Mist

May 15, 1829/1999
3:00 AM - Mary's room

Mary rose quickly in her bed, clutching the black satin sheets to her galloping heart. She tried in vain to catch her breath. The sound of someone's fists pounding at the front door had startled Mary into waking. Upon waking, she didn't immediately know where she was. Everything looked foggy in her sleep-clouded eyes. It was dark. A sliver of curtain-filtered moonlight cut through the darkness, providing little light.

Mary reached blindly for the bedside lamp, knocking it to the floor where it slowly rolled away. She heard the lamp rolling unevenly across the hardwood floors until it connected loudly with a wall. The loud pounding continued. The assault on the door became more furious. She decided to brave the darkness and sat on the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. She was almost fully awake now. She stood, feeling around for her silk robe to cover her short satin nightgown. She was unable to find the robe, it must have slid off the chair onto the cold floor. Rather than crawl around on the floor feeling for the silky fabric, she began walking irritably toward the bedroom door. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as she shuffled her bare feet across the hardwood floor, hands held out before her like a zombie in an old horror flick. She jumped as the pounding continued from the apartment's front door. Her outstretched hands bumped into the bedroom door. She stepped into the narrow hallway, left arm tracing the wall lightly as she walked toward the direction of the heavy knocking.

"Must be something important," she grumbled as she stumbled over the hallway's decorative oriental rug and fell lightly against the wall. The thud seemed to echo inside her head. "It's got to be three in the morning. What kind of a jerk goes around pounding on a door at this hour?" Mary tried to calm down and slow the heavy beating of her heart that now caused her head to throb. She reached her cold left hand to her temple, rubbing lightly as if trying to brush away her worry.

She finally reached the door and looked through the security peephole. A deeply shadowed figure stood on the other side. He appeared to be wearing a long dark cloak and a strange kind of hat. That was about all the detail she could make out through the dim light afforded by the single gaslight that stood several feet away near the cobblestone street. To make matters worse, the fog seemed quite thick this evening. The mist appeared to swirl around the menacing shadowy figure. Mary watched as the man raised his gloved fist and beat against the door. She jumped as a frightened squeal escaped from her tensed lips.

The man did not look familiar, from the few details that she could see. His cloak seemed out of place, almost an anachronism in this modern time. She did not want to answer the door, but she was positive that he had heard her little scream. The pounding became more furious.

"Yes? Who is it?"

No answer, just the loud banging on the door. Mary turned away from the door and began shuffling toward the bedroom to call the local sherriff's office. She wondered for the first time why she only had one phone in the apartment and what the hell was she thinking when she put it in the bedroom? She lived in the sparsely populated historic park district and was the only tenant in this building, the rest was under renovation. Mary felt like kicking herself for being so gung-ho about moving in before the rest of the building was finished. If she had waited just a couple more months, she would have had neighbors who she could have run to for help.   She gasped when she looked around the apartment, picking out some gray outlines in the darkness. This was definitely her apartment, but the furniture looked like it belonged to someone else, antique looking. The walls shimmered slightly, almost seemed to be breathing for a moment, then darkness returned.

Mary stepped away from the door that was now being hit so hard that it seemed to shake the whole building, walking toward her bedroom where the phone was located, feeling along the wall for a light switch. She quickened her pace, stumbling over her own feet. She reached the door to her bedroom as something crashed through a window somewhere behind her. She closed the door quickly, trying to lock it. Her fingers fumbled around the doorknob trying to find the lock. It wasn't there. She reached her hand out to find the dresser. It wasn't there either. She continued feeling around in the darkness and touched something heavy and wooden. She walked around the edge of what seemed to be a heavy table and leaned into it. It gave way and slowly scraped across the wooden floor.

After barring the door with the heavy wooden table, Mary quickly looked around the dark room. There was an outline of a large bed against the far wall, a candle dimly burned on a short bedside table. The floor seemed rougher now too, unpolished. Splinters of wood painfully pierced into the soles of her feet. Heavy footsteps were now walking toward the bedroom door.

