Ambrose Ibsen [Ibsen - Deep Night

N o. No. Not again. Not tonight, please...

She awoke.

Not little by little, not peacefully. One instant she'd been well and truly asleep; the next, she was wide awakeawake and certain that something was wrong.

It had been a soundthat soundthat'd yanked her out of a peaceful sleep.

A rapping at her window.

Nancy shifted uncomfortably against the bedclothes, peeled the sweat-damp sheets off and stared into the darkness, trying to quiet the pounding of her pulse. She studied the clock on her bedside table. The chunky red letters told her she was closing in on a quarter after midnight.

It's just like last night, she thought with a wince.

The same time on the clock, the same noise at the window, the same fear churning her guts.

For awhile she stayed put, closing her eyes, hoping that whoever had come by might lose interest and mosey on, or that she'd simply misheard. But then, that hadn't worked the last time, had it? The tapping had kept onthe visitor had rapped at the window until she'd finally gotten up to look.

For three nights running, she'd heard this noise at her window, and for three nights running she'd come to fear the dark. It hadn't always been this way. Having lived in the house alone almost twenty years, she couldn't recall ever feeling so frightened and vulnerable in the dark, nor could she remember ever dealing with nighttime trouble of this kind. Tanglewood, Ohio, was a safe placeas safe as they came. Pranksters and home invaders were practically unheard of in her neck of the woods.

There it was againthe slow drum of fingertips against the glass.

Slipping out of bed, she stood in the darkness and worked at chasing away the terror that left her knees knocking. Her heart climbed into her throat as she crept to the window, a single finger seeking out one of the seams in the blinds. She parted them the merest fraction, squinting through the crack in search of her nocturnal visitor.

But there was no one there.

Instead, she found herself looking out narrowly at her twilit back yard. She glanced past the bushes, past the chain link fence that separated the border of her property from the street and the park beyond.

What? Where did...

The night before, through this same window, and after a bout of the same tapping, she'd spied someone lingering near the fence. It'd been a very pale person, kind of lanky, hunched beneath the cover of a red umbrella. Maybe it was just because her eyes weren't so good these days, but she hadn't been able to make out much more. After tapping at her bedroom window for a bit, they'd seemingly stationed themselves by the fence, watching the house for a time. Nancy had been so terrified at this that she'd called Marc, the sheriff's deputy, over to scope things out. The lurker by the fence had taken off before he'd arrived, though.

Now, it seemed, they'd returned. But where were they?

She should have felt peace at finding the yard empty, but she only clenched her teeth harder. She tugged at the blinds, widening her vantage point, and studied the back of her property from end to end. The breeze set the bushes near the window quivering. A white moth bobbed across the lawn. From a street over, a traffic light sleepily clicked over from yellow to red and dyed the surrounding pavement with a fiery glow.

Allowing for a cautious optimism, Nancy drew away from the window. Maybe you really did imagine it... Straightening her pajama top and fumbling with a nearby floor lamp, she took a steadying breath and returned to bed, sitting on the edge.

No sooner had she begun to court relief did the sound register againa slow, deliberate rapping against the glass.

Nancy forced herself to her feet. Keeping the window in her sights, she backed towards the dresser, against which she'd set a baseball bat the evening previous. With the weapon in one hand, she returned now to the window, shakily grasping at the cord of the blinds and giving it a quick yank. W-Who's there? she demanded.

The blinds flew up and she got her answer.

Someone stood just outside the window, their bulk filling out the glass and casting a gnarled shadow across the carpet.

Nancy screamed. The blinds crashed back into place.

Dragging the bat behind her, she barreled out of the bedroom, into the dim hallway. By the time she arrived in the kitchen, plucking her cell phone from the charger on her counter, she'd put on virtually every light in the house. Barely able to keep hold of the phone, she ran through her contacts and dialed Marc. While it rang, she paced the stretch between her living room and kitchen, eyeing the locks on the front and back doors and making sure they'd been engaged.

The deputy answered with his usual 'yello? and when Nancyclose to hyperventilatingdidn't reply, he cleared his throat and prodded her. Uh, Nance, that you?

Yes, she spat in a whisper. It's me, Marc. I... I need you to come by. It's... it's the same as last night. There's someone here. They were tapping on the windowand this time, I saw them. Just outside.

All right, are they trying to get inside? Marc could be heard to sit up, and the sound of his cruiser's engine revving punctuated the question.

I... I don't know. I don't... Catching her breath, Nancy stopped and listened for any sounds of intrusion. Not at the moment, she said finally.

All right, I'm on my way. I'm over near the library, Nance. You stay put, got it? Marc cut the line.

Setting her phone down on the counter, Nancy resumed her patrols between the front and back doors. She clutched the baseball bat to her chest, her arms shaking. Just stay calm. Marc's on his way. He'll be here in just a few minutes, she told herself. At this hour, with no traffic, Marc would be over in a flash. She just needed to stay inside and make sure that

A noise intruded upon her thoughtsa new noise.

It was the sound of her front door being tried.

Forcefully.

M-Marc? she blurted, though she knew at once it wasn't the deputy. The doorknob trembled and the deadbolt could be heard to creak in its housing as some unseen weight pressed against the outside of the door. There came a series of hard blowsnot knocks, more like haymakersthat made the entire entryway quiver.

Backing into the living room, barely holding in a scream, Nancy pressed herself against a wall. The blows ceased, but even so she couldn't bring herself to look over at the door. Wiping tears from her eyes, she side-stepped further along the wall, nearly knocking a framed piece from its hanger in the process. The picturea new oil painting she'd brought home with her from the shop just recentlyswayed against the wall as she shuffled past. She couldn't say why, but possessed with terror though she was, she paused long enough to glance it over.

There was something in the painting that struck her just then, some flourish that stood out for one reason or another. The picture was a grey, dreary landscape, and featured a large house flanked with trees and bushes. In the foreground was a figurea woman, it seemedtaking shelter beneath a red umbrella. This was the only figure featured in the painting. It was a strange character study, its lack of detail completely at odds with the more realistic treatment of the background. The figure proved a somewhat sketchy, ill-defined composition when studied up-close. Little could be seen of her body; some windswept black locks appeared just behind the bulk of the red umbrella, but aside from those, Nancy could make out only a pale, gnarled shape that answered for a body. It had been thrust onto the canvas in a series of harsh, chaotic strokesseemingly an afterthought.