The Goodnight Game The Goodnight Game Copyright 2013 Yvette Russell + + + Jacob was screaming for me again. I lunged forward in bed, torn from my dreams. My pulse was pounding—the scream of my child always did that to me, even though I knew it was just because of a nightmare. Even so, I would still get up and check on him. Everyone told me that I was teaching him bad habits, that I should just let him be. They told me that he needed to learn to comfort himself. But I couldn't; hearing his terrified cries broke my heart. If my son called for me, I had to go to him. I shuddered as I threw the covers off. The room was surprisingly cold. "I'm coming, Jacob!" I called weakly as I slid on my slippers. Jacob called out for me again, but it as more of a whimper this time. Harold stirred; he turned over and looked like he was about to awake. But his lids barely opened for a second before they fluttered shut and he sank back into the pillow. As he slid back into sleep, he muttered something I couldn't make out. I didn't understand how my husband could sleep through Jacob's night terrors. Maybe it was because he remained confident in his theory that this was just a phase. Jacob used to sleep so soundly before we moved, just like his father. Harold assured me that once Jacob got familiar with his new room, the nightmares would stop. I hoped so. But I couldn't just let him suffer through it alone. If this was just a phase that would pass soon, then there was no harm in going to him until it did. I dragged one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around me and shield me from the cold. Harold wouldn't miss the one; we always kept many on the bed to keep out the new house's pervading chill. I ventured from our bedroom and into the hall, heading for Jacob's room, the one next to ours. The room was illuminated gently by the night light we had purchased for him; it was shaped like a little astronaut, and the he figure was puffing his chest out, looking brave. When we bought it, Jacob was convinced that it inspire him to be brave too. It hadn't worked. Jacob was hidden under his covers, a small mound beneath several quilts. I tapped on the door to let him know I was here, that it was safe to come out. "Mom?" he still asked warily, his voice high and frightened. "Of course," I said, trying to make my voice soothing instead of weary. "Did you have another nightmare?" Jacob poked his little head out. His hair was comically messy, sticking out in all different directions. But I couldn't find it funny; my son's face was fraught with fear. "There was a girl in the shadow!" he wailed. "In the closet!" Yes, it had been another nightmare; the "girl in the shadow" was the most common one for him. I suspected he had somehow gotten a glimpse of a horror movie on TV—perhaps at a friend's—and pulled the image into his nightmares. "It was a dream, Jacob. Just a dream." He didn't seem to find comfort in those words, though he never did, no matter how many times I told him. He reached for me, and I went to him, sitting on the edge of his bed. I noticed that there was a sheen of sweat across his brow, and I touched his face to feel for fever. His temprature was normal. In fact, he felt cold. "Don't go," he pleaded. There were tears in his eyes. I knew that fighting it was futile, but I tried anyway. "Jacob, you can sleep on your own. It was just a dream, you know that. You can be brave." "No!" he cried. A few tears slid over his cheeks. "Please stay!" I couldn't say no to him, not when he looked so desperate, so scared. "Ok," I conceded, nodding. "I will stay." Jacob's face lit up, and he shimmied over to the far edge of his twin bed, making room for me. I slid in next to him, beneath the covers, and added my blanket on top. He curled into me immediately, his head nestling beneath my jaw. "Goodnight!" he chirped. "Goodnight," I responded. "Goodnight!" he said again. I repressed a sigh. He wanted to be play the Goodnight Game. I've played this game with my son for years... since he was first able to say the words. It's simple—the goal is to be the last person to say goodnight before you fall asleep. As you can imagine, I usually win. Usually. "Goodnight." I repeated. This was what made me doubt his claims of terror: his mood would change as soon as I agreed to stay. But I played along anyway, because it helped calm him down. "Goodnight," he said, but this time I heard the sleep begin to sneak into his voice. "Goodnight," "Goodnight..." his voice began to trail away. I was sure that I would 'win' this game, like I usually did. "Goodnight, Jacob," I sighed, trying to settle into the small twin bed. Jacob tried to respond one last time, but only managed an incomprehensible mumble, already too far gone into dreamland. I smiled as I let myself begin to drift away too. As I slipped into sleep, I barely registered a voice. I assumed Jacob must've somehow dragged himself out of sleep to finally beat me at The Goodnight Game. But the last sparks of my brain mulled over the fact that his voice was different... it wasn't close by, and he didn't sound like himself. Perhaps it was the beginning of a dream, as the voice sounded like a girl's. "Goodnight." A cold rush of draft caressed my neck.

