Melody knew it would be there, it simply had to be.It had to be there. It had to be there.The sounds that echoed in the house were as predictable as they were frightening. They were the same noises that she had endured so many times before, at least 10 by her count, but they still got under her skin just the same.
And she knew why�all too well. Mr. Nightmare.
The man, or whatever it was, was always right behind the sounds, as if he held them on a string, periodically tossing them out in front of him like a fisherman casting out a line in search of the perfect bass. Melody knew what his, or its, technique was. She had lived through it before.
She glanced at the puppy dog clock that hung on the far wall in the dining room. The comfort it offered, a trip back to happier times, appealed to her, despite their empty promises of safety. She loved that clock even though it was a rather gaudy timepiece that hardly looked good anywhere in the house. But her parents had given in to their little girl�s desires and hung it in the house for all to see.
A trickle of sweat cascaded down her forehead and settled in her left eye, causing a slight stinging sensation. She was tempted to wipe it away before it reached her eye but that would mean deviation from the norm, something Mr. Nightmare looked for, and attempted to exploit.
The puppy dog clock showed the time as its monotonous ticks bore into Melody�s already frail nerves.
10:15 p.m.
It was the same every time.
10:15 p.m.
It was the dreaded time when Mr. Nightmare started his ominous stroll towards her.
10:15 p.m. The beginning of the end.
The footsteps resonated in her ears, further heightening the tension in the air. He was coming for her just like before. Just like all the other times.She briefly entertained the prospect of running up to him, of facing her fears head on. Perhaps he would back down when confronted with such a bold and unsuspected move. But then a memory of what he looked like quickly dispelled the notion. And besides she didn�t do that the first time, or the second, or the third. The consequences that would probably occur if she did anything differently were not something she cared to endure.
Once, she had discovered what could happen if she did anything differently. Something like the Butterfly Effect, she surmised. Any change in the past, however small or insignificant, could alter the future, often with disastrous results.
In her unique case however it was the present that could alter the future�her future, if she even had one. Once, she had simply wiped away a trickle of sweat from her eyes. That small seemingly inconsequential action allowed Mr. Nightmare to nearly overtake her. By taking her eyes off of her surroundings he was able to slither up to her, ready to strike.
Pale moonlight slipped into the house anywhere it could. It was the only illumination there was, hardly providing enough light to see where one is walking, much less for someone looking for a particular item.
But it did cast enough light directly on the puppy dog clock, clearly showing the time. Apparently she was meant to be aware of the time.
The footsteps were gradually increasing in speed and depth. Mr. Nightmare was all too aware of the psychological effect his �calling cards� had on his intended victim, and he used them as a weapon, further weakening the prey�s strength.
Melody knew what she had to do next. It was pointless and futile, but she had no choice. She ran over to the front door and twisted the knob.
Nothing. She picked up the silver candlestick holder she had given to her mother as a birthday gift and slammed it into a nearby window. Nothing.
She kicked the door with all of her might and hit it with the candlestick holder as hard as she could.
Nothing.
The puppy dog clock showed 10:17 p.m. Mr. Nightmare was getting closer. It would only be another four minutes until the part Melody hated the most happened�he made his appearance at the end of the hall.
She wanted to cry, to give in to the submissive urge. She wanted to collapse where she stood. She wanted to end it all, regardless of what would happen to her. But the fact that she held the power to defeat Mr. Nightmare spurred her on. She knew very well what she had to do. She only needed to wait for the appropriate time.
The cold moonlight cast its glow on most of the floor and walls of the hallway. Mr. Nightmare stood near the basement door at the end of the hallway. He was safely within the confines of the darkness, wrapping himself up in it like a toddler in his favorite blanket.
Melody steadied her nerves. She wanted to look away, to spare herself from the torture of seeing the creature yet again, but she couldn�t do that. She must face her fears and overcome them. The first time, she had stared into its face and saw the evil hunger in its numerous eyes. She saw the nauseating ooze dripping from its oversize mouth and its clenching talons encrusted with the dirt of a thousand
graves. She witnessed the monstrosity that tormented her soul beyond comprehension, and yet felt the need to look at it. It completed her in some twisted way.
