Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Three flights of stairs separated my apartment from the building’s meager lobby and I took them in angry pairs, the confrontation with my landlord fueling each grumbling stomp.
By the time I reached the third floor my breathing had intensified to the point of shame and my face felt warm and flushed. Embarrassed, I fought to convince myself that I wasn’t really that out of shape, but merely suffering the side effects of my unscheduled hospital stay. A surge of pain that made my brain feel two sizes too big as it pressed against the inside of my skull, not so gently backed up my self-delusions. Ironically it took some of the sting out of being winded by climbing a few stairs.
My apartment was at the end of a short, poorly lit hallway that was sparsely dotted with heavy metal doors desperately in the need of fresh paint. As I closed in on my own humble dwelling, a nagging feeling filled the pit of my stomach.
I didn’t have my keys.
Well, shit.
Approaching the chipped and peeling door, I slid my hand across the dented metal surface and grabbed the knob, giving it a nervous turn. It rotated about a quarter of an inch before coming to a solid stop.
It was still locked.
The nagging feeling in my stomach abated as it was replaced by a sense of relief born from logic. I may have been locked out of my home, but the chances that whoever mugged me had come here while I was in the hospital, cleaned me out, and then thoughtfully locked up behind themselves when they were finished were slim at best. Muggers aren’t usually that polite.
I shot a quick glance down the hallway to confirm that I was alone. While there were at least a half dozen apartments on this floor, their tenants seldom left them and the sound of footsteps in the hall only rarely brought investigation.
Which is honestly one of the few upsides about living in the city – everyone usually minds their own damn business.
Kneeling slowly, I gave another nervous glance down the empty hallway before retrieving the spare key to my apartment that I had hidden for just such emergencies. Lifting the heavy black rubber doormat inscribed in gold with the words “Speak Friend and Enter”, I folded a corner and removed the thick piece of duct tape that secured my emergency key.
I know, I know, “Who actually leaves a key under their doormat?” right? As cliché as it might seem, I bet the number would actually surprise you. Besides, with most people having that mindset the better question becomes: “Who would really even think to look there?”
With the turn of a battered silver key and the reassuring clack of a high-end deadbolt, the door to my apartment swung open. The familiar and comforting scents of home buffeted against me as I stepped across the threshold, reawakening the day's aches and pains in a chorus of muted cries as the promise of uninterrupted rest dangled in front of me like a carrot leading a horse drawn cart.
I felt a heavy sigh of relief leave my chest as I turned and locked the door behind me. Walking the meager few feet that constituted the citified version of a “hallway”, I stepped around a box of knickknacks and photos that patiently awaited an unpacking that would never come because their container was now serving as a makeshift table, and into the opening of my living room.
It was a modest place, a bit larger than your average city low rent, but miraculously free of the multi-legged additions that most of the cheaper city apartments were notorious for. More importantly, I noted with a final thankful sigh, everything was exactly as I had left it.
The majority of my home consists of an overly large living room that acts as a central hub to the rest of the apartment. A battered leather couch that sees more use than my bed and a couple of equally worn matching recliners who would creak loudly in protest to anyone who dared to use them sat huddled comfortably around my pride and joy…
…a mammoth entertainment center that houses an 80" wide screen TV and every video game system currently known to man.
A guy has to have something to come home to, right?
On the right, the living room attaches to a small open kitchen area that barely contains a steadily humming antique refrigerator, no doubt still driven by whatever experimental atomic energy sources they might have been using in Soviet Russia during the late 50's. On top of the equally ancient stove I had cleverly placed a microwave oven, as it was a more rational choice given my culinary talents. Besides, it fit the current décor a lot better than you’d think as it would contribute nicely to the radioactive fallout whenever the fridge finally decided to go full nuke.
To the left, a couple of half opened doors lead to darkened rooms that a casual peek would unveil as a tiny but tidy bathroom and a bedroom adorned with an unmade bed and more piles of dirty clothing than I'd be comfortable with anyone knowing about. The entire apartment was dimly lit by a few evenly spaced windows that would have normally given me a breathtaking view of the city, had it not been for the ugly steel fire escape that cut harshly through anything worth looking at, marring any possible hope of an awe-inspiring vantage point unless you actually crawled out there.
Home sweet home.
