the layover

The knocking persisted.

Cheryl rolled over onto her side, face pressing against the cushion of the couch, and squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she could do the same with her ears. She hadn’t been able to catch even a few minutes of rest since she laid down almost two hours before.

Every single time she got comfortable, the knocking returned.

It refused to let her sleep. Or think. Or find the source, for that matter. She’d wandered around the first floor of the rented apartment for what felt like hours, especially as the exhaustion settled in her bones. She’d been traveling non-stop for days, hopping from one state to another trying to secure funding deals for her new start-up, and she was nearing the last leg of the trip.

Which meant it was growing more difficult to stay upright. Which is why she’d chosen this AirBNB — hotels could sometimes be too loud, and this apartment on the outskirts of Boston had been rated five-stars due to its quiet neighborhood. She needed a good night’s rest, and this place was supposed to be her ticket.

The knocking had other plans.

It gradually increased in velocity and volume as Cheryl tried to ignore it. Which is what always happened when she tried to ignore it. The knocking was more needy than her last girlfriend, begging for Cheryl’s attention at the worst possible moments.

She sighed, shifted onto her back, and stared up at the ceiling. She was accustomed to unfamiliar spaces, but the knocking made this feel different. Unwelcoming. Hostile.

She grabbed her phone off the table next to the couch and checked the time: half past midnight. She could still find a hotel if she really wanted to, but she knew if she got up and started actually doing things, her body wouldn’t let her go back to sleep even if she did find a quiet spot.

Instead, she tapped the phone’s screen a few times until she found her music player, hit Play, and turned up the volume. The knocking subsided since she was moving around, so the music was louder in the quiet space. But she didn’t turn it down.

She set the phone on the table and laid down, letting her eyes drift closed.

Miraculously, the music helped. She started to drift, happily letting the tendrils of sleep wrap around her, take her under to the depths of her subconscious so she could hopefully dream about something *besides* her start-up for once.

In her mind, a picture of a door appeared. She didn’t recognize it at first, but then she realized it’s the apartment’s door. And then she heard the knocking.

“Son of a bitch!” she said. She ignored the phone, stood up, and, this time, the knocking didn’t stop. It sped up as she walked around, trying to find the source of the intruding sound.

As she made her way through the space, the epicenter shifted. At first, it sounded like it was coming from the front door —like in the fledgling moments of her dream— and then when she checked, the sound shifted behind her, back towards the kitchen. She checked, but as soon as she thought she found it, deep within one of the cupboards, and after she’d tossed out all the cookware, it slipped out of the kitchen and found its way to the single bedroom.

Cheryl tore apart the room, deconstructing the bed’s immaculate sheets, pulling out every drawer, tossing out clothes that didn’t belong to her. The closet was next, tearing down dresses and suits and throwing out pairs of shoes.

The knocking persisted.

As she made her way out of the bedroom and moved into the hallway, movement caught her eye. Something dark, and about the size of a small dog, darted from the hall to the living room. She glared at the spot where the dark space had just been, then ran into the next room.

She turned the living room light on and saw it: a small, dark shape on the couch where she’d been sleeping. But it wasn’t a dog, or any animal she’d ever seen. It looked like a shadow caught on a VHS tape: fuzzy at the edges, blurred in the center — there, but not quite.

It stood on two legs and had two arms, the appendages impossibly thin, connected to a tiny, rotund frame. A tiny neck connected to a grape-like head. She watched as it dropped to all-fours and then, as near as she could tell, began sniffing the cushions where she’d just been laying down.

When it stood again, one of its little hands was holding something: a strand of her blonde hair. She gasped, trying to cover her mouth to hide the sound, but she was too late, and the little shadow turned to face her.

It didn’t have irises — just white ovals that stared at her without blinking. It had a mouth, captured in a permanent, crooked smile, but it didn’t have teeth. Just a tiny, gaping hole that only led to more shadow.

The head twitched, and the rest of the body followed suit, and Cheryl screamed, not bothering to cover her mouth this time. Without thinking, she turned and started back towards the kitchen, only thinking about how she wanted to get as far away as she could from the little monstrosity on the couch, but she stopped when the knocking persisted and she finally located the source.

A hundred of the tiny shadow creatures, with the white oval eyes and twisted grins, filled the hallway. Many of them next to the walls, where they rhythmically hit their tiny shadow hands on the surface, resulting in the knocking that permeated through the entirety of the house.

Cheryl backtracked into the living room. The shadow creatures on the couch stood on the edge of the cushion, holding out the single strand of her hair, as if it were showing it off. She watched as the other shadow monsters looked in its direction, saw the hair, then, in unison, all looked back at her.

Her eyes went wide as she stumbled backward, turning to make a break for the door. She’d leave her phone and clothes and everything else. It could all be replaced. But she knew, deep in her gut, if she stayed any longer she’d never make it out of this place.

Both of her hands grabbed the handle to the front door, but she was reminded at the worst possible moment that she’d locked it as she tried to pull it open. She fumbled to twist the lock, but one of the shadow monsters landed on her skin. It was so cold, it felt like someone had sprayed one of those keyboard cleaning sprays onto her flesh.

She yelped and jumped back. She felt a distinct pressure on the back of her left foot, as if something were pushing her, and when she looked down that’s exactly what she saw: a dozen of the shadow creatures pushing at her foot, as if trying to move her.

She lost her balance because of it, her right leg swinging in the air, and then she was falling. She landed on the hardwood floor with a resounding thud the air rushing out of her lungs. Cold spots erupted across her skin, forcing another scream out of her throat.

She watched the shadow monsters dance across her skin. They were heavier than they looked. It didn’t matter how hard she tried to fight back — she couldn’t lift her arms or her legs. All she could do was scream, beg for help, for someone — anyone— to rescue her from this living nightmare.

They swarmed over her, and, before long, she couldn’t scream. All that remained was a gentle hum that resonated not just around her, but through her. And the knocking.

Before the darkness overtook her and there was nothing left, the knocking persisted.