Mary looked at the bed, a man was sitting up in a pile of twisted off-white sheets and staring at her, a frightened look on his face. The door behind her began to open, the table sliding toward her as the door pushed it out of the way. The being on the other side of the door must have been very strong. She noticed that she was wearing an old fashioned cotton nightgown and cap, when she knew she'd been wearing a short satin spaghetti strap gown only a few moments before. The man from the bed was now standing naked before her, firm body glistening with sweat. His light gray-colored eyes seemed to pierce through her soul, his dampened sandy brown hair mussed and sticking out at all angles. He began running toward her, pushing her out of the way as the cloaked figure squeezed through the half-open doorway. This would have been a comical sight under different circumstances, Mary thought to herself as she watched the intruder enter the room.

The shadow shrouded intruder would have been quite handsome if he had not had such a look of hatred on his face. He had short dark hair and pale skin, dark eyes that seemed almost black, and chiseled features. In his left hand he grasped a sharp dagger that glinted orange in the pale candlelight. The naked man was now trying to fend off the attacker, but was no match for the dagger that fiercely tore his skin as it plunged deep into his chest again and again. The cloaked figure was obviously enraged about something. Mary was so horror-stricken that she could barely move.

Although she had never seen either of these men, the dawning of who they were began to fill her mind. She knew the handsome naked man who now knelt on the ground trying to keep his blood from flowing freely to the ground by barring his wounds with his bare hands. He was an old friend from school named Ash. She watched as the cloaked man mercilessly ripped the blade out of Ash's chest and stood above him as he crawled into the closet, leaving a wide trail of blood behind him. The cloaked man, her fiance Peter Mitchell turned to look at her, hate flowing from his eyes. He walked to the closet where Ash lay barely breathing, crouched down and slit his throat from ear to ear. A final bubbling sigh escaped the confines of the dark closet. Ash was dead and Peter was standing up and slowly gliding toward Mary.

Mary must have gone into a state of shock because the next thing she knew, she was running barefoot down the slick wet cobblestone street. The fog was so thick and the night so dark that she could hardly tell where she was going. The only light was coming from the mist-shrouded gaslight lamps and that didn't help much. The rain was very light and drizzly. It was cold. She could hear Peter running after her. She kept running, occsasionally looking behind her. She could see the dark shadow outline of Peter, his cloak flowing behind him, his shoes making hollow noises as they hit the cobblestones. She could see the deadly glinting blade in his left hand, ready to strike at her if he got close enough. She kept running, not feeling the pain as she stepped on shards of broken glass.

She turned down an alleyway, footsteps sounded close behind her. A heavy blow to the base of her head knocked her to the ground.

                                                                 * * *
May 15, 1998
3:15 AM - Mary's room

Mary rose to a sitting position in her bed, clutching her black satin sheets to her pounding heart. A hollow pounding echoed down the narrow hallway, barely reaching her room before fading into the sounds of the night. She looked at the bedside digital alarm clock, it read 3:15 AM. She'd had this dream before, but with the noise physically sounding from the front door, she could barely contain her panic. She felt around in the dark for her lamp. Her fingers barely brushed the cold porcelain of the lamp base before it began tipping over. She quickly grabbed the thin base and fumbled with the light switch.    With a slight clicking noise and a brief flickering, the light came to life, filling the room with it's 60-watt glow and chasing the shadows to the dark corners of the room. She looked for her robe, which she found crumpled in a pile on the floor. She picked it up and wrapped the silky material around her, all the while searching for her fluffy pink bunny slippers. She found the slippers in the middle of the room hiding beneath a shirt she'd tried to toss into the hamper before she went to bed. Obviously she missed the target. The bunny faces peeked out sheepishly from under the cotton shirt, as if ashamed at being found in their little game of hide-and-seek. She quickly kicked the shirt off of the slippers and slipped her feet into their fuzzy warmth.