The Animal Shelter "We have a problem," I cringed and then inhaled deeply, trying to keep my cool. It was always like this. Every time I came into work, there was always a "problem". "Problems" that weren't actually problems. Problems could easily be solved without me, without direction or help. A cat puked in their cage? It was a "problem". A dog wouldn't stop barking? It was a "problem". As the manager, I know that the pet shelter relied heavily on volunteers, but what exactly did these people think they'd be doing when they offered to work here? All day snugglefests with hundreds of kittens? Frolicking in fields with puppies of every shape and size? Never even having to utter the words "litter box" or "poop baggies"? Wrong. Yes, you could pet and play with the animals at the shelter. But you also had to help them; that was the whole point. You had to take them for walks, feed them, clean up after them. That was just the reality of working here... the reality of living with animals in general. I pinched the bridge of my nose to try stave off the headache that was threatening to flare up. I couldn't even bear to look at Joanie. She was young, sweet and well-meaning - they always are - but she was seventeen and far too squeamish when it came to the natural things animals do. She had lasted longer than most do, which I commended her for, and she was trying... but I knew her request was going to be something inane. "What, Joanie? What's the problem?" I tried to stop myself from emphasizing the word "problem" sarcastically, but I couldn't help it. It was Friday, it was way too early in the morning and it had been a long week. But Joanie didn't complain. In fact, she didn't say anything. That was strange in itself; usually Joanie couldn't stop talking, so her silence was slightly unnerving. A slight twinge of worry began to brew in the pit of my stomach. Maybe she wasn't kidding... I looked over at her now, assessing her face. It was oddly blank, empty and without any hint of feeling. Which was strange, especially since the words that come out of her mouth next were... "Derek is dead," Dead? Okay, for once in my career, that was actually a problem. It was rare for an animal to die in the shelter of natural causes here - sad, but true - but it wasn't impossible. And if they do we certainly didn't let the volunteers handle the bodies, because there might be a disease or something. This actually was something I would have to handle on my own. But who was Derek? We didn't have any animals in the shelter named Derek. I was sure because I would never have allowed it. Derek had been my late father's name and I wasn't naming a stray cat or dog after my father. I mean, there was another volunteer by that name but- It hit me. Derek, the volunteer? Our volunteer? He was dead? My heart sagged, and I hated myself for doubting Joanie. Poor kid; he had been even younger than her. He had just started last month, and he was shaping up to be quite capable. He was even supposed to work today... "Dead? Oh god, that's horrible!" I gasped. "How? Where?" My mind raced with possibilities. Horrible things flashed through my mind... car accidents, overdoses, mugging. It seems that it's easier and easier for young kids to die these days. The kid had just gotten his license last week, for crying out loud! Sometimes, the world can be so unfair. "In the dog kennels." I stared at her. "What- are you saying... he died here?!" I whispered, my voice losing its volume from the shock of it all. No way. No. Way. She gazed at me with her glazed expression and just nodded. Why was her face so blank and empty? A chill ran over my skin as I studied it closer, and I realized it wasn't blank. Her mousey brown hair fell limply over her face and mouth barely moved as she spoke. But most disturbingly, her eyes were wide and staring, like she couldn't see past the scene of death she had stumbled on. It was a frozen look of quiet horror. "Is... is he still there?" Another nod. "Jeez, Joanie! Why didn't you call somebody? Why didn't you call me?!" I screamed at her