Mr. Nightmare leaned forward, barely touching the deadly moonlight, being cautious to avoid it as much as possible. He knew he had to reveal some of his features to the human, but only enough to increase her fear and loathing.
The moonlight singed his pallid flesh, causing him to recoil in pain. The human had seen his features though; her face confirmed that clearly enough, so he prepared himself to advance regardless of the dangers.
Melody felt the same churning feeling in her stomach as she had all the other times. The creature at the end of the hallway was slowly moving towards her, defying reality as it pushed the moonlight away from itself as if parting a curtain.
She swung a look over at the clock. 10:23 p.m.
It was time!
She dropped the candlestick holder and raced towards the kitchen, doing her best to avoid looking back. Experience had taught her that would be a mistake. Mr. Nightmare howled in rage as his intended prey escaped. He slung a thick tentacle into the wall, easily smashing a large hole in it. The moonlight hindered his pursuit somewhat, but his hunger drove him on. He must get to the human this time. He must.
Melody reached the kitchen, and pushing aside a large cabinet, lifted a loose floorboard up, which revealed a small clear vessel. It was yellowed with age and speckled with dirt and cobwebs. A wry smile slid across her face. She knew it would be there, and it was just what she needed.
It was from her childhood, a small remnant from a time long gone. Her mother used to collect bottles from all over the world, filling her house with a wide array of colorful specimens. When Melody began suffering from bad dreams her mother gave her the bottle. She had said it was from northern Europe, and used to capture moonlight, which was thought to be a purifying aspect of nature. Her mother had instructed her to place the bottle near her window at night when the moon was full and in the morning to hide it where only she knew the location. Simply being aware of its existence would give her the strength and confidence she needed to face her demons. She would be able to defeat anything her dreams could throw at her. And it worked.
Melody used the bottle numerous times to control her nightmares, each time retrieving it from its hiding spot and splashing the captured moonlight into the faces of her tormentors.
But then he came.
She dubbed him Mr. Nightmare and she soon discovered that he, or it, was very adept at avoiding the moonlight. He had infested her dreams continually, each time eventually succumbing to her secret weapon only if she made no mistakes. Only if she acted in the same way as the previous times. Any deviations could lead to disaster.
Lifting the bottle up out of its hiding spot proved difficult, but Melody was determined and eventually released it from its dark tomb. Behind her, nearing the kitchen, was Mr. Nightmare in all his deformed glory, grunting and snarling in rage. His fetid breath corrupted the air all around him, reeking of running sores and putrefaction.
And then, without warning, he stopped dead in his tracks. He glared with fear at the bright ray of moonlight that was between him and Melody, pondering ways to get through it without too much damage. The other times he had suffered severe injuries; often nearly enough to incapacitate him, but fortunately never enough to actually kill him.
Still, he did not want to endure it if he did not have to. With reluctant effort he swatted the light aside as much as he could, and grimacing in pain, started to advance into the kitchen. Melody thought quickly and ran over to a small window above the sink which had faded black curtains hanging over it. She promptly ripped them down to reveal a large full moon hanging in the clear night sky. Thin beams of pale moonlight flooded in through the glass, settling on the dusty countertop. She then opened the bottle and scooped as much of the light into it as she could before securing the cap back on.
Faint memories of doing the same when she was a child slipped into her mind. Her mother�s face appeared in her thoughts as well, reassuring her to use the bottle to defeat her fears.
Mr. Nightmare was almost on her, his slimy bulk shimmying back and forth with agitated excitement. Melody didn�t look back but sensed his location. In one swift motion she thrust the bottle high above her head, flicked off the cap and waved it around vigorously.
And then the unthinkable happened. The bottle slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor, sending tiny shards of dirty glass in all directions.
Mr. Nightmare slid up behind her, confident in the fact that she had done something different this time. He relished the freedom he could now exercise.
In a way Melody was actually relieved, her ordeal was finally going to be over. Her mother�s face appeared in her mind again, still exhorting the importance of the gift she had given to her daughter.
Melody collapsed to the floor, exhausted and beaten, as a slender tentacle flowed effortlessly around her neck.