Normally after a rough day I'd just roll over the back of the couch without bothering to walk around it and collapse in a lazy, fully dressed heap. I’d then spend the rest of my night either dozing blissfully to the background noise of bad sci-fi channel programming, or maybe losing myself in the world of impossibly violent video games until I finally passed out in a junk food fueled haze of hedonism.
But not today. Today I had to play “grown up”. I was going to be paying a lot more in rent for an animal that I didn't own, with money that I didn't know how to retrieve without the identification and bank cards that I kept in a wallet that I no longer had.
Gotta go to the bank. I thought wearily, throwing the stack of hospital release forms onto the living room end table as I moved towards the kitchen and the suspiciously humming war-era appliances. The digital read out on the microwave revealed that it was just past six o’clock which meant that getting any sort of help or customer service from the bank was going to be a futile task. Plus, the very thought of generic hold music and bad foreign accents was enough to bring my headache stomping back for round twelve.
“Screw it.” I said out loud and reached for the heavy metal bar that served as the refrigerator door. I’d go down to the Police Station in the morning to pick up whatever reports they had for me and then head over to the bank. With a little bit of luck I’d find that my account hadn’t been emptied out and I’d be able to recover from my little mugging adventure with little to no grief beyond the need for some industrial strength aspirin.
Mugging. Man, why didn't I remember the mugging?
Reaching for a half-gallon of what I prayed was not expired milk, I stopped and tried to recall any detail that I could about the attack or what I was doing in the hours leading up to it. Just as I felt I was about to reach the thinnest edge of something tangible through the fog of memory, a clatter at the window ripped it from my grasp and brought the real world back into focus. Carton of milk in hand, I half turned towards the noise and then rolled my eyes at its source.
"Dodger." I muttered under my breath in a conflict of affection and annoyance.
Dodger was an abnormally large tomcat that seemed to a have a supernatural sixth sense involving my refrigerator door. Twenty pounds of fur with overlapping fangs that gave the reddish orange tabby the look of a miniature saber-toothed tiger met my annoyed glare with a soft meow. The window’s glass rattled in its pane as the large cat rubbed itself affectionately against it. Head angled downward in an attempt to appear cute, Dodger squawked again and walked the length of the glass, smearing his fur against it in announcement of his arrival.
I honestly had no idea who, if anyone, owned the cat and I had only half-jokingly started calling him “Dodger” after the character in a Dickens book that I was forced to read in High School. Since he only showed up when he was hungry and persistently robbed me of whatever I was eating, the name seemed to fit. Despite the fact that I had recently vowed to kick the furry little beast squarely in his kitty nuggets, I felt a smile tug at my lips. It felt good to have a bit of company for dinner.
But only dinner.
While he was content to dine out of the old whipped cream container that I used for his bowl, Dodger had never shown any interest in actually entering my apartment. He would simply show up around dinner time, make his presence known and then after giving and receiving a bit of affection from the safety of the fire escape, he’d disappear until the next time he needed a meal.
That was our arrangement and truth be told, I was okay with it.
For me it was a benefit of companionship without the burden of ownership. That meant no clawed furniture or pet hair and best of all, no real responsibility in the form of a kitty litter box and all of the wonderful surprises that you’d find inside.
Frowning slightly at the remembered rent increase, I grabbed the battered whipped cream bowl from its spot on the counter and turned towards the window.
"You realize that I should just toss your fuzzy ass right off the ledge, right?" I grumbled, setting the container onto the floor so that I could unlock the window and with a little grunt of effort, force it up and open.
Dodger came immediately to the edge of the frame and thrust his head in to its normal limitation. Purring like a small but wickedly fanged lawnmower, he flicked his tail and paced, wholly ignoring my threat.
"Oh don't even try you furry little grifter. You have no idea how much you just cost me." I chided, yet despite my posturing I still reached down to scratch the top of the cat's head.
I was rewarded with a push back from Dodger who rolled into the touch, his purring deepening in contentment and what I could only assume was cocky victory. Pouring an overly generous amount of milk into the bowl, I set it on the edge of the fire escape and pushed it off to one side and out of the sight of any who might look up and mistake our exchange for justification in raising my rent.
The cat upon seeing the promise of a free meal, made this task a thousand times more difficult by simultaneously trying to rub affection into my feeding hand while attempting to lap hungrily at the milk.
"Yeah yeah fatty, drink up." I grumbled with one last scratch of the cat's back. Dodger, now fully focused on gorging himself, lifted his backside slightly in acknowledgement of the petting but didn't turn away from his feast.