as I moved around her and darted towards the door that lead to the dog kennels. But as I reached for the handle, Joanie threw herself on my back and dragged me away from the entrance. She turned out to be pretty strong for someone so thin and gangly. "What the hell are you doing?" I struggled away from her grip, and backed away from her, my shoulders hitting the far wall. I was truly frightened now. Joanie was acting totally weird. A new chill of fear ran along my spine. What had happened here? Joanie looked like she had totally lost it... Did she...? Could she actually-? I watched her with a careful gaze, but she didn't look like she was going to lash out. Instead, Joanie just stood there, trembling as she stared at me with pleading eyes. "You can't go in there..." I gulped. "Joanie, if what you say is true, I have to make sure. I have to go and help him..." "No!" She screamed. "You can't - you can't! That's why he's dead!" That didn't make sense. None of this made sense! How could a perfectly healthy kid just drop dead in an animal shelter? Did he have a weak heart that no one knew about? Or... "Did a dog... get loose?" I whispered, suddenly fearful. The dogs we keep here usually aren't violent, and if they were - again, volunteers don't handle them. And they're kept in strong cages anyway. But it's not completely impossible, even if it's exceedingly rare. And if something happened, if that was true and an angry animal got loose and hurt Derke, then it wouldn't be a pretty sight. My heart began to increase its pace. If you saw it, you might go into shock. Joanie definitely looked like she was in shock... and what else could it be? The only other explanation I could think of, watching scared little Joanie, was... Suddenly, Joanie screamed something unintelligible and then collapsed to her knees sobbing, her mind giving way to the stress. She clutched her arms around her small frame and began to thrash, rocking back and forth. I didn't approach her crumpled form. I stay pressed into the corner of the room and part of me really just wanted to run away. Part of me still fearful that it was her that did the killing and not some unbalanced stray. What if it was her? What if she snapped on me? But I couldn't leave her. This was Joanie, and though the circumstances were definitely suspicious, my logical side just couldn't believe that she would be capable of such a thing. She was a sweetheart. Naive at times, sure, but definitely not fake and sugary - she was honestly a sweet person. And for her to have such a meltdown meant she had obviously witnessed something that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Have you ever seen the aftermath of a dog attack? I inched forward, approaching slowly so I wouldn't startle her with any swift movements. I felt kinda bad; this was how they trained you to interact with scared animals... I was treating Joanie like an animal. She flinched slightly as I put one arm gingerly around her shoulders, but mostly she just ignored my presence. I sidled up next to her, cooing soothing words, trying to get her to calm downbefore I did anything else, like call the cops. After a few minutes her breathing slowed and she stopped rocking. The light came back to her eyes, though just barely. Poor kid. "Joanie?" I asked quietly. "Can you tell me what happened?" Even though I was sure she wasn't the culprit, I remained in a crouch, in case I needed to jump up and get away. "It was this dog," She gulped back a few more sobs. "Derek and I... we were setting everything up this morning, like usual. And then this guy pulled up outside... He had a truck, an old truck... and a dog in the back with a -" She made a wild movement around her head with her hands, to describe a shape "- burlap sack on its head. It bothered me that he would treat a dog like that, but the dog didn't seem to mind, it just sat there... calm as could be. "I told him that we weren't open yet, mostly because I didn't want to deal with him until you got here, because something about it creeped me out. I mean, what kind of guy puts a bag on a dog's head? It was weird, the whole thing. Or maybe... maybe it was just the dog..." She went silent. Her eyes focused on something far away, lost in thought. "Joanie, what happened next?" I asked, trying to pull her back to her weird little story. My stomach trembled as I spoke, making my voice quiver. Was I shivering? Joanie blinked hard, like she was snapping out of some trance. "The man, he looked so... strange... horrified... but all he said was he had found a stray dog. I told him to wait, but Derek... he didn't care - stupid Derek! He didn't think it was