An Hour Before Morning

Daniel Mercer woke at 2:17 in the morning.

He opened his eyes suddenly, as though someone had called his name.

For several seconds, he didn't move.

He stared at the ceiling.

The bedroom was dark except for the faint red glow of the digital clock on the nightstand.

2:17 A.M.

Daniel frowned.

He had no idea why he was awake.

There had been no nightmare. No thunder. No noise from outside. Nothing that should have disturbed him.

He rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket higher.

"Go back to sleep."

He closed his eyes.

Nothing.

His mind refused to settle.

He thought about work.

Then bills.

Then the grocery list.

Then something he'd said to a friend three weeks earlier.

Then he wondered why he was thinking about things he didn't normally think about in the middle of the night.

He opened his eyes.

2:24 A.M.

"Come on."

He turned onto his other side.

Minutes passed.

The house made its usual nighttime sounds. The refrigerator hummed downstairs. Pipes clicked inside the walls. The heating system came on briefly, then shut off.

Normal sounds.

Safe sounds.

Daniel closed his eyes again.

Then he heard a tap.

Tap.

His eyes opened.

He listened.

Nothing.

He waited.

Tap.

Daniel sat up.

The sound had come from the bedroom window.

He stared at the curtains.

The curtains were closed, and beyond them was the second-story window overlooking the backyard.

Another tap.

Tap.

Daniel got out of bed.

He walked across the room.

The floor was cold beneath his bare feet.

He stopped in front of the window.

"Probably a branch."

But there was no wind tonight.

He slowly pulled the curtain aside.

Nothing.

The backyard was empty.

The trees were perfectly still.

The moon was hidden behind clouds.

Daniel looked at the glass.

Nothing was there.

He leaned closer.

Then something tapped the window from the other side.

Tap.

Daniel jumped backward.

He stared.

There was nothing outside.

Nothing could have been there.

His bedroom was on the second floor.

Daniel slowly lowered the curtain.

He stood there for several seconds.

Then he heard a voice.

"Daniel."

He froze.

The voice had come from the hallway.

He knew that voice.

His mother's voice.

Daniel's stomach tightened.

His mother had been dead for eleven years.

"Daniel."

He didn't answer.

His bedroom door stood slightly open.

Darkness filled the hallway beyond it.

"Mom?"

Silence.

Daniel swallowed.

"This isn't funny."

No answer.

He stepped toward the door.

Every instinct told him not to.

But grief has a strange power.

Sometimes, hearing a familiar voice can make a person forget every reason they should be afraid.

Daniel opened the door.

The hallway was empty.

"Mom?"

Nothing.

He stepped into the hall.

The house felt colder than it had a moment earlier.

Daniel looked toward the staircase.

At the top step lay something he hadn't seen before.

A photograph.

He walked over and picked it up.

His breath caught.

It was an old picture of him and his mother.

Daniel was eight years old.

His mother stood behind him with both hands resting on his shoulders.

They were standing outside the house Daniel now lived in.

The photograph was at least thirty years old.

Daniel turned it over.

There was handwriting on the back.

His mother's handwriting.

Four words.

Don't go downstairs tonight.

Daniel stared at the message.

He read it again.

Then again.

"This isn't possible."

The photograph slipped from his hand.

It landed on the floor.

A door slammed downstairs.

BANG!

Daniel jumped.

Then another.

BANG!

Someone was moving around downstairs.

He grabbed the railing.

"Who's there?"

Nothing.

Daniel reached for his phone.

He dialed 911.

No signal.

He tried again.

Nothing.

His phone showed no service.

"Great."

Then it buzzed.

Daniel nearly dropped it.

A text message appeared.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

He opened it.

You should not have gotten out of bed.

Daniel stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

It knows you're awake.

His fingers trembled.

"Who is this?"

He typed the question.

The message wouldn't send.

Instead, another appeared.

Go back to your room.

Daniel looked toward his bedroom.

Then toward the stairs.

He should have listened.

But curiosity is sometimes stronger than fear.

Daniel slowly descended the staircase.

The lights were off downstairs.

He reached the bottom.

The living room was empty.

The kitchen was empty.

The back door was locked.

He checked it twice.

Then he heard breathing.

Someone was standing behind him.

Daniel turned.

An old man stood in the doorway.

Daniel couldn't see his face.

The man wore a dark coat.

His shoulders were bent.

His hands trembled.

Daniel backed away.

"Who are you?"

The man stepped into the light.

Daniel stopped breathing.

It was him.

Older.

Much older.

The same eyes.

The same scar beneath his left eyebrow.

The same crooked nose.

It was Daniel.

Seventy years old.

Maybe older.

The old man looked at him with desperate sadness.

"You're not supposed to be here yet."

Daniel couldn't speak.

The old man looked toward the staircase.

"Go back upstairs."

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

"No."

The old Daniel shook his head.

"You've forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

The old man stepped closer.

"How many times have you woken up at 2:17?"

Daniel stared at him.

"What?"

"Think."

Daniel tried.