Our usual routine of dinner and a one-sided conversation was quickly robbing me of what little energy I had left. With a glance over my shoulder I realized that I couldn't remember the couch having ever looked more comfortable or inviting.
"My head is killing me Dodge." I said. Reaching up and closing the window, I left it cracked open just enough to allow a slight but refreshing breeze to fill the apartment.
"You're eating alone tonight big guy, I've gotta lie down." I explained, excusing myself from our dinner date as I moved towards the couch. The steadily growing mass of fatigue pressed down on my shoulders with surprisingly real weight. I dropped the carton of milk roughly onto the heavy wooden coffee table that ran parallel with the length of the couch and slid it away from the edge. Spinning on my heel I allowed myself to fall backwards onto the well-used cushions with a heavy "wummpphh" of protest from both the couch and my own body. Shielding my eyes from whatever dim light the window was still allowing in with the back of my forearm, for the second time that day I fell deeply and almost instantly to sleep.
**********
I was falling.
Darkness engulfed me, effectively blinding me to my surroundings as the churning winds of my descent lashed at my face and hair in quick, angry gusts. Instinctively I reached out and tried to grab on to something tangible in hopes of stopping my fall, but the blackness around me offered no hold and I groped aimlessly in disoriented fear.
Without warning a bright burst of color flashed around me like a crack of lightning, its jagged fingertips illuminating the depths of my nightmare in a myriad of strange faces and frightening creatures. They flew by in the thousands, blurring together in a slideshow so brilliant that I was forced to shield my eyes against the glow.
And then they were gone.
Words, soft and garbled rushed to me on the backs of the winds that still licked at my face. Alien, yet somehow familiar, I struggled in vain to understand them as they crashed into each other, twisting and tangling before finally fading into the nothing of my fall like the images that came before them. My heart pounded and drummed in my chest, its resonance echoing loudly in my ears, driving away any hopes for salvation or rescue as I plummeted through the endless black.
Invisible in the swirling pitch of my nightmare, dozens of tiny hands reached out for me. I could feel their greedy fingers, thin and gaunt with desperation as they tried to latch on with a hungry need. They tore at my body, scoring jagged red lines into my flesh in their fight to hold me; to rip and tear at me until nothing was left, swallowed by the ceaseless void.
I screamed.
A long and terrible sound, hollowed by the surrounding emptiness and born not of the fear generated by my falling, but from the absolute terror of understanding; this was how I was destined to die.
I screamed until I was hoarse and they heard. The sound drove them into a frenzy and they attacked my body with renewed vigor. Their claws grew slick with my blood as they laughed at my helplessness and whispered the certainty of my death into my ears.
I would die, and no one would ever know the truth.
The world would find my body as I left it; still and peaceful, sunken into the warmth of my old couch. They would assume that I died of complications brought on by head trauma and that my dying was a tragic, but inevitable thing that could not have been diagnosed. My body would be buried and its passing mourned, but my spirit would still be falling, trapped in this bottomless pit of torture and torment until finally, it devoured my soul.
I could smell their breath as they laughed, mocking my fear. The taste of their filth made me retch as they scrambled over me in attempts to gain purchase. Just as I was about to give in and surrender to the weight of the assault that promised to unravel my very existence…
…they were gone, and the darkness was still.
"I've gotcha Lad." A voice that came from nowhere but everywhere at once sounded throughout the emptiness and I could feel a firm, gentle grip take my arm. The sensation of falling slowed and the winds immediately began to die, the constant battering at my ears diminishing in intensity like the roar of a passing storm as I came to a suspended stop.
Looking down at my arm and to the clasp of my savior, I was surprised to find that while I could feel every finger on the strong, reassuring hands that held me, I could see nothing. Yet I knew that I was safe; a babe in the arms of a parent, where no harm could come. I took a deep, shuttering breath of relief and closed my eyes to the black as I tried to slip deeper into the safety that the sensation provided.
"Oh no ya don't. Not yet." The unseen hand said and I felt myself being lightly but decisively tussled in its grasp. "I've set ya right tha best I can Johnny, but if ya dinnae wake up we're both done for." There was a gentle, chiding mirth to the voice underlined with urgency. The deep, lilting accent was oddly comforting and it tilted the voice’s tone to one of familiarity and fondness, as if two old friends were sharing a private joke.
"Up ya go!" The voice laughed and with a surge of force the dreaded wind was again slashing at my ears.
