Visions In the Night

Harry hadn’t slept in four days. Every night, the banging continued, louder and louder with each passing day. A few times, he would debate going outside and seeing what it was. Part of him wanted to grab his gun, point it out the window, and shoot in the direction of the noise. Another part of him said it was just the house settling; it was an old structure, and the animals were being fussy. There was nothing to worry about. So, he stayed in bed, his fingers clenching the bed sheets as he drew deep breaths and let them out slowly.

Tonight, the banging started later than usual. He was starting to get into the habit of hearing them as soon as Dorothy started to snore, signaling her deep sleep. She had noticed that he wasn’t moving as quickly as he used to. His body was starting to feel the effects of his exhaustion; his muscles ached when he moved, he struggled to keep his eyes open, and could not do his job without pausing to take a break. He fell asleep in his chair that night after dinner. Dorothy knew something was going on, but whenever she mentioned it, he brushed her off and told her that he would be fine, it’s just the heat.

Harry didn’t know how to mention it to her without sounding crazy. He knew that was how Dorothy saw him lately. First, the sandstorm, then the disappearing figure in the field, and then his outburst in town. He didn’t need this to pile on.

BANG! BANGBANG!

He sat up in bed at the sound echoing through the empty field. Dorothy lay still.

BANG BANGBANG

“Ignore it,” he said to himself. “Go back to sleep,” as if commanding himself to do it would make it true. He lay back down, letting his head hit the pillow, and closed his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, he filled his diaphragm with air and let it out slowly, hoping to mask the racket outside.

A few silent minutes went by. Harry smiled to himself as he felt his body drift away from consciousness. He was about to welcome the sweet sensation of sleep, when—

BANG!

A gunshot-like sound went off, and Harry’s eyes shot open.

“God dammit!” he shouted angrily, then covered his mouth when he remembered Dorothy sleeping next to him. He turned to see if she had heard the sound, too, but she was still sleeping soundly, unmoved by the noise and Harry’s outburst.

“This is ridiculous,” he whispered, and got out of bed. Harry was not going to let this bother him anymore. He went to the corner of the room, grabbed his shotgun, and went downstairs. He stuffed his bare feet into his boots, his toes crunching the newspapers stuffed into the soles.

BANG!

It’s like the sound was taunting him, daring him to come over and see what was happening. Maybe this was a trap. Maybe it was just a group of kids sneaking onto the farm to steal food. Maybe it was someone coming to–

No. He was not going to let his anxieties stop him. Not this time. He was going to put an end to it.

Harry pulled the door open, not bothering to tie a scarf to his head to keep him from breathing in dust.

BANG!!

It was coming from the barn. He launched into a sprint, holding his rifle close to his chest. His body ached with exhaustion, his muscles strained as he pushed through the pain and kept running. As he approached, he tried to listen for any animal noises that would constitute an emergency.

When he opened the barn door, he saw his livestock sleeping soundly, undisturbed by any noises or sudden movements. Even the slamming of the barn door was not enough to wake them.

Harry slowly brought his gun to his shoulder, creeping through the barn, careful not to point the barrel at any of the animals. Taking delicate, slow steps, he waited for the noise to sound again.

BANG!

He moved in the direction of the sound, toward the back wall, and waited to see if the sound would repeat. He kept his eyes fixated on the wall to spot any movement.

BANG!

Harry let out a sigh of relief when he realized it. The noise was coming from an open window, which kept slamming shut and springing back open. His heartbeat slowed as he reached over and closed the window, locking it shut. He usually kept it open to let the barn smells out, but maybe it was time to keep it closed.

The animals didn’t even stir. Harry definitely thought it was strange; they were usually so jumpy, even the slightest noise would have them all awake and screaming. Maybe they were starting to feel their own exhaustion, too. Harry had noticed that during the day, the animals were lazing around, moving slowly, bumping into each other without any argument or fighting. They were too tired to come to blows. When the cowboys came to collect them, they begrudgingly followed the man’s horse. They didn’t even bother to protest the rope being tied around them.

He looked at them now, sleeping peacefully, their stomachs rhythmically moving up and down. Did the sounds disturb them? Were they always sleeping this peacefully? Did they even hear it?

Harry couldn’t think about that now. He told himself that he was just tired, that he was imagining things, and needed to go back to sleep. He shook his head and turned to leave.

He turned to face a pair of glowing white eyes. A gasp escaped his throat, and he stumbled backward, his back slamming into a fence post. In the corner, a pig fidgeted in its sleep. He turned to face it, careful to stay silent. The pig lay still, returning to its normal breathing.

Harry let out a slow, restrained breath, turning to see if the eyes were still watching him. The eyes were gone, and he stood alone in the barn, the only company unconscious and snoring.

Go home, he said to himself. Go inside and go back to sleep.

Dust collected on his fingers as he closed the barn door. As he turned to face his house, he saw the glowing white eyes again, this time attached to the same brown calf killed during the previous dust storm. His heart stopped.

“Stop,” he said out loud, his voice echoing through the empty field. “This is not real!”

The calf did not move, keeping its gaze on Harry. He would not let it get the better of him this time. He slowly lifted his gun and aimed the barrel at the calf.

He pulled the trigger, and the bullet disappeared into a cloud of smoke. The sky turned a dark red, and the calf was replaced with the familiar figure that loomed over him, taunted him in his sleep. Harry kept his footing, keeping his gun’s aim on the figure.

The figure flew to him and, in a swift motion, grabbed Harry by the arm and leapt into the air. Harry screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth. He squirmed as his feet left the ground and his body ascended into the air. The figure’s grip tightened on his body, then positioned Harry’s head to look down at the ground below them.

Harry tried to close his eyes, but his eyelids would not move. The figure stopped before reaching the clouds. They could see for miles and miles ahead of them. Harry could see rows and rows of yellow, dry grass blowing in the breeze. In the distance, thick smoke trailed into the air; he could see an oil rig engulfed in flames, the embers catching on the dried grass surrounding it.

When he tried to ask the figure why he was seeing all this, his voice disappeared. The figure let go of his body, and Harry could feel himself falling. He screamed, bracing for impact and imminent death as his house came closer into view.

Harry opened his eyes and shot out of bed, gasping for air as his body moved. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could hear the echo ringing in his ears. Sweat matriculated on his back, pooling on his bedsheets and pajamas. He turned to Dorothy, who was still sound asleep next to him, her chest rising and falling in an even rhythm.

As his heartbeat slowed, he got out of bed and looked out of his window. The dried grass surrounding his farm made his stomach turn; the image of the smoke, the oil rig, the flames, could not escape his mind. His head was swimming, and his body ached, but he would not be going back to sleep.