a big deal! He didn't want to wait for you to arrive! I think he was pissed that the man had put a sack on its head, he wanted to take the dog away as soon as possible. "The man wouldn't approach the dog, and said that we had to get it out of the back. I refused, but Derek just wandered right over, hopped up and coaxed the thing out. And it was so calm, even though it had the bag over its face. "As soon as it was out of the back of the truck, Derek tried to take the bag off - and the man freaked out! He screamed at us, screamed, not to take the sack off... he just bellowed at us! His eyes were crazy. He backed away from us like we now had a bomb that we were threatening to detonate, jumped back in his truck and took off! "I told Derek to get inside, in case the crazy guy came back. I wanted to call the cops, but Derek said to wait. He was more concerned about the dog and the bag it had on its head. I told him that he could take the sack off inside, and we both retreated to the safety of the office." Joanie had begun to tremble violently again and so I resumed patting her shoulders and whispering comforting things, careful not to be loud enough to interrupt her. I was entranced by the story. It left a sinking feeling in my stomach, but I needed to hear more. "Derek took the dog straight to the kennels so he could get the sack off... I didn't go with him. Something about that dog creeped me out. I thought it was because of the guy... but now! "And then all I heard a scream... and a thud... and I opened the door. And there he was. Dead." "Dead? Joanie, how can you be sure?" I asked. Maybe he had just fainted for some reason - low blood pressure or something. That could make sense. But if that was the case, I needed to get in there right away. The floors of our building are cement, and if you hit your head on them, you would definitely be knocked out cold... or worse. Joanie shook her head. "I could see his face... his skin... it was such a horrible colour. Blue... almost blue. No one alive is that colour." She buried her face in her hands like she was trying to hide from the sight that was seared into her mind. She began to sob deeply again. A sharp chill ran through my bones. Even in the worst case scenario, dead bodies don't instantly turn blue... I stealthily separated myself from Joanie, who was crying too hard to notice my movement. I snuck towards the kennel door and cracked it open as silently as possible. Unfortunately, it was just like Joanie described. Poor Derek was sprawled on the floor in an unnatural way, his face pointing towards the door... and his skin was a horrible pallid shade, a pale blue-grey with a unnatural tinge of green. A complexion that no living human could possess. His eyes were already a foggy white, and they staring, frozen, in my direction. But there was no blood, no mark or sign of attack. It was like he just dropped where he stood, the burlap sack still clutched in his hand. And there was the dog - a massive black dog, looming over his body. I couldn't see any more than that, as it was turned away from me. It was just calmly staring down at him, like he was waiting for something to happen. I swallowed roughly. Joanie was right about this too... the dog... there was something very wrong about that dog. I exhaled a quiet shuddering breath. I saw its ears perk; it had heard me, even though I had barely made a noise. It began to turn its head towards me, but before I could be caught in its gaze, I slammed the door. I scuttled away from it, like the dog could see me through the door. And being seen by it was the last thing I wanted. I didn't know why, but I had never felt fear like this. I rushed back to Joanie's side, who was still sobbing into her hands. "Joanie, we have to leave," I wasn't comfortable staying here. There was something so very, very wrong about all of this. We needed to get out of here, now. We could call whoever needed to be called when we were safely away from this place... and that dog. Just as I had wrapped my arms around Joanie's hunched form, ready to pull her up to her feet, the familiar jingle of the door rang out. I froze on the spot, too scared to move. I felt Joanie stiffen beside me. Her sobbing ceased. Our backs were to the door; we couldn't see who it was. But I didn't want to look... something told me, at the back of my mind, that looking would be a very bad idea. We sat in silence with the stranger for a long moment. I didn't want to be the first to speak; it was like a frost has settled over my organs, like time had frozen and everything had stopped. No dogs barked. No cats meowed. Why didn't I notice that before? I suddenly