Somnambulist

01/20/12

Terry awoke on his neighbor’s porch swing. He was cold and confused and the first thing he saw was Brad Monarch’s shit-eating grin.

Aw, fuck.

“Jesus, Brad, I am so sorry.”

Brad folded his massive, tattooed arms. “You were snoring so loud you woke the whole house up.”

“Like I said, I’m so sorry.”

“You know, you’re getting quite the reputation. You’re the Village Freak.” Brad cackled at him. “Wandering the streets late at night, spooking people.”

“I made an appointment with the doctor—”

“And what’s with those SpongeBob SquarePants boxers? Aren’t you supposed to be a grown-ass man?”

Terry rubbed his eyes. Out of all the porch swings he could have wandered to, of course it had to be Brad’s. “It’s not SpongeBob. They’re—”

“Whatever, Freak. Now let’s get you back to where you came from.”

Brad grabbed his arm, lifted him to his feet like he was a child.

As they crossed the street, Terry wriggled from his grasp. He couldn’t see shit without his glasses, but he wasn’t about to take “help” from that asshole.

His wife, Jean, was waiting on their front doorstep in that hideous peach nightgown, shaking her head.

She spoke to Brad. “Guess he wandered out of the house again, eh?” She snorted. “Unfuckingbelievable.”

***

Terry woke up exhausted. He went downstairs and poured himself a bowl of raisin bran. His teenage son, Peter, sat at the table. Jean was making an omelet.

He couldn’t help but notice they were looking at each other, giggling. A ball of ice formed in his stomach.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Peter said between giggles. “It’s just that I found you in the hall last night. You said you needed to go to the bathroom. And,” Peter was laughing so much he had trouble finishing the story, “you dropped trou right there. Just untied your pajama bottoms and pulled them down all the way to your ankles.”

“He had to redirect you to the bathroom.” Jean was cracking up, too. “Otherwise you would have peed all over the new carpets!”

Tears streamed down Peter’s cheeks. “I don’t think you were conscious for any of it!”

“It’s incredible.” Jean gestured at her husband with a spatula. “He did it twice in one night—that must be some kind of record!”

“Now this isn’t funny at all,” Terry said. “It’s an extremely serious…”

He stopped talking. He couldn’t even hear himself over their laughter.

***

One night, Jean told him she was going to buy a set of restraints.

“Tying you down to the bed—that’s the only way to make sure you don’t embarrass this family anymore.”

Terry curled into a ball and flicked off the lamp beside him. Exhaustion defeated anger and instead of arguing, he went to sleep.

He awoke several hours later outside, cool breeze at his back, bloody shovel in his hands, and Brad Monarch lying at his feet.

The beefy man raised a big, trembling hand. “Please, please stop, Terry. You—you can take my shovel. I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

Terry tightened his grip on the shovel’s handle. He wanted, very badly, to bash Brad’s skull to a pulp.

But if he did that, he realized, he would sacrifice his newfound power.

“I’ll let you go,” he said. “This time.”

Brad scuttled away like a hermit crab, made it to his feet, and ran.

And Terry laughed.

***

His reputation transformed overnight.

Jean made him breakfast, fetched his newspaper, gave him massages.

He started borrowing tools from Brad just to watch him cower.

He canceled the appointment he’d made with his doctor. Sleepwalking was no longer a problem.

~ fin ~

Chris Rhatigan is the editor of the crime fiction quarterly All Due Respect. He is the author of more than 50 short stories and the novella, The Kind of Friends Who Murder Each Other. He lives in northern India.

Awesome!  Loved it!!
Joe Clifford
January 21, 2012
Odd, twisted and utterly original.  Loved the ending, 'his newfound power.'  Great flash.
Mike Miner
January 21, 2012
Superb, love it! :)
Julie Morrigan
January 21, 2012
Ha! It's short for trousers. 
Chris Rhatigan
January 21, 2012
Great story, Chris.  Very well written.  Have to ask, though, what does trou mean?  Is it an American term?   Fine work, buddy!
David Barber
January 21, 2012
Love the image of Brad 'scuttling'. Great start to my weekend. Thanks Mr. Rhatigan.
KJ Emslie
January 21, 2012
Thanks for reading, all. I've never had a story compared to a seventy-year-old virgin spider monkey, so that's cool!
Chris Rhatigan
January 20, 2012
Tight and mean as a seventy year old virgin spider monkey. The scene with the shovel and the groveling rocks the house. Prufrock rampant only it's the other guy doing the whimperng.
AJ Hayes
January 20, 2012
I have a friend who's a pretty intense sleepwalker. You're dead on about how they behave. Very solid story, man, I like how you structured it around his episodes.
Benoît Lelièvre
January 20, 2012
I hope you expand on this one, I really like it.
Thomas Pluck
January 20, 2012
Top!
Paul D Brazill
January 20, 2012
I love it. Not being able to sleep is terrible. Sleepwalking is worse. It is nice to know you can use that power for evil. This is a keeper.
mti
January 20, 2012
This boy's all class - that new collection of his is going to be a must read, folks.  I saw this in an earlier draft and it was fantastic then - now it's even better.  Another hit from the Shotgun.
nigel bird
January 20, 2012

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