He remembered waking in the middle of the night before.

But not like this.

The old man whispered:

"This isn't the first time."

Daniel backed away.

"Where am I?"

"Home."

"This is my house."

The old Daniel shook his head.

"No."

He pointed toward the walls.

"This is where it keeps you."

Daniel felt a chill run through him.

"Who?"

The old man looked upstairs.

"Your mother."

Daniel's face hardened.

"Don't say that."

"I'm sorry."

"My mother is dead."

"I know."

"Then how could she be here?"

The old man looked at the clock above the kitchen doorway.

3:11 A.M.

"You'll understand soon."

"Tell me now."

"I can't."

"Why?"

The old man looked frightened.

"Because she can hear us."

Silence.

Then something moved upstairs.

A slow creak.

Daniel looked toward the staircase.

The old man whispered:

"Don't look."

Daniel looked anyway.

At the top of the stairs stood his mother.

She was wearing the same blue sweater she had worn the last time he'd seen her alive.

Daniel's eyes filled with tears.

"Mom?"

She smiled.

"Hello, Danny."

He hadn't heard that nickname in eleven years.

Daniel took a step toward her.

The old man grabbed his arm.

"No."

Daniel pulled free.

"That's my mother."

"No, it isn't."

She smiled wider.

"Danny, come here."

Daniel's heart broke.

"Mom."

"Come upstairs."

The old man shouted:

"Don't!"

His mother turned toward him.

Her smile disappeared.

The old Daniel backed away.

"You don't belong here."

Her head tilted slightly.

"Neither do you."

The lights flickered.

The old man vanished.

Daniel stood alone.

His mother looked at him.

"Danny."

Daniel wiped his eyes.

"I miss you."

"I know."

"I never got to say goodbye."

She stepped closer.

"You can now."

Daniel felt something wrong in those words.

"What do you mean?"

She smiled.

"You have all night."

The clock changed.

3:27 A.M.

Daniel backed away.

"Where am I?"

She didn't answer.

"What is this place?"

Still nothing.

Daniel ran toward the front door.

He grabbed the handle.

It wouldn't move.

He pulled harder.

Locked.

He unlocked it.

Pulled again.

Nothing.

He looked through the glass.

Outside wasn't his neighborhood.

There was no street.

No houses.

No trees.

Only darkness.

Complete darkness.

Daniel stepped away.

His mother stood behind him.

"There's nowhere to go."

Daniel turned.

Her eyes were black.

He screamed.

The lights went out.

Daniel woke in his bed.

He sat upright, gasping.

Morning light streamed through the curtains.

His heart pounded.

He looked around.

His bedroom.

His bed.

His furniture.

Everything was normal.

He looked at the clock.

7:12 A.M.

Daniel laughed.

A nervous, exhausted laugh.

"It was a dream."

He climbed out of bed.

He walked toward the bathroom.

Then stopped.

There was something on his bedroom floor.

The photograph.

Daniel slowly picked it up.

His mother.

Him.

The house.

He turned it over.

The message was still there.

Don't go downstairs tonight.

Daniel dropped it.

He didn't go downstairs.

He stayed in his bedroom until the sun was high.

Eventually, he convinced himself it had been some bizarre nightmare caused by lack of sleep.

By noon, he was almost laughing about it.

By evening, he'd forgotten most of the details.

Almost.

At 10:30, he went to bed.

He turned off the light.

He closed his eyes.

And eventually fell asleep.

2:17 A.M.

Daniel's eyes opened.

He stared at the ceiling.

The room was dark.

The red numbers on the clock glowed beside him.

2:17.

Daniel sat up.

He knew what was happening.

"No."

He reached for the lamp.

Nothing.

He tried the light switch.

Nothing.

Then came the tap.

Tap.

Daniel stopped breathing.

Tap.

The window.

He refused to look.

Then his phone buzzed.

A message appeared.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

You remembered this time.

Another message.

Good.

Another.

It means we're getting closer.

Daniel's hands shook.

He typed:

Who are you?

The answer appeared immediately.

Your mother.

Daniel threw the phone across the room.

It landed on the carpet.

The screen stayed lit.

Another message appeared.

You need to remember what happened the first night.

Daniel covered his ears.

"I don't want to."

A voice whispered from beneath his bed.

"You have to."

Daniel jumped onto the mattress.

The voice was his own.

He slowly looked down.

"Who's there?"

His own voice answered:

"You."

Daniel stared at the space beneath the bed.

Something moved.

He heard his own voice whisper:

"Look."

"No."

"Look."

"No!"

The thing beneath the bed laughed.

Then Daniel heard footsteps in the hallway.

Slow.

Measured.

Approaching.

He looked at the bedroom door.

It opened.

His mother stood there.

But this time, she wasn't smiling.

She looked tired.

Afraid.

"Daniel."

He stared at her.

"Mom?"

She nodded.

"Listen to me."

"What is happening?"

"I tried to warn you."

"You did."

"You never listened."

Daniel shook his head.