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May 15, 1829
Shortly after 3:00 AM - Peter

Peter knelt beside her unconscious body, savagely ripping her throat open with the still bloody blade and mutilated her body beyond recognition. He opened up her chest and reached inside, grabbing her still warm heart and tearing it from her chest, placing it in his cloak pocket. He smiled to himself.

Only a few hours before, Mary had walked in on one of his many digressions with his ex-lover Samantha. Mary had run away in shock. He tried to follow her and explain, but she was too fast. He watched from his bedroom window as she ran down the street toward her apartment. Furious that Samantha had cost him his future happiness, he killed her with his one and only sharp blade, a surgical knife he still had from his failed medical training, washed up and dressed. He walked to Mary's apartment, ruminating on why he had ever given Mary a key to his apartment and why she had chosen this particular day to invite herself in. He waited outside Mary's apartment watching as her queer friend Ash showed up. So, she was finding solace in the arms of an old friend, was she? That bitch!

Peter was smart. He waited until all the windows had gone dark, then waited a little longer. Then he made his move. That awful beast! She couldn't have, never would have. But she did. The proof was all over her face as she'd watched him kill that evil naked man. They all deserved it. If he couldn't have her all to himself, nobody would.

Despair and guilt washed over him as he realized what he'd done. He walked slowly back to his apartment, blade still in hand. He unlocked his door, entered his dark one bedroom apartment, closing the door behind him. He walked slowly back to the bedroom where the cold body of Samantha lay, half on the bed and half on the floor, congealed blood glueing her ever-staring head to the formerly white sheets. What a mess.

Peter walked to his closet, grabbed a coil of rope from the uppermost shelf, unwound the coil and formed a noose.   Standing on a wooden chair, he affixed the rope to a ceiling fixture inside the closet and checked his handiwork. The rope seemed to be sturdy and easily held his body weight. he removed Mary's heart from his cloak pocket, held it tightly against his chest and kicked the chair out from under his feet.

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May 15, 1998
Shortly after 3:00 AM - Josh's Apartment

Josh woke up trying to catch his breath. He still felt the coarse fibers of the rope digging into his neck. He rubbed his throat which was in perfectly good condition, but breathing was still quite an effort. The air stung as it coursed in and out of his lungs. His heart galloped like a runaway horse. He wished the dream would stop haunting him. Each time he was sucked back into the dream, it became more and more difficult to wake as the events played out. This time, he'd reached the conclusion, the next time he might not make it back at all.   He couldn't allow himself to go back to sleep. He couldn't allow himself to be Peter Mitchell again. He decided to go visit his girlfriend, Mary.   It had never before occurred to him that his girlfriend's name was the same as his fiancee in the dream, nor had he realized until now what a striking resemblance the dream "Mary" bore to his current love.

He had to talk this over with Mary. Then maybe he could get a good night's sleep.    Josh walked into the bathroom and shaved, looking at himself in the mirror. He had a nicely built body from working as a personal athletic trainer. He had to keep his own body in perfect shape and form to keep the clients coming. His naturally pale complexion enhanced his dark brown eyes and dark brown hair that he had allowed to grow down to touch the tops of his ears. He was quite a specimen of manliness if he did say so himself. He flexed a few muscles and admired the vision of godliness reflected in the mirror.