But this time instead of falling, I was flying. I tried to call out in alarm but my breath was robbed from me as I soared upwards at an incredible speed. The darkness that had enveloped me for so long suddenly shifted and its blackness began to streak with crimson as I hurtled skyward. The wind whipped cold tears from my eyes and I had to narrow them in order to avoid being blinded by my unexpected velocity. The crimson gave way to a lighter red and the world around me began to solidify, its tangibility marked by flashing strobes of pink as I moved ever upwards.
An unyielding wall of mottled pink and red grew in the distance, its expanding size serving as a visual testament to the swiftness in which I had been launched. A panicked tingle sputtered to life on worried wings spanning an arc of nervousness from my gut to my groin.
I looked up at the rapidly approaching wall of now solid light and felt that tingle surge to life in a blaze of renewed alarm. Crossing my arms in front of my face, I closed my eyes tightly and turned my head to one side as I screamed and braced for impact.
**********************
I awoke with a frightened cry and stumble-leapt from the couch, my arms flailing wildly as I fought to protect myself from the dangers that the dreaming world had presented.
But no attack came.
No disembodied voices called out to me in strange tongues and no glowing images spun through my apartment in a cyclone of sneering faces. Only silence greeted me, ringing loudly in my ears in the absence of sound.
Heart still thumping wildly in my chest, I took a deep breath and lowered myself back to the couch, shaking my head in disbelief as I tried to calm down.
"Jesus Christ." I swore under my breath. My eyes darted around the room in uncertainty. When I realized that I was scanning the room for the lingering signs of my nightmare, an embarrassed shame crept over me.
“Grown-ass man afraid of the dark.” I said mockingly to the emptiness of my apartment.
Inwardly chiding myself, I lay back down on the couch in a gesture of forced bravery. I knew logically that nothing had escaped from the dream world and that the darkness contained no monsters, but the feelings and fears generated by nightmares were able to cast aside reason. As silly as it was to admit…
…I was still frightened.
Pushing away the lingering feelings of dread with a force of will and more than a little shame, I stubbornly closed my eyes in an effort to return to sleep. My mind raced as I tried to distract myself with silly and…okay, vaguely pornographic thoughts in an attempt to steer my dreams in a more pleasant, if not x-rated direction.
Hey, at least I’m honest. If you’re going to dream, dream big. And blonde.
Snuggling down into the warmth of the old couch, I could feel the tendrils of sleep caressing my brow as I stubbornly forced away any thoughts of empty voids and the monsters that they always seemed to contain. A rattle of window glass in its pane punctuated by an annoyed yowl ending in a low growl of warning slapped at the hands of sleep and wrest me back into the real world.
Reaching for the frayed comforter that usually hung on the back of the couch, I pulled it down and over my head. Closing my eyes tighter, I was determined to ignore the world in my on-going quest for sleep.
A second growl, louder and now accented with more anger than warning, penetrated my blanket shield and dared me to ignore it. With a resigned sigh I slid my legs over the side of the sofa and pulled myself into a sitting position. My weary eyes focused on the window and the fire escape beyond it as I tried to determine the cause of the commotion. Fur smashed against the window’s glass in a splay of orange and white as Dodger backed away from the spot where I had set his dish and squeezed himself into the far corner of the metal landing.
Rubbing a hand roughly over my face, I stood with a tired groan and shambled through the apartment towards the cat-created ruckus. Kneeling at the window's ledge, I forced it open just enough to lean out so that I could look over the large tabby. The top of my head scraped the bottom of the window frame as I ducked under and reached out to pet the cat.
"What is it Dodge?" I asked, the hope of sleep still urging me back towards the couch as I yawned.
Dodger didn't recognize my presence or even cast an acknowledging glance in my direction as he bobbed under my hand. His amber eyes focused angrily on something to my immediate left as he rumbled against me with another irritated growl.
I closed my eyes and groaned in dawning comprehension.
Turning slowly to my left and towards the subject of Dodger’s agitation, I whispered a silent prayer to whoever might have been listening. "Don't be another cat, don’t be another cat." I prayed under my breath. It was bad enough that I lived alone and rarely left my apartment, I couldn’t afford to start collecting cats like an elderly spinster.
"SCRAM!" I barked in a loud, deep baritone as I opened my eyes. With any luck the sudden and unexpected change in my voice would scare the newcomer away and I could get back to the naughty sex dreams into which I was hoping to escape.
