I never was so freaked out in my whole life.

It was 1979.. My window cast a haunted glow against my covers, wall, and a desk stuffed half-finished cartoons. Those branches—mere silhouettes against the moon—shook in the freezing wind. That wind seemed to sneak under my covers, disguised as a draft, and send shivers through my PJs. I’d pull up the covers over my head, but I still felt cold, alone…afraid.

I heard the lake’s monstrous waves crashing against the sharp rocks lining the shore. Even in the dark, I could still see the waves’ foam expand and crash like the economy or a fad back at school two months ago. I was stuck—trapped—in my own bedroom, in a summer home I never even wanted to go to in the first place.

I pulled the covers tighter. The cold seemed to sneak through my cotton covers. What does the darned cold want with me? I thought quizzically. I couldn’t find the answer.

I huddled myself into a ball, shivering. Almost, like magic, the cold had been closing in on me, poking at my claustrophobia, like some demonic entity had possessed by sheets.

For a moment, I remembered being tugged along in the car, stuck with my Dad and Mom in an almost empty mini-van. They got the van because they were expecting roughly six children, but all they got was me—Curtis Keys. I wish I could’ve stayed in that nice, comfy hotel back in Riverton, but that town always gave me the creeps. But in the situation like this, I would’ve stayed there for the summer, no matter how bad that place is.

Finally, I managed to throw the covers off my body, and walk out of my room. Entering the hallway, the storm’s noise was quieter, toning down to a dull roar. But the summer house felt it—creaking, floorboards whining over every step I took, it was like the house was swaying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth….

I managed to find the bathroom and found the switch. I flicked it. First nothing, then a low buzz, and finally, a dull, dim light. A few moths found it, and buzzed excitedly around the light. A curtain hung from a plastic bar, enclosing a bathtub. A toilet, rust gathering around its rims, sat in the corner, next to a radiator that seemed to be haven’t used in years. A sink was right next to the linen closet, lit with three more light bulbs. The whole bathroom seemed out of place, made by a real sucky architect.

I searched around in the medicine cabinet. Mom’s anti-depressant, Dad’s pain relievers, cough medicine, anti-itch cream…my small hands grasped a thermometer. I’d realized if I was getting the chills, I probably had a fever. I was prone to sickness at that age. I stuck it under my tongue, and pressed the shiny button, and the fancy LCD lit up and began to count upwards with little black numbers.

I heard a little beep. I pulled it out. 99.7 degrees. Nothing but a low fever. I wasn’t sick. Good.

I grabbed a few paper cups from under the cabinet, my tongue itched for water. I turned the cold knob, but nothing came out.

Above me, the light bulb over the sink on the right side began to flicker. It died, for a brief moment; I could see the last of the electrons fading on the copper wire. The middle one did the same, shortly followed by the last one on the left. Finally, the one on the ceiling.

I was alone, in the dark.

I set my paper cup on the counter, my hands trembling. Nausea ached my stomach. I turned the faucet handle again. Nothing.

The bathroom door slammed behind me. I jumped, and dashed to it, only to slip on water and fall on my hand. I cringed. Pain shot through my arm. I clearly had broken something. I yelped for help, but the storm’s rage drowned by cry. Thunder struck nearby with a resounding crack. Rain pattered the window, and I knew it would shatter any minute with the howling wind.

I managed to get up, cradling my arm in my shirt. I stepped backwards, and landed in the tub, my butt tugging the shower curtain with me. The curtain fell of its hinges.

A shattered pounded at my ears. The window had broken, glass flying everywhere. The wind’s cry had too a mighty roar, derbies from trees and branches flew in, slapping the mirror, toilet, and my face. A branch clung to my torso, like it was pulling me down.

The linen closet door began to rattle, a greenish light spread through the bottom of the door, spreading onto the bathroom floor.

It opened. A greenish human figure, swirling with dark fog, looked into my eyes. I screamed, and no one could hear me.

Then I woke up.

My lungs heaved in out. My heart raced. My eyes shot through the darkest corners, waiting for that strange monster to come.

Outside the window, the lake was calm. The moon’s echoed onto the still waters.

I stared at the ceiling, and convinced myself it was just a dream. It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.

I did fall asleep, and no nightmares haunted me.

***

Breakfast.

Me and Dad were at the table. Dad, like always, was reading the newspaper. I just stared at my silverware. Mom was going to cook breakfast, orange juice and oatmeal. She had already made the juice.

Dad looked up from his newspaper. “Anythin’ wrong, son?”

“No.” I mumbled. I flicked a finger at my silverwear. I wasn’t going to tell Dad about my nightmare. Heck, I didn’t tell Dad much of anything.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“Just checkin’.”

Mom gestured Dad to the sink. “Dear, come here.”

Dad put his newspaper and walked to the sink, he peered in with curiosity. “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.” She said. “The faucet isn’t working.”