He'd had his share of women. Still had his pick among his statuesque clients whenever he wished, not that Mary would ever know. He loved being the artist, creating the perfect body for his clients, shaping and molding each body into a more desirable form. Frequently, the women clients would offer themselves to him out of gratitude for their transformation. Sometimes, to complete the artistic process he indulged, bringing them to full butterfly status. But, if the dreams taught him anything, it was to keep his secondary flings under wraps, never bring them to his apartment and never give his girlfriend the key to his apartment.
His temper was something of a problem and he was given to extreme fits of jealousy. Josh had tried hard to keep all the rage bottled up, but there was the occasional slip. He did kill that one homeless freak years ago. Damned panhandler just wouldn't take "no" for an answer. The dirty old man had followed him all the way to his apartment. He had to do something, couldn't take such outright defiance from a social outcast like that. He'd grabbed the first thing he could find in the yard outside the apartment building. The murder weapon ended up being a wooden baseball bat that another tenant's son had left lying around. He hefted the weight in his hand, getting a feel for it and warned the old beggar to go away or else there'd be pain.   Lots of pain. The old man just continued to hold out his hand and stare up at him with his one cataract clouded eye. Josh couldn't take anymore of the sickening harrassment. He swung the bat, cracking open the old man's head. The noise sounded like a watermelon dropped from a ten story building exploding on the concrete sidewalk below, only ten times as loud. His fury grew at the new bit of defiance. How could such a nasty old man make such a loud noise? It was almost as if the monster wanted to bring attention to this lesson he was being taught. He brought the bat down again and again until the head was an unrecognizable bloody pulp. He'd run over to the building's supply shed and took out the plastic tarp that covered the riding lawnmower. He stealthily looked around to be sure no one was watching, wrapped the beggar's body in the tarp and locked him in the trunk of his car. He'd later dumped the body in the river. It had been found days later, floating about ten miles from the drop site. It was the rainy season and the current was strong and swift. He had never been caught for that one. He'd replaced the bloody bat with a new one and burned the dirtied bat in the building incinerator.

Then, there was Bob, Mary's boyfriend at the time of their first meeting. The first time Josh had laid eyes on Mary, he knew she had to be his and his alone. Bob was an unacceptable variable in the equation. Once Bob had "disappeared" and Mary's grieving was over it was easy to slide into Bob's place. Josh had stayed by her side throughout the whole "disappearance" ordeal. Bob had a history of such flighty behavior, so it was easy to cover up.

"Huh, wonder whatever made me think of that?" Josh pondered as he combed his hair into his normal style.
Something inside told Josh he had to get rid of Mary if he ever wanted to sleep again. If the dreams had told him anything useful, it was this. He had to kill her before she found out about his latest fling with his former serious girlfriend, Sylvia. But first, he had to find Sylvia. Couldn't let her find Mary first.

                                                                         * * *
May 15, 1998
Shortly after 3:15 AM
Mary's apartment

Mary was walking slowly down the narrow hallway toward the front door where the banging was getting louder by the minute. "OK, OK I'm coming...." she mumbled to herself as she ran her fingers against the cold hallway walls. She stumbled over the decorative oriental carpet, falling heavily into the wall before she could regain her balance. "Shit." She said as she rubbed her shoulder which now throbbed from the impact. She decided the events were getting too weird, her sense of deja vu was overpowering her judgement and she wasn't going to see who was at the door. She was just going to run back to her room and call the sherriff's office. Once again, she wondered why the hell she had only one phone and why it was all the way back in her bedroom.

                                                                           * * *
May 15, 1998
Shortly after 3:00 AM
Outside Josh's building

Josh thought that maybe he should call Mary and let her know he couldn't sleep and that he was coming over. Then he decided to just show up and use his key. She had no qualms about giving him the key to her apartment. He never would have believed he could find someone as naive as Mary. He checked his pocket to make sure he had his key before stepping outside and getting in his car.   He smiled as he thought, "well, Mary always loved a good surprise."

He opened his glove compartment, checking for the loaded revolver he always kept there. His hand brushed against the cold steel. He wrapped his sweaty fingers around the deadly weapon and held it for a moment before placing it on the seat next to him. He closed the glove box and started the engine. He backed out onto the road and drove toward Sylvia's apartment. Halfway there, he changed his mind and turned around, going in the direction of Mary's apartment. With Mary dead, he'd have the guilt card to play. Sylvia would take him back in a second and he knew she didn't pose any real threat with Mary gone.

He parallel parked 2 blocks from Mary's apartment. He didn't want to wake her with the sound of his car's engine. He walked the two blocks, down the dark cobblestone streets. His rubber soled shoes squeaked on the damp cobblestones.   Every so often, his shoes slipped on the slick stones. He was quietly damning Mary for choosing to live in this area, the footing was quite unsure in weather like this. He could barely find his way, it was dark and foggy and the damned decorative gaslights didn't help any. These trivial problems only magnified the creepy feeling he'd always gotten from this part of town. The mists swirled around him as he disturbed the air with his walking. He felt oddly comforted by the embrace of the swirling damp air. He felt the weight of the pistol in his left hand. He smiled.

