Morawski

Night Moves

The first night in the new house was restless. I chalked it up to exhaustion and stress from the move. The following morning I was still tired and had a headache.

That evening I began to see them. They were just shadows I thought at first, shadows from the unfamiliar new environment. But the next night I heard them too.

When I unlocked the front door I heard a thud. It was clear and distinct and not my imagination. I did my best to put aside my fear and searched the entire house from top to bottom and found no one and nothing out of place. That night I couldn’t sleep at all.

The next nights were even worse. They would expose themselves only when I wasn’t looking but I would notice them out of the corner of my eye, a fleeting dark image across the wall, or in the hall mirror. I could feel them behind me and chills touched the back of my neck.

My work began to suffer as I would fall asleep at my desk. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Unlike my co-workers, I feared the coming weekend.

Saturday there was no respite from the shadows. Even the bright sunny day brought vague patterns moving towards me as I tried to clean or make lunch. I finally left and went shopping just to gain a release from their oppressiveness.

When I returned in the evening it was already dark and there on the kitchen table I saw a roll of paper towels. I know I didn’t leave it there, did I? Something moved it, just to taunt me. Upstairs when I went to hang up my clothes I noticed things were out of place. They had been going through my things, touching them. I felt violated.

I sat in bed all that night awake, searching the room around me for them but as long as I watched, they wouldn’t come out. But then I heard a sound downstairs, it was clearly someone walking. I called the police.

The policemen were polite but found nothing though they searched everywhere. I didn’t tell them about the shadows, just that I felt I was being watched sometimes. They were polite but not very helpful. One of the cops suggested I should get some ‘protection’.

Sunday I went shopping again. I went to a gun store. The man suggested a .38 caliber revolver since it was simple and easy to use. Then I learned there was a five day waiting period. I bought it anyway.

When I returned, after avoiding it as long as possible, I heard a noise again as soon as I opened the door. It must be them running to hide away. Again I found nothing. That night I couldn’t eat or sleep.

At work my boss was concerned but growing frustrated with me. He suggested I should concentrate. My job was in jeopardy. I downed cup after cup of coffee which only resulted in another pounding headache. I went outside at lunch time to a small park to relax. I saw the leaves moving, there was no wind. They are following me.

That night I tried to take a shower but when I closed the curtain and turned on the water I would hear them. Each time I turned off the water they would be quiet. I tried again and again and then I saw one in the bathroom mirror, spying on me. I gave up trying to shower but I was afraid to open the shower curtain. I stayed in the tub a long time. I think I fell asleep in there.

Tuesday was the worst so far. I tried sleeping in the tub but it was so hard my body ached. Around 2 am I crawled out and sat on the bed hunched up against the headboard. I heard a soft step and looked to the window but out of the corner of my eye I saw one creep across the room. They are fast, they always hide.

Then there was a loud bang, I think it came from the attic. I called the police again. Having the cops there last night made me feel safe for a while but of course they found nothing. The attic was full of moving boxes; they said one probably fell over. I got enough nerve to go up there later and saw the footprints in the dust. Why didn’t the police notice those? I called them back but they never came.

The next two nights I found more things moved around the house. My toothbrush was turned around. They touched it so I couldn’t use it anymore. My shoes were rearranged too.

I can’t eat anymore. When I’m home I believe they have touched my food. When I’m at work my stomach is too upset for food. People at work are avoiding me like they can see them over my shoulder.

Friday evening I think the waiting period is up, but I’m told I need to wait until Saturday. That night was the worst of all. Nothing in the house looks familiar anymore. Everything has been moved or is out of place. I’m too afraid to go upstairs. I close the curtains to shut out the outside.

They touched my hair around midnight. I think I drifted off to sleep and they took the opportunity to touch me. I just need to hold out until morning.

I have my gun now. I search the whole house, paying special attention to my closet and under my bed. Someone put shoes under there. They aren’t mine. Using a broom handle I slide them out and throw them in the trash.

Darkness falls; I’m ready for them…

KTLA News: And in another chapter in the bizarre suicide epidemic sweeping the city, another woman was found shot to death in her Westside house after she didn’t report for work. Police confirm they had been at the house several times previously but found nothing…

10-33

“Control, One David Fourteen, 10-97 at location.”

