Midnight Trip to Another World

Midnight Trip to Another World

Jack stared at the history text and realized that he couldn’t remember anything he’d been reading. Wiping his eyes, he shook his head and turned the page back. It was no use. The words blurred. He glanced at the clock on his desk. It was nearly midnight. If he went to bed now, maybe he could get up early to study.

He exhaled a deep breath and thought life was boring with a capital B. His whole life was boring starting before he was born. Couldn’t his parents have given him a better name than Jack; that was one of the top ten most boring names in the universe. He knew that his mother had named him after one of the Kennedys, but he wished she had named him after the leader of the Argonauts, Jason. What a life that guy had! Of course, it was fiction, but he based on truth. He dreamed of being a hero in an action packed adventure.

He scratched his nose and winced. He’d forgotten about that mountain of a pimple on his nose. It would probably erupt any day now. He sighed, pushed the chair away from the desk, and killed the lights.

The full moon cast silvery beams into the bedroom. Jack's shadow stretched away from the window, across the floor and up the far wall to darken a poster of the same orb over the shoulder of a howling werewolf. Lumbering toward his unmade bed, he plopped down. The mattress bounced and the springs creaked in rhythm as the bed adjusted to his weight. Before they found equilibrium, Jack crashed over onto his back. The mattress instantly distributed this energy among all the springs, resulting in a resonance that perfectly harmonized with the psychic waves emanating from a brain entering the first stages of sleep. This combination unlocked the key into another world.

He was in some kind of control room from a sci-fi B-flick from the fifties. Twinkling red, yellow, and blue lights and jiggling gauges filled one wall. A persistent hum from the engines pervaded the air so that the hairs on his neck rose. Swiveling in his chair, he saw a porthole covered in thick glass. Eager to know where he was, he hurried over and grasped the bottom of the window and stood on tiptoes to look out. On one horizon the sky was brightening. The ship was descending to a landing in a clearing among tall trees in a small city. It looked like a park. Leafy trees and two story homes lined the traffic empty streets. As the ground approached he recognized the park as the one near his home. Just then, an announcement advised him to strap into his seat for the landing.

In a few minutes the same voice announced that the landing was complete. Jack unstrapped. As soon as his feet touched the floor, he heard metal clashing and felt a fresh breeze. Following the source of the breeze, he came to an open hatch with a ladder reaching ground. He looked down, twenty meters down. Up to that point, he had accepted without question being in a dream. One in Technicolor and more unusual than most, but still something he could control. This had depth. And the smells. He couldn’t recall ever having a dream filled with them. He put his hand into the front pocket of his Levi's, extracted a limp silvery strip, unwrapped it, and popped the gum into his mouth. Even though he expected it, the taste of peppermint shocked him. If this wasn’t a dream then what was it? Some kind of fantasy adventure with a task that had to be done? His sanity laughed. Smiling, he stepped onto the ladder and down he went.

A few rungs from the bottom he jumped off. Looking down at his sneakers, he noticed they were wet from the morning dew. He ran in the direction of his home, his tracks forming indentations in the grass. Soon, the park ended and the asphalt of the street began. He started to notice little differences; some houses were beige instead of gray or had a Ford in the driveway instead of a Toyota or the lawn was neglected instead of well kept. Then, he saw his house and slowed down. He thought about walking up the stairs to the porch and ringing the door bell, but something cautioned him to climb up to his bedroom window. From the porch he shinnied up the drain pipe and up onto the roof. Creeping up to the window, he looked into his room.

He saw it was exactly the same except where the poster should have been there was a mirror. A lumpy form was in the bed, under the sheets, facing the wall, its back to the window. Then, it rolled over and he slammed his hands over his mouth, for he saw himself embraced in thick arms of muscle and fur. His eyes were closed though tears of blood lined his cheeks. The top of his head had been violently torn off, exposing the creamy brain. A long red tongue was digging in, scooping chunks into massive protruding jaws that chomped delightfully. The head rose to accept the morsel down its throat, then the tongue, glistening with saliva and bits of brain, licked the length of its muzzle, revealing tiger fangs.

Fear jerked Jack away from the window. He slipped and the soles of his sneakers scraped against the roof. A growl sent an icy chill down his spine and into his testicles. He backed away from the window, and crawled further up as silently as he could. The bed creaked. The window clattered open. He froze. A hairy clawed hand thumped on the roof, then another. He closed his eyes and prayed for the nightmare to end. A musky odor invaded and crushed the verses. He peeked to stare into red embers. Sobbing, he scampered over the top and slid down the opposite side aiming for the small roof over the kitchen porch. He slipped over the edge of one roof and landed on his feet on the other. Without hesitation, he jumped, rolling smoothly on the back yard lawn. Then, he sprinted past the gate and into the alley.

At the end of the alley, just as he stepped into the street, he heard the gate slam. Jack pumped his legs as hard as he could. A howl rent the air. Entering the park, he spied the rocket between the trees. Nearly out of breath, he reached the ladder and climbed. Another howl, this one nearer, gave him the last shot of adrenaline his body had. He climbed faster. Reaching the lip of the entrance, he hauled himself in and raced to the control room. He slammed his palm down on a huge red button that hadn’t been there before. Metal clashed, the ship shuddered, and a force shoved him to the floor. A few minutes later, the force lessened. Standing up, he went to the port hole and looked out. There was nothing to see; it was pitch black.

Soon, there was that announcement telling him to strap in for landing. Again, the clash of metal followed by a cool breeze. Then, he was awake. He was sitting in bed. Sweat drenched his shirt and pants. He went to take a shower to wash away the smell of fear and animal musk. When he came back, the smell still lingered in his room. Opening the windows to expel the smell, he saw the full moon, now low in the sky.

He staggered to his bed, not noticing the utter blackness where a poster should have been. He crashed on his back, setting off a cacophony of squeaks from the springs. A massive hairy hand rose from under the bed and clamped down over his mouth.

Jack squirmed over the mattress as thick warm drool dripped down on his face.