May 18, 2019

Eury Morrissey

I awoke to a foreign ceiling. As my eyes took a second to adjust to the near darkness of the room my skull decided that it was time to contract in on itself before feeling like it was about to explode outwards.

Two double shots and you're nearly dead. What’re you? Sixteen?

Ugh, do you really need to start so early?

Sitting up in bed, I pulled the hard plastic connector down from where I had cinched my cannula’s tubing up against my chin. It was good to know that my rituals were in place enough that even when I was drunk I could still manage to keep myself alive. I guess that’s another reason why they say you shouldn’t drink when forgetting could be such a deadly thing.

Deadly thing.

Under the pulsing of my headache, the sound of that attack last night played again and again in my head. There was no way that I could forget that sound. Like a dog attack, but...

The cops. I needed to call the cops again, and maybe this time they’ll answer the phone. I reached for my cell on the bedside table only to find it turned off.

“Oh for god’s sake, Eury,” I said cursing my last night’s self. Placing it back down on the nightstand, I grabbed my concentrator and unplugged the charging cord. Hefting the shoulder strap on, I started searching for my bag and the charger I had inside. As I leaned over to look under the bed, I heard an odd noise from the window on the other side of the room.

Something between a yelp and a holler. To tell the truth, it sounded like someone had just kicked a dog or something. And that got my blood boiling, I quickly walked over to the window. I pulled back the curtains to get a better view of whoever it was that I needed to kick the crap out of, only to be greeted with a full-on view of the sun-bleached siding of Alaska’s neighbour’s house. I’ll admit it—I felt a little bit like a fool. Compounding that feeling was the fact that on the table below the window, covered by the hanging curtains, was my backpack. Since it had gotten quiet outside I decided that I could get my phone plugged in first then figure out where the sound was coming from.

I left my phone in the middle of its startup and walked out of my room. I gingerly opened Alaska’s bedroom door. After the bucket of beer that Alaska drank last night, I doubt she would wake up just from me opening her door but I didn't want to risk it.

And the fact that she probably went home with Davis last night meant that she wasn't there for you to wake up anyways.

You don’t know that. Plus Davis said that he was getting married, so it’s impossible. And just like that, the righteous anger I had this morning quickly transformed into a jealous rage once again. I opened Alaska’s door and took the first step into her dark room. Blackout curtains made it too dark to see anything on the messy pile that was her bed.

Get over yourself Eury, what does he owe you? Absolutely nothing.

I walked over to the thin line of white that was the gap between the curtains and pulled it open. Just a little bit to make sure not to wake up the giant—no doubt hungover—woman that I had abandoned at the bar last night.

Looking out over the street there was no kicked dog in sight, nor were there any cars driving past either. Odd, considering that although this town was small, someone should’ve been doing something. After another few seconds of no signs of life anywhere on the street, I decided to give up.

As I let go of the curtains I heard another yelp through the window. I pulled the curtains away from the window and looked through again. It took all I had to hold myself back from opening up the window and sticking my head out. Mid search I turned my head to see Alaska’s bed blasted with the morning light.

“Shit Lask, I’m sorry! There’s this…” I stopped myself as I realized something essential: she wasn’t even there. “Fucking Alaska. Fucking fuck! Did you go home with him? Really?”

I ripped the messy duvet off of her bed—nobody. I felt a scream begin to make its way up my throat, but I was cut off once again by the same yelp I had heard twice already this morning. Only this time, the single yelp had erupted into a small chorus. Within the few steps it took for me to make it back to the window, my boiling blood had frozen.

Through the window, the sounds were muffled but there was no mistaking it.

Carefully I peered back out. There was nothing else in this world that I had ever heard that sounded like that. As I searched the street for those people, the sound of the attack last night was playing over and over and over in my head, layering on top of the muffled sounds I heard now. I could feel my chest beginning to tighten as the street remained perfectly serene. No movement. No dogs. No men running for their lives, and definitely no shadow people attacking said men. There was nothing but the dewy north-western morning and the few small birds that called Alaska’s porch roof home.

Of course, that’s what you’d focus on. That’s exactly why you needed to run away like a little kid last night. There’s someone in danger and instead of doing something about it, what are you doing? Admiring the little birdies and their nests?

