to give himself a little smile as he strolled over to the open window and closed it.
As he turned around he felt his stomach. No wounds, there were no wounds. He checked his thigh, and again there were no signs of any wounds.
“Thank God”, he mumbled as he sat back down onto the edge of the bed.
He picked up the glass of water from the cabinet and drank the contents eagerly. Placing the vessel back down he peered at the time on the digital clock. ‘3.09’am it read in its bright lights.

It was then that he noticed the sound. It was a strange sort of sound that seemed to be coming from somewhere within the house. He could just make it out. It was a hard, continuous, tapping sound…..