Page 34 of The End of the World As We Know It

He’d heard that sound before, in his dreams each of the last two nights.

Corey was on his feet at once, terror dispersing the last of his grief. He felt alert and on edge, anxious to get far away without being seen. Spinning about in the middle of the street, he saw no signs of the oncoming stranger, but the clocking of those heels was louder now.

And close. So close.

There wasn’t time to run.

Not knowing what else to do, he started moving down the street, trying the door handles of cars parked at the curb. The humming was growing in volume, the tune becoming even more recognizable. Now and then, the humming paused, and the stranger chuckled before picking up the tune again.

The first several cars Corey tried were locked, but, at last, the back door of an old Cutlass Supreme yielded to his yanking. He scrambled inside, eased the door shut as quietly as he could manage, and hunkered down as low as possible beneath the level of the seat,trembling uncontrollably as his gut pressed against the hump in the middle. He screwed his eyes shut and pressed his face against the coarse floor carpet, willing himself to stay quiet until the stranger went away. A part of him, a faint part, suggested he was being unreasonable, illogical even. There was no reason to fear this stranger, who had not threatened him, who was someone he didn’t know.

Only, that wasn’t true, and that was another thing he felt on a gut level. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.

This might even be the man with the crimson gaze from his dreams.

The dark man.

He didn’t know it with absolute certainty, but what else could explain how instinctively powerless he felt, how consumed with crippling dread?

The clocking of those heels was louder than ever. The stranger sounded like he was humming the odious tune right against Corey’s ear. He was in the street right outside the Oldsmobile now, with only the door standing between them.

A door that wasn’t even locked.

Fuck.

The man in the street had come to a stop. He exuded an aura of awesome power even through the barrier of glass and steel. This stranger wasn’tjusta man. He was something beyond that, something beyond nature itself. Whether this presence was truly the dark man of his dreams, he did not know, but if not, it must be closely associated with him.

He might be looking inside the car even now, grinning down at his cowering form. Corey whimpered softly, a sound that was nearly like a mewl, and pressed his face harder against the carpet, wishing he could push all the way through to the pavement below. A rapping of knuckles against the glass above his head made him yelp in fright, but his eyes stayed closed.

The man outside chuckled, a sound with a distinct note of mockery.

A brief silence followed, one that felt heavy and ominous, suffocating.

Corey whimpered and clawed at the carpet.

Go away. Please just go away.

The dark, malefic presence, the thing that was somehow a man and more than that at the same time, chuckled again, as if it’d looked into Corey’s mind and heard this silent prayer, and felt only a mild amusement. He lingered outside the car a while longer, softly clicking a fingernail against the window, a sound that elicited tears from Corey, who fully expected to next hear a sound even more ominous and doom-laden, a squeaking of door hinges. An eternity elapsed, but in reality it was barely more than another full minute.

Then the man started humming and the clocking of his heels resumed as he began walking away.

Corey stayed where he was until after both sounds receded, unable to believe he’d been passed over by the dark stranger, who he imagined was not ordinarily inclined toward mercy. He thought he might stay in this spot forever. That changed when he heard another sound from right outside the vehicle. The same sound that had brought him to this part of the neighborhood in the first place. His eyes fluttered open when the sound repeated, and he raised up high enough to peer over the edge of the door.

A grinning dog was sitting in the middle of the street, staring at the car with a look of eager anticipation. The dog wasn’t Bluto. Of course not. He’d been right about his luck. Fate would never smile on him so favorably. This dog was a mutt. A cute one of about medium size, with a predominantly white coat colored here and there with speckles and splotches of black, including a black ring around one eye.

Corey couldn’t help smiling.

He raised up higher and reached for the door handle, hesitating for only a moment as he looked up and down the street. There was still no sign of the dark stranger, but he didn’t need visual evidence. He felt the man’s absence on a physical level, like the lifting of ablack, smothering fog. The day was bright and sunny again instead of dark and cold.

He opened the door and shakily emerged from the car.

The dog wiggled its butt while still sitting, looking up at him now. On the pavement in front of the dog was a pistol that hadn’t been there before Corey took refuge in the Cutlass. It looked like an army-issue .45. Old, but clean and functional, still entirely capable of doing what it’d been designed to do with great efficiency. The sight of it instilled a chill that resonated in every atom of his body. That it’d been left where it was on purpose could not be doubted. He’d wished for a gun and here was a gun. Somehow the stranger had sensed his suicidal thoughts and had left behind this dark gift. It didn’t matter that this notion defied all logic and everything he’d thought he understood about the rational world.

It was the truth.

Corey closed the Oldsmobile’s door and sat down, leaning his back against the warm metal. He met the dog’s gaze, prompting the animal to thump its tail against the pavement. Leaning forward a little, he scratched the back of its neck. The dog turned its head sideways, panting as its tongue lolled out the side of its mouth. Its expression now was one of perfect canine ecstasy.

Corey smiled and scratched the dog’s neck some more. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? A real good boy. Yes, you are. I can tell. Thanks for letting me scritch you, buddy.” There were tears in his eyes again. “Good boy. Good, good boy. I bet you and Bluto would have been great friends.”