And now you’re getting on my ass for not doing something last night? There’s no pleasing my inner Bitch it seemed. Again, I hated that she was right, but the Bitch was right, I needed to do something. I ran back to my room and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. I dismissed the usual notifications and quickly typed in 9-1-1 on the phone app as I ran back to the window. If the cops actually answered this time, maybe I’d be able to help someone.

As I pulled the curtains apart once again, the thought hit me.

What the hell is happening? Honestly, what is happening right now? As I swept my eyes across the empty street in front of the house and heard the long drawn out rings blaring from my phone's speaker, my mind was preoccupied with the one question I had been too drunk last night plus too hungover this morning to ask; what the hell is happening in Sheridan? It’s one thing if it is dogs running around attacking people. But it's an entirely different thing if my eyes weren’t lying to me last night and there was a group of people running around attacking people.

Another long ring came from my phone’s speaker before—call disconnected.

Great. What was I expecting? If they took off Friday night, then why not Saturday morning as well.

Small-fucking-town cops.

Silence tried to return to the empty house, but the gnashing sound from outside kept coming in through the closed window. I dialled 9-1-1 again and put my phone on the sill of the window. If I couldn’t see the source of the sound from this angle, maybe I could if I stuck my head out there and looked around. I thought about going out onto the balcony, but my half-dressed state kept me from doing that so I reached up and unlatched the window. It was only as I started to lift the wooden frame when I saw the first sign of movement outside.

The neighbour across from Lask’s place slowly opened her door and took a few slow steps outside, no doubt also looking for the source of the terrible sound. She couldn’t have been younger than my great grandmother but that didn’t stop her from taking a few steps out onto her concrete porch, teal curlers in her white hair and wooden bat in hand.

You go, grandma!

My pride in Curlers was quickly overwritten with worry the moment she opened her mouth. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the moment her denture-less mouth opened the sound quickly quieted down. I was tempted to open up the window to join her in yelling at whoever, or whatever it was that made the noise. But within a single breath, her expression went from face drooping anger to terrified shaking. She turned heel and disappeared back behind her closing door.

A few seconds later, a man appeared out from beneath Alaska’s porch sprinting straight across the street and towards the now closed—and hopefully locked—front door of Curlers.

“Jesus grandma, what did you say?” My breath fogged up the window as I let my inner Bitch voice out.

In the second that it took me to wipe off the window, the man had already begun to wildly throw himself at the thick door of the woman’s house. And when slamming his body into the door didn’t do the trick, the man switched to using his hands to bang on the door.

What the hell did she say?

There’s not a damn thing—of course—that would throw someone into that kind of fury. Obviously this guy is one of those junkies the bus driver was talking about. Like, Jesus Christ, Sheridan what happened to you?

While I watched the obviously disturbed person throw himself at the door, it reminded me of something that I had almost completely forgotten about after moving away; Sheridan was home to one of the biggest federal prisons in Oregon.

Is this guy an escapee or something?

As I asked the question, the man threw his head back in painful frustration, screaming out the same horrible sound I heard last night, and this morning.

Oh god, it is people attacking people. What kind of drugs are floating around here?

I noticed something the moment that crazy-guy noticed it. Grandma hadn’t done the intelligent thing when it came to hiding from crazy people; she didn’t run the hell away.

In response to the blood-curdling howl, grandma’s front window curtains, only a couple of feet from the porch landing the crazy-guy was standing on, waved with movement. This, of course, was the international symbol of “I want to watch whatever trainwreck you’re in the middle of, but I don’t want to be seen doing it” the very same action that I was in the middle of. The only difference between us was the distance to the trainwreck, and that was grandma’s second mistake.

“Oh fuck no, Curlers get the hell out of there!” What control I was able to muster before was nowhere to be found as I unlatched the window and began to push it open. But as I did that, the crazy-guy transformed from unpleasant morning trainwreck and possibly dangerous junkie into actually ridiculously-fucking-dangerous junkie as the moment he noticed grandma no doubt freaking out on the other side of her front window, he dove knee first down into it.

My mouth hung open as my hungover and tired brain tried to process what I saw. Without even realizing it, my concentrator kicked into its higher setting. Then, a second later, it clicked up again. Then another second passed, and it finally kicked into its highest setting, blasting the cool air into my body involuntarily. The air was flowing, so why did my chest hurt so much? I could hear the concentrator, but I couldn’t look, my eyes locked on the black hole leading into the neighbour’s house.

