Fishing in Brains for an Eye with Teeth (Thirteen Tales of Terror) (27 page)

The monster was a parasite that feasted on misery, madness, and mourning.  It was a terrorist that thrived on anger, vengeance, and fear.  It gorged Itself on the envy of the coveting masses.  It feasted on the criminal intent of the wicked.   It lapped up the furious swill that was secreted by people’s most private perversions.

Immorality made Its stomach grumble.  Bigotry made It thirsty.  And hatred was the finest delicacy of all.

Murder was Its meat.  Disgust was Its drink.  And Its favorite dessert was despair.

The infernal creature generally ate healthy but It did have one embarrassing weakness.

It was also cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

THE END

She Dreams of Murder

In the middle of the night, Frank Farnsworth was awakened by his wife, Faith.  He rolled over toward her and, without opening his eyes, he murmured, “Z’ong?” which translated to, “What’s wrong?”

Very clearly, his wife said, “I can’t take it anymore.  I swear to God, I don’t know why I married him in the first place.  Sometimes, I just wish he were dead.”

Frank woke up completely.  He was confused. 
Is she talking to me?
  He opened his eyes.  The room was dark, the shadows deep, but their digital alarm clock bathed his wife’s face in a dull green glow.  She was lying on her belly, facing him, and Frank could clearly see her eyes were closed.

As he looked at her, Faith said slightly louder, in a whiney tone uncharacteristic of her, “I do
too
mean it!  Living with him is hell!  I’m trapped and he’s my jailer.  I dream of ways of killing him so that I can be free.”

Faith had never talked in her sleep, not in nineteen years of marriage.  Upset and agitated, he laid a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her, asking, “Faith?  Are you awake?”

He saw no change in her sleep-placid expression but her voice took a sharper tone when she said, “I’m absolutely serious.  The only reason I don’t put arsenic in his coffee is because they don’t sell it at Wal-Mart.  I’d use rat poisoning if I thought I could get away with it.  But I just know they’d convict me and lock me away for the rest of my natural life.  Going to prison would be worth it . . . if it didn’t mean being locked away from you.”

Frank grabbed the alarm clock off the nightstand and brought its light closer to his wife’s face.  He confirmed Faith’s eyes were closed and darting around behind her lids.  Frank had read about R.E.M. sleep, which stood for Rapid Eye Movement, the state of unconsciousness when a person was dreaming. 

He still couldn’t believe this was happening. 

Faith had never talked in her sleep.

“Oh, well,” she said, still sleeping, “I can always dream, can’t I?”

After that, he heard nothing from her but even breathing.

Upset, Frank wondered who Faith was talking to in her dream.  Annie probably, her best friend.  Faith always confided in Annie about everything. 

Was she talking about me?

 Frank’s cynical (realistic?) side fired back an answer,
Who
else
would she be talking about?

But it made no sense to him.  His wife wasn’t discontented.  Quite the contrary.  If anything, she seemed happier than ever the last couple years.  Her job was a breeze, no stress there.  The kids were great, no problems there.  Faith went out occasionally to Victoria’s Secret parties with her friends.  Faith and Annie had at least one Girl’s Night Out every week.

Frank had never stood in the way of any of that.

She couldn’t have been talking about me.  Faith loves me.

He reminded himself,
It was just a dream, man.  Get a grip.  We say and do all kinds of wacky things in our dreams.  For all you know she was talking to a penguin about her uncle.

His concerns crumbling under the weight of his weariness, Frank fell back to sleep.

                        ******

Over breakfast the next morning with Faith and his two boys, as Frank slathered honey on his toast, he asked, “Since when did you start talking in your sleep?”

Faith mistakenly thought Frank was talking to Blake, their oldest son.  She looked at Frank and asked, “When did you hear him talking in his sleep?”

“Not him,” Frank clarified with a point of his butter knife.  “You.”

“Me?”  Faith looked surprised, then disbelieving.  “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“You never
used
to, no.  But you sure did last night.”

Bobby, their youngest, asked, “What did she say, Dad?”

“I didn’t say anything, Bob.  Daddy is teasing me.”