realized that when I arrived this morning everything had been so unnaturally quiet. That should've been my first warning. I thought that Joanie had begun to tremble again, but then I realized it was me who was shaking so violently. I had never been more terrified in my #life. "I'm looking for my dog," came the voice. It unmistakably belonged to a man, and older man with a very clear and cold voice... that was the only way to describe it. It wasn't cold in the unfriendly way. It just... sounded like a winter breeze feels. Sharp and invasive, slicing through my layers and cutting into my bones. I couldn't bring myself to answer. "I believe it is here." A statement, not a question. Still, I couldn't force myself to speak. I didn't want to. "Where do you keep them?" The voice wasn't impatient, just matter-of-fact. Almost painfully so. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to point at the door that led to the dogs. "Thank you," He strode around us and I glimpsed at his feet, the shiny patent leather of his stylish, expensive shoes. My heart stuttered with a swell of unknown horror and I buried my face into Joanie's shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut. I knew I shouldn't look. I pulled Joanie into my shoulder to be sure she couldn't see him either. The man slipped soundlessly into the kennel. There was no sound; I couldn't hear his heels on the concrete beyond. There was just a suffocating silence. I felt like I was going crazy. Suddenly, after who knows how long, the man emerged again. I couldn't see him or hear him but I could feel his presence. This alone set my heart into even more erratic palpitations. This wasn't right... no, this wasn't even normal. "So sorry," the man said. His voice was closer to me than I ever wanted it to be. I could hear the soft panting of the dog and it made my stomach turn and erupt into spasms of fear. "... for the problems this created. To show my gratitude, I've corrected the mistake." I couldn't possibly think of what he meant by that. I didn't care. I just wanted him to leave, I wanted this to be over. I heard the door jingle again, and some stupid, uncontrollable, irrational part of me just looked up. It was just a peek over my arm that was wrapped around Joanie's shoulder, but still... I only saw the shiny shoes and the feet of the dog, but that was enough. I could tell that neither of them were in any way natural. The dog's fur seemed to be made out of wisps of smoke that moved wildly in a breeze that didn't exist. Its claws were long and sharper than anything I had ever seen. And I could smell it... it smelled like rotten meat. I buried my face again, cursing myself for being stupid enough to look, and then cursing myself again for speaking aloud. I could almost feel the man pause at the threshold after hearing my voice. "As another token of my gratitude," he said listlessly, like he was very, very bored of being here. "A bit of future advice: don't go take rides from strangers." And then the door clicked and the bell gave a last feeble jingle, like even it was too scared to move. I had an inkling of what that meant, but I didn't want to even acknowledge it. Joanie and I sat trembling for a while after the man finally left. Eventually the blood in my body started circulating properly again, and my body relaxed. The overwhelming feeling of terror was gone, but the memory lingered heavily on both of us and we both sat huddled together for a little while longer. Until the door to the dog kennel flung itself open. That energized us. Joanie and I both scrambled to our feet screaming at the top of our lungs. We clawed our way to the far edge of the room, too scared senseless to make a break for the door. But no unholy being appeared in the door frame. Only Derek. Derek, whole and living... and looking utterly confused. There was a large bruise that was already purpling above his brow. "Jesus, what happened?" He said, rubbing his head. He was, unknowingly, still clinging to the burlap sack. My gaze was locked on it. It was the only evidence of what had really happened here. Once he caught sight of us, he stopped in his tracks. His bewilderment turned to worry once he made sense of our distraught appearance. "Are you guys okay?" Derek stuttered. "You look like you've seen Death himself or something!" Joanie turned to me, her one eye twitching with stress. All the blood had drained from her face long ago, and her eyes were encircled with deep purple that made them seem to bug out. She stared at me, her scarred gaze communicating more than words ever could. "I quit," she choked, and then puked all over Derek's feet. THE END