The Tracks, 1966, pt. 2

The bowling alley was in the Plaza across the street from our apartment building – and right next to the train tracks. Mom was on a team that bowled every Tuesday night at eight and, as I was a big boy now, she thought it was okay to leave me home alone, with strict instructions to be in bed with the lights out at 8:30.

But Mom was never home much before half-past nine, so...

Not that I did anything too bad; I was just a kid. But I liked to read (my favorite were animal books) so I’d lie on my bed in my pjs. (my Star Trek ones) and read with the bedside lamp on, rather than hiding under the blanket with a flashlight.

But this particular Tuesday was the day I’d stol…found the money and I didn’t feel like reading; all I felt like doing was going to sleep, but I was afraid to turn the light off and be lying there, thinking about what I had done. I was glad, at least, that the bedroom drapes were shut tight.

In the end, I decided to go to bed, but leave the light on. I knew Mom would be angry when she came home and found the lamp still burning, but I figured my being asleep would curb her wrath (or so I hoped).

So I lay there, waiting for sleep to come – and it wouldn’t. All I could think of was the lady’s headless body and the money, safely tucked away in the hidey hole.

I had been lying there for a short time when I thought I heard something bump against the window.

“Must be the wind,” I told myself.

But I don’t think I really believed it.

A few moments later, I heard something bump the window again, followed very shortly by a gentle sound, which reminded me of the slight noise made by a hand when touching the glass. I heard nothing more but I had the sense something – or someone – was pressing against the pane.

Now I was really glad the drapes were shut and that I had resisted any temptation to open them.

I got out of bed very slowly, trying to keep the bed from creaking and, stepping softly across the hardwood floor in my bare feet, moved over the curtains and listened.

Something was out there, I was sure of it, up close to the window and trying to see in – and get into – the room. I listened intently, trying to hear over the thundering of my heart and the hissing of the traffic on Kerr Street; I thought I could hear something, like a soft voice whispering or murmuring in sleep, but I couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t even tell if they were in English.

For a wild moment, I thought about tearing open the curtains, to see what, if anything was out there…but in the end, I decided I really didn’t want to know.

Instead I crept back into bed and turned off the bedside lamp and lay still in the dark, as still as I could be.

When I woke up, it was to find someone – Mom when she came back from bowling—had pulled back the bedroom curtains…but hadn’t opened the window to let in a breath of air.

Luckily for me.

The woman had a small head, a slim face with a pointed nose and long, stringy black hair; her skin was pale, almost ghostly. But her eyes are what captivated me as I lay frozen in my bed; wide, almost bulging and glowing a pronounced red. Her lips were a thin slash and they appeared to be moving, so maybe she really was speaking, really was cursing me out. I quickly shut my eyes and lay as still as I could, pretending to sleep and hoping she would just go away.

I heard quick, light steps outside my bedroom door and then Mom was in the room in her nightie, bending over me and softly asking “Are you asleep.”

I lay there deathly quiet, so quiet I almost forgot to breathe. Mom just stood there looking down at me and, after about a minute, she left the room.

I half-opened my eyes and looked at the window – nothing there. As quickly and as noiselessly as I could, I got out of bed and went and closed the drapes.

I was soon back to sleep but in the end wished I had somehow managed to stay awake.