Frank let the subject drop. 

                        ****** 

That night in bed, after the lights were out, Faith asked him, “Were you serious this morning?  About me talking in my sleep?  I’ve never talked in my sleep.”

Frank told her, “I was serious.”

“What did I say?”

He didn’t know why but he was suddenly nervous about telling her the truth.  The lie was fabricated spontaneously. “I couldn’t make out much.  I got the impression you were talking about
me,
though.  Do you remember having any dreams”
about me
“last night?”

Frank’s mind raced ahead. 
This is where you tease me and tell me if you dreamt about me it wouldn’t be a dream, it would be a nightmare.  Only you’re
not
teasing, you’re secretly harboring resentment.

Faith yawned before answering.  “You know I never remember my dreams.”

A moment later, she said, “If I do it again tonight, tell me to stop.”

Instead of telling her how he tried to wake her last night, he just said, “Okay.”

They went to sleep.           

                        ******

The next few nights passed without incident.  Both Frank and Faith forgot about her talking in her sleep.

Then, once again, in the middle of the night, Frank was awakened by his wife’s voice, “- driving me
crazy
!  I hate my marriage!  I absolutely
hate
it!”

Frank was immediately upset. 
It’s happening again
.

“Yes, I do.  I know it sounds callous, maybe even
psychotic
, but I really do fantasize about killing him.  I’ve been watching those true crime shows on T.V. just to get ideas.  I saw one the other night where some woman was able to get away with murder for nearly
thirty years
.  She used insulin to kill her husband and made it seem like an accident.  Of course,
my
husband isn’t a diabetic, damn his hide.”

Lying on his side, watching his sleeping wife talk, Frank thought bitterly,
No. I’m not
.

After a long eye-darting pause, Faith continued, “Oh, don’t worry about
that
!  He’s clueless.  Hell, even if he
did
find out about us, he probably wouldn’t care.  He doesn’t give a damn about me.  He never has.  I was a fool not to realize from the beginning how self-absorbed he is.”

His heart hammering, Frank broke out in a sweat.  He considered waking Faith up but decided not to. 

Faith sighed.  “If it wasn’t for the time I spend in bed with you, I swear to God, I’d never be able to get through the week.”  Faith sighed again, then rolled over, away from Frank, pulling the covers up to her sleeping chin.

Frank lay awake most of the night.  He no longer believed Faith was talking to Annie in her dreams.  Hearing her say she was glad for the time she spent in bed with her confidant caused him to speculate,
She’s having an affair
.  Every vibration of his soul rejected this idea.  Faith wasn’t the type.  And even if she was, there was no
reason
for her to have an affair.  She was
happy.

He thought about their sex life.  True, it had been less than spectacular lately— he generally made love to her about once a week— but it wasn’t like they were kids anymore.  Certainly, Faith had never
complained
about
anything
in bed.

He wondered if that was a bad sign instead of a good one. 
Maybe she has complaints but doesn’t feel she can voice them
.

That idea annoyed him. 
Well, if she doesn’t voice them, then how am I supposed to know?  I’m not a goddamn mind reader!

Frank argued with himself until he was exhausted. 
Thank goodness tomorrow is Saturday.  I can sleep in.

He kept telling himself it was just a dream, only a dream, it had Absolutely Nothing Whatsoever To Do With Reality.

He was worried.

It was a long time before he found sleep again. 

                        ******

A couple days later, Frank met his best friend Josh for lunch.

As they chitchatted, getting caught up on their lives, Frank became increasingly more nervous.  Finally, he just blurted out what was on his mind. “I think Faith might be having an affair.”

“What?”  Josh clearly wasn’t certain whether this was a joke or not.  “No way.”  Then, seeing Frank was worried, he frowned.  “What makes you say that?”

Frank explained about Faith’s new nighttime gab.

When he was done, Josh laughed.  “Get a grip, man.  Faith would never cheat on you.”

“I know,” said Frank glumly, not at all certain that was true.

  Josh tried to reassure him, “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, dude.  Dreams are harmless.  Haven’t you ever dreamed you were with someone other than Faith?”