"I don't understand."

She stepped into the room.

"Because you don't remember."

"Remember what?"

She looked at the clock.

3:02 A.M.

"We don't have much time."

"Until what?"

She looked beneath the bed.

"Until he wakes."

"Who?"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"The man you saw downstairs."

Daniel's stomach dropped.

"That was me."

"No."

She shook her head.

"It wasn't you."

"Then who was it?"

She whispered:

"The first man who lived here."

Daniel stared at her.

"What does that mean?"

"He died in this house."

"And?"

"He didn't leave."

Daniel felt the room grow colder.

"He learned how to make people stay."

The bedroom door slammed shut.

His mother grabbed his hand.

"He's done it to you."

Daniel pulled away.

"How?"

"Every night you wake at 2:17."

She pointed toward the clock.

"You can't sleep."

Daniel nodded.

"Then at four, you forget."

His mouth went dry.

"Forget what?"

"Everything."

Daniel stared at her.

The memories began returning.

Not one at a time.

All at once.

He remembered the first night.

He remembered waking at 2:17.

He remembered hearing his mother's voice.

He remembered going downstairs.

He remembered the old man.

But there was more.

He remembered opening the basement door.

He remembered descending the stairs.

He remembered finding a room beneath the house.

A room that shouldn't have existed.

And he remembered what was inside.

A chair.

A table.

Hundreds of photographs.

Pictures of people who had lived in the house.

People who had disappeared.

And on the wall—

His own photograph.

Taken when he was eight years old.

Daniel gasped.

His mother squeezed his hand.

"You see it now."

He nodded.

"I've been here before."

"Yes."

"How many times?"

She looked at him.

"I don't know."

The clock changed.

3:59 A.M.

His mother began crying.

"Whatever happens, don't look at him."

"Who?"

The bedroom door slowly opened.

The old man stood outside.

Daniel stared.

It was the same old version of himself.

But now Daniel noticed something.

The old man wasn't looking at him.

He was looking at his mother.

The old Daniel smiled.

"You shouldn't have told him."

His mother stepped in front of Daniel.

"Run."

Daniel looked toward the window.

The old man laughed.

"There's nowhere to run."

The clock clicked.

4:00 A.M.

The bedroom disappeared.

The walls disappeared.

The house disappeared.

Daniel stood in darkness.

His mother was gone.

The old man was gone.

There was only a single door.

Daniel reached for it.

Before he touched the handle, he heard his mother's voice.

"Daniel."

He turned.

She stood behind him.

Her face was peaceful.

Human.

The way he remembered her.

"Mom?"

She smiled.

"This is your last chance."

"To do what?"

"Wake up."

Daniel looked at the door.

"What happens if I open it?"

"You stay."

"Where?"

She pointed behind him.

Daniel turned.

Hundreds of people stood in the darkness.

Men.

Women.

Children.

All of them staring at him.

All of them waiting.

Daniel recognized some of their faces from the photographs.

Then he saw the old man.

He stood among them.

His face was no longer old.

It was young.

It was Daniel's face.

The old man smiled.

"You belong here."

Daniel shook his head.

"No."

The old man stepped forward.

"You've always belonged here."

Daniel looked at his mother.

She whispered:

"Don't listen."

The old man reached for him.

Daniel grabbed the door.

He pulled it open.

White light exploded through the darkness.

The old man screamed.

Every figure screamed.

His mother shouted:

"Goodbye, Danny!"

Daniel stepped through the light.

He woke in his bed.

Morning sunlight filled the room.

He sat upright.

His breathing was steady.

The clock read:

7:13 A.M.

Daniel stared at it.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

He got out of bed.

He walked into the hallway.

He looked toward the stairs.

Then he stopped.

Something was different.

The photograph was gone.

Daniel smiled.

He walked downstairs.

The house was quiet.

Normal.

Safe.

He made coffee.

He opened the front door.

Morning sunlight poured across the porch.

Daniel stepped outside.

For the first time in years, he felt completely free.

Then he noticed someone standing across the street.

An old man.

Watching him.

Daniel's smile disappeared.

The old man raised one hand.

Daniel stared.

The old man smiled.

Then he vanished.

Daniel stood frozen.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He slowly pulled it out.

One new message.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Daniel opened it.

There were only five words.

You forgot one thing, Daniel.

He stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

You never really woke up.

Daniel looked around.

The street was empty.

The sunlight suddenly seemed too bright.

The birds had stopped singing.

And behind him, inside the house, a floorboard creaked.

Daniel slowly turned.

The front door stood open.

From somewhere deep inside the house came his mother's voice.

Soft.

Almost loving.

"Danny."

Daniel closed his eyes.

Then came the whisper he had heard every night.

2:17.

Daniel opened his eyes.

The clock inside the house had changed.

It wasn't 7:13 anymore.

It read:

2:17 A.M.

And Daniel finally understood.

He hadn't escaped the house.

He had only dreamed that he had.

The door behind him slammed shut.

And somewhere upstairs, something began to laugh.

The End