He slowly ascended the porch steps to her apartment door. He felt in his pockets for the key. It wasn't there. He stopped to think where the key might be. He rechecked all of his pockets. He still couldn't find it. He laid his gun down on the porch railing to free his other hand to look for the stupid key. He turned around to retrieve the gun, but it was gone. What a night this was turning out to be. His anger burst like an out of control wildfire sparked by a discarded cigarette. He began pounding on the door.

                                                                        * * *
May 15, 1998
3:20 AM
Mary's apartment

Mary reached her bedroom, locked the door and barricaded it with the heavy dresser that was next to the doorway. She ran to the telephone and hit the speed dial for the sherriff's office. After two rings, someone answered, "County Sherriff's Office, can I help you?"

Mary could barely breathe, let alone talk, but somehow she managed to give the operator the necessary information.   Luckily, the Sherriff's office was only blocks away and a patrol car was nearby. She could already hear the sirens as a loud crashing noise came from the living room. An inhuman sounding roar came from the same direction. "MARY!!!!!" it bellowed.

Mary cowered in the corner. She reached for the lamp and turned it off. She quickly crawled along the floor and slid under the bed which was luckily raised on cinderblocks to allow extra storage space. It was also fortuitous that she had not yet had time to put any boxes in the newly-fashioned storage area. She looked out from under the bed.   From under the closet door a dim glow could be seen, the light grew to an almost blinding flash as the closet door slowly swung open. A luminous figure emerged from the dark closet, crouching down to look under the bed.

"Mary," he whispered. "You must get out of here before it's too late. I've done all I can do and he's on his way now." Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door and the handle was being turned. When the door didn't open, Josh beat fiercely on the door, ramming it with his body. Ash looked at Mary with a sad but knowing look on his face that got her moving. She crawled out from under the bed as quickly as she could, running to the window. The dresser was now shaking fiercely from the pressure Josh was exerting on the door.

Mary reached the window, unlocked it and pushed it open. As she began to climb over the windowsill, she briefly looked back. Ash was smiling sadly at her, one hand raised in fairwell as he began to lose his form. Soon, all that was left was a faint cloud that quickly dissipated to nothingness. She let go of the window frame and dropped lightly into the bushes below.   She ran through the backyard and into the wooded area behind the building. She blindly ran in the direction of the nearest gas station.

Her slippered feet did not fare well on the slick grass and she fell several times before reaching the woods. By the time she was in the trees, the lack of light and the thick fog had her disoriented.   She continued moving forward until she had cleared the trees and reached the next street. She looked at the road and the buildings surrounding her. She was a block away from where she wanted to be. She began running toward the lights of the convenience store. She heard footsteps behind her on the sidewalk and she quickened her pace to a sprint. She was nearing the salvation of the neon electric glow. The footsteps behind her were catching up.

A pulsing red light lit up the fog around her and she stopped, turned to look as the blinding headlights got closer. The flashing lights were disorienting in the fog. The second set of footsteps had stopped as well. She turned to look, attempting to see her pursuer. No one was there. She breathed a sigh of relief as the sherriff's car pulled up along side her and stopped.

The passenger side window rolled down slowly and a familiar voice came from inside, "we were worried about you Mary. We got to your apartment and found signs of a break-in. We thought you might be badly injured. There were signs of a struggle." Josh reached his hand out through the window and motioned for Mary to get in the car.

                                                                       * * *
May 15, 1998
3:25 AM
Sheriff's Car

Josh stewed in anger, but masked his feelings with his best look of worry and compassion for the sherriff's benefit. He knew his chance would come. He wouldn't sleep again until he'd taken care of Mary. Next time, he'd use something more traditional, maybe a knife.