With my window now open, I could hear everything I needed to hear clearly. Although everything was happening across the street, the sound was crystal clear in the early morning. There weren’t any birds singing, there were no cars or trucks driving by, hell, the wind even seemed to be quiet. The only sound I could hear through that open window was the same visceral howling sound that I heard last night. That, and the screams. The terrible, weak, feeble screams.

I could feel myself retreating inside as I had done so many times before. Allowing the folds of my consciousness to fold even tighter, pulling in on themselves until all that I am was contained within the dark in my mind. In here, nothing was wrong. And nothing could hurt me, because in here, I was all by myself.

Although my mind had shrunk away from reality, my eyes, my body, could not. As the largest of the remaining front bay windows shattered over grandma’s small flower garden, her small pink-sleeping-gown-wearing body flew out of the dark house and onto her wet front lawn. My empty eyes watched as she laid still on the grass. My fingers gripped the wooden window frame tightly enough to make the old wood crack in strain as I watched the junkie pull himself out of the empty window and stalk over to grandma. The junkie stood hunched over grandma’s unmoving body for a moment. For just that moment the junkie seemed calm like he had finally snapped out of whatever rage that had possessed him to attack a helpless old woman. But like most things, that calm came to a quick and sudden end. My mouth grew dry as my concentrator forced more and more and more air into my nose to an unnatural degree.

The junkie raised his foot high before bringing it back down hard onto grandma’s chest, kicking her over onto her side. From this new perspective, I could see her face better. I could see her bloody, barely recognizable face better. I could…

Had it been minutes? Hours? Seconds? Inside of the deepest darkest parts of my mind, there wasn’t really time. Inside there, there was nothing but dark, forever, and ever and ever and it was nice. It was easy. But then, as the endless seconds passed something pulled me back into reality.

I blinked to moisten my eyes. However long I had been standing there for, I hadn’t blinked. As moisture returned to my eyes and my mind fully returned to my body, I realized what it was that brought me back.

I wasn’t looking at Grandma’s bloody face anymore, instead, I was looking at her pink covered body kneeling on the wet grass.

Oh, thank god! Thank you thank you thank you.

“Are you okay!” I yelled out the window at the woman. Although my voice cracked as it came out of my dry throat, she had to be able to hear me, it wasn’t like I was all that far away.

Oh god, if she could hear me, then that crazy fuck probably could too!

I pulled myself closer to the precipice of the window, careful not to bring any more attention than necessary to myself. To my relief, there was nothing, and no one on the street, except for grandma slowly getting to her feet.

Good thank god again.

Getting mighty religious lately huh?

Not the fucking time.

“Hey! I think that guy is gone, come over here and let me help you!” The woman finally managed to stand up, and as she did she looked up at me. Her face was worse than before, her blood and what looked like dried vomit covered the front of her sleeping gown. “Oh shit! Get over here I’ll meet you…”

I was cut off by something I couldn’t have expected. Curlers' bloody jaw fell open and a familiar wail of pain cut across the silent morning.

“Oh god no.” The noise stopped the moment she began to sprint across her yard and the street between us. Quickly enough, she began to bellow out that same terrible scream as the junkie and those people last night. She disappeared beneath the porch’s roof in front of me. Instinctively, I slammed the window closed and pulled the curtains back.

And what exactly do you expect that to do?

I don’t know! What should I do, huh? What exactly should I do!

The woman’s screams seemed to travel through the walls of Alaska’s house. I tried to cover my ears as the banging began. I could only imagine what the woman was doing, what she was thinking? Was she like that guy? Throwing her body at the door? What did he do to her? Was it drugs?

Some small part of my mind couldn’t help but imagine the crazed junkie as the kind of person that those D.A.R.E programs warned us about as kids.

Crazy-grandma throwing herself at the front door brought me back to reality again.

What do I do? What do I do?

On the floor beside me, my phone began to buzz. Please be the cops! Or Alaska, or my parents! Just somebody who can do something! My hand snapped away from my ear to grab it, letting the sound of grandma hollering at the top of her lungs assault my ears again. I pulled the phone in front of me to answer whatever call I was getting.

[1-888-999-2731 Survey Corps Ltd. (Known scammer)]

Of course. Who would be calling you anyway?

I swiped the red button on the screen to the right shutting the ringing off and turning off my phone.

In the black mirror of my phone’s screen, I could see streaks down my cheeks where my tears had cut through last night’s make-up. Had I been crying?