“Affirmative” The marvelously honeyed voice replied briskly.

I slowed the squad car in front of Ben Steinberg’s Clothing store and studied the glass front. All seemed secure. False alarms and domestic disturbances were the bane of a policemen’s existence. At least I didn’t have to worry about getting shot by a drunken husband on this 10-33 silent alarm call.

When I came to the end of the block I realized there was an ally in back of the store so I pulled the squad around and slowly traversed the narrow passageway. It was a bright sunny afternoon but the light barely penetrated the deep shadows between tall buildings.

Something in the way the rear door of the store stood in the contrast of light and dark didn’t look right. Stopping the car, I got out for a closer inspection. My hunch was right, the door was cracked open. Studying it carefully, it didn’t look forced. Maybe the owner was inside and forgot to turn off the alarm. But glancing in either direction I saw no other cars.

“Control, One David Fourteen, I have a possible entry through the rear door.”

“Affirmative, calling for backup.” The angel told me without asking.

My heart picked up the pace a little at the prospect of the hunt—and danger.

“One David Fourteen, ETA on the backup is now plus twenty.”

The honey voice turned to vinegar at that news. It must be busy in the city this afternoon. Twenty minutes, the burglar would be long gone if there was one. It was a Sunday and although this was inner city and high crime, the chances it was a burglary were remote. When darkness fell, well that was a different story. My blood raced in anticipation. I decided to go in.

The store was dark but rays of sunlight slanted in where they could. It was packed from wall to wall inside. Clothes hung silently from racks that filled every possible space. Slowly and methodically I made my way through, flashlight in one hand and gun in the other. When I reached the front, all seemed normal. Another false alarm, someone probably just forgot to lock the back door.

Then the rustle, so low I thought I imagined it, off to my left. Frozen and still, I waited. There it was again, unmistakable this time. Creeping silently I moved towards it but then it moved too, further back. I wasn’t alone. In twenty paces I crossed the threshold from the retail store to the stockroom—and a blind turn. There was no going back, I was committed.

With the gun barrel leading, I turned the corner. Sun beams found my eyes and stunned my retinas but through the pain I saw them, four figures coming at me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose up just like they always say. The flee or fight reaction reared up but I had no option of retreat, I was a cop. My finger twitched on the trigger, fueled by the adrenaline rush. Instinct willed muscles to apply pressure and squeeze off the shot before it was too late.

My brain fought for control as it tried to clear my vision and sort out the situation. The figures coming at me were different heights, two tall, two short. They were well dressed! Huh? Two kids and their parents! What, they take their kids out for a Sunday outing to a burglary? Information processed too rapidly for conscious thought, it was all by training.

Finally the blood rush slowed, my eyes adjusted to the glare cutting through the shadow. The figures hadn’t moved, they were still as stone. Approaching closer, against all the rules, I saw I was face to face with …mannequins! Sure enough, a father and mother and two children, dressed in Easter fineness I guessed, which was only a few weeks away.

My heart rate was just starting to slow when a tabby cat appeared from nowhere and rubbed up against my leg—scaring the living hell out of me once again. I now knew the cause of the rustling.

The radio cut through the silence. “One David Fourteen, One David Fourteen, what is your status?”

She was checking up on me. The honey voiced angel sounded concerned. It made me feel good.

“All secure, no problem here Control.” I replied as calmly as I could muster. Just another lazy Sunday.

Copyright 2019 By Ed Morawski

Does your Harry’s blade fall off after a few uses? It’s very irritating that the blade falls off the handle in the middle of shaving. It might lead you to believe this is intentional: to force you to change the blade more often!

Luckily there’s an easy fix. In the photo below the red arrow points to an indention in the handle and the yellow arrow shows the little tab on the blade that’s supposed to lock into the that place in the handle.

Using any pointed tool (small screwdriver, scissors, nail file, etc.) press down VERY hard on that tab until it gives and bends. Now slide the blade onto the handle and hear it click! It won’t fall off as easy. You may have to do this every few days depending on how long you use the blade.

He’s the last man on earth and he likes it that way.