The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,33

rose up and clutched the bed frame. Stuart was too frightened to even scream. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out her face, but somehow he knew she was Abigail—a nightmare version even though he was awake.

“Sorry yet?” Abigail had asked.

“Yes!” Stuart had answered. “Yes, I’m very sorry. Please, leave me alone.”

“I don’t believe you. You don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it! I’ve never been sorrier.”

She laughed. “I’ll know when you’re really sorry,” Abigail said. She glanced at the darkest corner of the room, beside the drawn window curtain. “He’ll tell.”

“Who?” said Stuart. “Who will tell?” The girl was gone, but Stuart knew he was not alone. He strained to see beyond the shadows into the far corner of the room, where the girl had glanced before disappearing. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. He finally made out a figure dressed in a shapeless black robe, propped rigidly against the wall. Small, shiny black eyes stared out from a pale, hairless, and doughy face. Terrified, Stuart grabbed the glass of water off the nightstand and flung it into the corner of the room. It shattered above the figure’s head, but the thing did not move or even respond. It only continued to watch him.

Then the nurses came. They turned on the lights. The corner was now empty. Stuart screamed and struggled and fought, until the nurses gave him a sedative that made him feel sleepy and weak. He begged them to keep the lights on, to stay with him awhile longer, and they did. But later, even in his dreams, the thing in the corner of the room watched him, waiting until he was really sorry for what he had done.

No one believed his story. In fact, the more he insisted on its truth, the more they wanted to keep him there for observation.

Timothy sat at the end of the bed, stunned. Stuart had seen an Abigail, the same way Abigail said she had seen the Nightmarys.

Stuart glanced past Timothy and cringed. Timothy turned. “Hi, Stuart,” said Abigail. She stood just inside the room, looking embarrassed. “Timothy and I came to see how you’re doing.”

“Mom!” Stuart called.

“She’s talking with a nurse down the hall,” said Abigail quietly. “She’ll be back soon.”

“Please,” said Stuart. “Just take that thing out of here.”

Anger flashed in Abigail’s eyes. “What did you just call me?”

“Not you,” Stuart pleaded. “The thing. The thing you put in the corner of the room.”

Abigail glanced at Timothy. She raised her eyebrow. “I’ve never been in this room until me and Timothy came tonight. I promise.” He now understood she’d overheard Stuart’s story. They both looked at the corner of the room near the window. To them, it was empty.

“Is he staring at you right now?” Timothy asked. Stuart pursed his lips and nodded discreetly. “Why don’t you just ask him to leave?”

“He’ll get mad. I know it.”

“But there’s nothing there,” said Abigail.

Silence fell. The three of them stared at each other for a while before Timothy could think to say, “We’ve all been seeing scary things this week, Stuart. Not just you.”

“You have?”

Abigail nodded, then glanced to the corner of the room. “Yes. We have.”

“We, who?” said Stuart.

“Me and Abigail,” said Timothy. “And Mr. Crane.”

“Mr. Crane?” said Stuart. “Why? What kind of scary things?”

Timothy thought of a simple explanation. “A man has been following me. And Abigail has been seeing … ghosts. And Mr. Crane—”

“So you’re not making these things happen to me?” Stuart asked Abigail.

She looked guilty but shook her head and said, “I wouldn’t even know where to begin to learn something like that.”

“Then how?” said Stuart. “Why?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” said Timothy.

“We want to help you,” Abigail added, almost reluctantly.

“Help me? Why would you want to help me?”

“Because you obviously need it.”

Stuart finally appeared to get it. Folding his hands in his lap, he quietly said, “If you want to help me, please, just accept my apology.”

Abigail came forward out of the doorway and grabbed on to the end of Stuart’s bed. “It was just a stupid water balloon,” she said. “I’ve already forgotten all about it.”

Red-eyed, Stuart licked his lips and glanced into the corner of the room. “Then why is he still standing there?” he asked in a very small, very frightened voice. “Why is he still staring at me?”

25.

“What’s wrong?” said Abigail. They were standing at the bus stop, just outside the hospital entrance. The wind had picked up. Thunder rolled across the river. “You haven’t said a word since