Frank replied honestly, “I never remember my dreams.”

“Well, I do!”  Josh snickered.  “And take it from me, dreams
aren’t
reality.  After I first saw
Lost in Translation
, I dreamed about Scarlett Johansson for a solid week.”

Frank chuckled.  “You’re not serious.”

“Hell, yes, I’m serious.  I’ve had all kinds of celebrities show up in my dreams.  I had a dream about a month ago where I was in a car accident and instead of going to a hospital I went to the 4077
^th
M.A.S.H. to be operated on by Hawkeye Pierce!”

“Donald Sutherland or Alan Alda?”

“Alan Alda.”  Josh laughed and Frank joined him.

Josh said, “Dreams are Weirdness Incarnate, buddy.  Don’t sweat it.  Faith is about as likely to have an affair as I am to go to Korea.”

Frank felt much better after talking to his friend. 

                        ******

Later, when Frank was awakened in the middle of the night, a ringing preceded his wife’s voice.   He rolled over to face her as Faith said, “What’s wrong?”

Incredibly sleepy, he mimicked this, asking his wife, “What’s wrong?”

Faith turned on the light on her nightstand.  Frank opened bleary eyes and saw she was on the phone.  She pulled the phone away from her mouth and told Frank, “It’s Annie.”

Frank still wanted to know, “What’s wrong?”

Faith whispered, “She’s upset.”  She put the phone back to her mouth and said, “Hang on a minute, Annie.  I don’t want to keep Frank up.  I’m going to switch phones.”  As she handed Frank the receiver, she said, “I’m sorry, honey.  I’ll take this in the living room.  Hang up the phone for me when I tell you, okay?”

“‘K.”   He took the phone from her as she got out of bed.  He watched as Faith put on her robe, turned off the light, then exited their bedroom.

Frank was exhausted.  He’d lost a lot of sleep the last few nights and it was catching up with him.  He could barely keep his eyes open.  He put the phone to his ear and waited.  When Faith finally said, “Okay, honey.  You can hang up now,” it startled him out of a doze.

He hung up the phone.

Only then did Frank snap fully awake, thinking,
What if it’s not Annie on the phone?  What if it’s Faith’s lover?

Telling himself that was crazy, he tried to sleep.  While his body was bone weary, his brain didn’t want to shut down.  He tossed and turned, unable to stop wondering who was
really
on the phone.

Finally, exasperated, Frank did something he’d never done before.  He picked up the phone to eavesdrop on his wife’s conversation.  Putting the receiver to his head, he heard Faith saying, “—don’t see how that would do any good!  You need to go—” Faith obviously heard him pick up the phone because she stopped what she’s saying in mid-sentence. “Frank?”

Busted
, he thought.  He muttered, “Is, um, everything all right?”

“Yes, honey.”  Faith
did
sound a little snappish as she said, “Go back to sleep.  I’ll be coming back to bed soon.”

He waited two seconds, then four to see if the other person on the line was going to say something.  They didn’t.

Frank hung up.

Dammit!
   He wasn’t happy.  For all he knew it
could
be a man that Faith was talking to.  He never heard Annie’s voice.

He fretted for a while longer but then his exhaustion won out. 
Screw it
, he thought. 
Go ahead and cheat on me, Faith.  See if I care.  I need sleep
.

Sleep he got. 

                        ******

The next morning, still on edge, Frank asked Faith, “So what was up with Annie last night?”

Faith sighed.  “She’s having a really tough time lately.”

Frank waited for more and when no more was forthcoming, he was forced to ask, “Could you be a little more specific?”

Faith sighed again.  “I really don’t know what’s wrong with her and she doesn’t either.  She went to the doctor and he didn’t find much.  I’ve been trying to get her to go to a psychiatrist but she won’t do it.”

Frank frowned.  He didn’t believe in shrinks.  He thought people should work out their own problems.

“She’s
really
stubborn.”  Faith bit her bottom lip. 

Frank thought,
She’s worried.  The only time she bites her lip like that is when she’s worried
. 

He still hadn’t gotten any details yet.  “What are her symptoms?”