If the creature drinking greedily from the bowl of milk heard my shout, it made absolutely no indication as it continued to feed enthusiastically upon the sweet white liquid.
"What...the…fu.." My tongue felt heavy in my mouth and the words hung in my throat as my brain fought to process what my eyes were showing it.
Leaning over the lipped plastic edge of the whipped cream container, its small but abnormally long arms gripping each side for leverage, was a tiny, gray-skinned man. Face down in his stolen meal, I could see that beyond a pair of rough, dirty pants the color of an old burlap sack, he was naked. His back arched against the bowl as he continued to suck at the milk, the tips of his pointed ears jutting skyward on each side of his bald head. He wore no shoes, and as he leaned in further to feed, I could hear the sound of tiny claw tipped toes tinging faintly against the metal landing.
I could do nothing but blink in disbelief.
Closing my eyes tightly, I shook my head roughly from side to side in an effort to clear away the hallucination and then slowly reopened them.
It was still there.
Dodger hissed fiercely and growled low under his breath, the threat of his attack drawing the only reaction that I had yet to witness from the creature past its continuous feast. Without missing a sip, the little man relaxed one of his bracing arms, brought it behind him and held it out towards the cat with his middle finger fully extended.
My disbelief quickly faded into indignation at the show of universal rudeness.
"HEY." I challenged with an angry bob of my head in the creature’s direction, but the little man didn’t respond as he continued to lap at the milk.
"HEY!" I shouted again, this time reaching down to the floor beside me. Fingers groping blindly, I was rewarded as my hand brushed the cold metal side of an old coffee can that I occasionally used to prop open the window. At one point it had contained my only attempt to ever grow a house plant, but forgetfulness and guilt-driven overwatering to make up for the neglect had turned it into a half full can of dirt in which nothing would grow.
"Shoo!" I ordered meekly, the thought of angering the strange creature robbing me of most of my conviction. With almost no effort and even less aim, I half tossed, half rolled the can towards the little man. Thrown off by the weight of its contents, the coffee can wobble-rolled unsteadily across the metal fire escape. Barely brushing the creature's heel, it rocked to a stop and spilled the last of its soil at the little man’s feet in a dry brown clump.
Pausing mid-gulp, the tiny figure slowly turned his head and looked over his shoulder at me. In the soft glow of the city’s dim light I could see its entire face, milk still dribbling down its chin in pale rivulets. Hairless and sharp, its features were more monster than man. Cruel black eyes filled deep set sockets showing almost no white. A crooked nose much too large for its face ended in a blunt point that drew all attention to its mouth and the rows of tiny dagger-like teeth still slick with stolen milk.
Like the creature’s nose, its ears were oversized and ended in dulled points. One of them had been crudely pierced, a round hoop of tarnished metal reflecting in the dim light as it stood to its full height of barely a foot tall and turned to face me.
Confusion spanned its face as the small man looked between the angry cat and my own half out of the window form for what felt like a silent eternity. Then, shrugging in a very human gesture of puzzlement, it gave one last weary look to Dodger before turning back around to continue its drink.
"What in the hell are you?" I asked breathlessly as I watched the creature dive back into its slurping with gusto.
Dodger arched his back in another hiss of displeasure, but before the creature could repeat its earlier vulgar hand gesture, I slapped my palm flat on the steel fire escape with sudden force. The cat, its meal gone and not understanding the unexpected violent movement, spun with a hiss in my direction and leapt down the fire escape in a series of quick bounds before disappearing into the night. The creature turned quickly in reaction to the fleeing feline and then almost as if in afterthought, back to me.
Our eyes locked, its beady black orbs lit only by gleaming pinpricks of reflective light.
Tilting its head in a glimmer of understanding, its eyes widened in surprise until their edges were crusted with what little white they had to offer. Fully excusing itself from the pilfered milk, the little monster turned to face me and took a single jerking step forward, a malicious smile forming on its tiny face.
"Uh-oh." I said heroically, my own eyes widening as the icy fingers of fear tapped against my spine. I felt my grip on the window's ledge tighten as my body unconsciously tensed. That glimmer of understanding became the certainty of knowledge and with an evil smile the little man outstretched his arms and took another step, this time lunging forward at astonishing speed and covering most of the distance between us in a single bound.
Letting out a yelp of surprise, I flung myself into the safety of my apartment and hit the back of my head against the top of the window frame. Ears ringing from the blow, I landed heavily on my ass and scrambled away from the opening in an adrenaline fueled panic. I darted my frantic wide-eyed gaze around the apartment, seeking anything that might even remotely be used as a weapon as I stole rapid glances back towards the open window and the attacking monster.
But it never came.
With my perception of time shattered by the intensity of the moment, the seconds seemed to slow and stretch into hours as I sat there frozen in terror, staring at the open window. Still propped awkwardly on my hands in an impromptu crab walk, only when my wrists began to complain and ache with discomfort did I dare move. Pushing forward I slowly crawled towards the open window and with my heart in my throat, I valiantly peeked out.
Only the night air and a slight breeze greeted me.
No monsters, no cats, or lingering evidence that could prove what I had seen to be real lunged at me. Save for a mostly empty bowl of milk and a can of spilled dirt, the fire escape was blessedly empty.
With a hurried and anxious motion made clumsy by fear, I reached upwards and slammed the window closed, the glass vibrating dangerously in its wooden frame. Standing, I swiftly fastened the latch and threw myself away from the now locked sill with the speed and dexterity of a man trying to dodge a devastating attack. With a spinning leap, I threw myself over the back of the couch and onto the floor behind it.
Nothing so much as twitched on the other side of the glass and for a long while I just stood there, crouching in fear behind my battered leather barricade. Eventually my heart rate began to slow, returning to normal as the signs of immediate danger refused to show. A dull ache from the back of my head where the window’s edge struck me began to throb, spreading like a little fire until it met with the dull ache in the center of my skull, reawaking it with a fresh vigor.
Again, with the head whacking. I bemoaned. Christ, if I kept this up I was going to have to invest in a helmet.
Bringing my trembling hands to my face, my mind struggled for a logical, rational explanation that could help clarify the situation…when just like the window's pane to my battered melon, it struck me.
I have a head injury!
My mind raced back to the hospital and my hurried release. Someone had given me a list of possible things to look out for and a number to call if the symptoms worsened, right? What did that paper say? Headaches that lasted more than a few days, blurriness, vision problems...
Vision problems. I laughed cynically as I glanced down the couch’s length to the corner end table where the small stack of papers still sat in a haphazard pile. With an act of acrobatics that only the truly lazy can perfect I carefully stretched, my eyes never leaving the window for even a second. Catching the edge of the paper stack with my fingertips I pulled it from the table’s top and onto the floor. Reaching out with my foot, I snagged what I thought was the correct slip of paper and dragged it to where I still remained crouched.
With another nervous glance to the window, I reached down and retrieved the paper, quickly confirming that it was the right piece. The cordless phone sat in its cradle on top of the other matching end table, but was much closer to my current position of safety and it only required a modest amount of acrobatics to obtain.
Dialing the number that the clerk had provided without taking my eyes off the closed window, a skill I developed from years of playing video games without being interrupted, I held the phone to my ear and waited.
"Right to voice." I grumbled to myself as the automatic answering service greeted me robotically with its instructions to leave a message after the beep. There was a long pause and an even longer tone as the receiver screamed like a banshee in my ear and sent a fresh wave of pain through my already screaming head.
"This is John Talik." I identified myself to the machine, speaking with an exaggerated crispness so that there could be no misunderstanding. "The paperwork that you guys gave me said to call this number if I experienced any strange symptoms or complications." I explained with a nervous laugh. "Well some of those symptoms just tried to eat my face. Please call me the minute that someone hears this because, I'm totally freaking out here." All bravado left my voice as I began to shake.
Leaving my phone number, I was in the middle of repeating it for the second time when I was abruptly cut off by another beep and brought back to a dial tone. Turning away from the window, I put my back to the couch and slumped in a sitting position against it. My arm dropping limply to my side and the phone’s handset rolled free.
A million thoughts fought for dominance as the room began to spin.
What the hell was that thing? Was it real? Was it a hallucination brought on by head injury? Could it be brain damage? The last thought filled me full of dread as I realized the serious ramifications that it could bring.
Oh god, don't let it be brain damage. My thoughts began to mix and swirl and I closed my eyes and braced against the remembered images of the tiny creature, its monstrous little face framed by the phantom sounds of Dodger's growls. I brought a badly shaking hand to my forehead in effort to steady myself, but the world had already begun to fall away. Giving into the kaleidoscope of colors that spun behind my eyes in a churning cascade of red and black, I felt my body go limp and my mind simply shut off as I fainted.