A Man of the Mountain - Good Morning

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4.Good Morning

Shirley awoke Tuesday morning to the smell of fresh coffee and sunlight streaming through her small apartment window. There were very few things that could motivate her to get out of bed, but coffee was one of them, especially when she didn’t have to make it herself. After a week of preparing the exhaustive list from the History Channel, she felt like she could have slept another year and still been tired. 

     The bedroom door opened, and Lindsay strode in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. Shirley swore she had never seen anything closer to an angel. The light streaming from the main room silhouetted her, completing the picture. “If I’ve died and gone to heaven, at least let me sleep a few more minutes.” The words came out through a stifled yawn. Even in her early waking moments, Shirley had begun to worry. A nagging feeling at the back of her brain told her she was forgetting something. Likely one of the mundane items on the list she had been fulfilling for Mansen.

     Lindsay smiled and stepped into the room. “I’d say I’m not the biblical type, but you’re awake before noon on a Saturday, so clearly miracles do happen.” She moved to the edge of the bed, sat down and offered the cup to Shirley.

     With great effort, Shirley rose, feeling all the sore muscles in her back and legs as she did so. Shutting her eyes against the bright light, she took the cup from Lindsay’s hand and felt its warmth radiate through her fingers. Slowly, she lifted it to her lips and took a sip. The feeling was electric as the hot liquid worked through her, bringing with it the precious tendrils of caffeination. There were few things that felt better than the first cup of coffee in the morning.

     For a few minutes, she just sat there, enjoying the sensation, feeling the warmth of the sun, and Lindsay’s company. It was bliss. Still, there was that nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. What did I miss? She reached out a hand, placed it on Lindsay’s thigh, and nearly recoiled in shock at her chilled skin. “Hey, you alright?” she asked. “You’re practically an ice berg.”

     Lindsay gave no response.

     All at once, Shirley remembered what she had forgotten. Why is Lindsay here? She knew the answer, and shut her eyes against it, hoping that if she didn’t look, it wouldn’t be true. Just stay here, remember the sunlight, feel the warmth. But she remembered, she had put blackout curtains over the windows months ago. There would be no light streaming through them, and there would be no Lindsay…

     She opened her eyes. The edge of the bed was empty as it always was. The bedroom door was ajar and a pale green light was filtering through. Shirley felt a strange sensation as her legs began to move without her volition, propelling her out of bed and toward the light. “No, stop this.” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to see this again.” Her words came out muffled, like she was speaking into a cloth.

     She moved through the bedroom door unabated and into a stark room with metal cabinets and a row of tables down the center. Above, a ventilation fan blew chilled air into the room, spreading the horrible, sweet odor of formaldehyde. Within the vent, the fan thumped rhythmically, adding a layer of madness to the whole scene. For a minute, Shirley just stood there, in the door, looking down the long rows of metal tables, all empty, except for one.

Halfway down the row, a body lay covered in a white sheet. She didn’t have to guess who it was. “Once was enough!” Shirley screamed. “I don’t want to come back here.” But, as if on invisible rails, her body once more moved forward. The thumping of the fan got louder with each reluctant step.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

     Before she knew it, she was at the center table, grasping the edge of the sheet in her hand. “No,” she moaned. The hand, no longer feeling like her hand pulled the sheet back. Lindsay’s shocked face stared up at her from the slab, terror still plain on it. The mortician hadn’t been able to wipe the fear off. Some things stayed with you even after you died.

     Shirley felt warm tears pour down her cheeks, and the thumping above grew louder. It was oppressive, taking up all sound in the room, but Shirley barely heard it. Her eyes were locked with Lindsay’s experiencing the whole thing over again. Why the hell did it have to be her?

     From the far end of the room, Shirley saw a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye.

     THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. The fan grew louder, rising like a bass drum in a marching band.

     She looked up, only for a split second and saw it. The creature was easily ten feet tall, covered head-to-foot in dark brown fur. Long claws hung down at its sides, dripping blood onto the sterilized floor. Its head was tilted slightly in interest. Slowly, its lips curled back, revealing a set of thick, pointed teeth. It let out a roar, shaking her very bones. She tried to scream, but nothing came out.

The creature rushed her, its footfalls pounding in time with the fan, shaking Lindsay’s table. Shirley was frozen, staring at the oncoming attack, knowing there was nothing that could be done.  

     Fifteen feet away. Five feet away.

     THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Shirley awoke with a start, leaping from her bed. Her body was slick with sweat and her heart was pounding so hard that she feared it might burst from her chest. Her vision was blurred, but she recognized her apartment, and felt the tension in her back and shoulders begin to ease ever so slightly. She was back in her bedroom, but other than a sliver of light peeking out from behind the blackout curtains, it was dark. Taking a deep breath, Shirley willed herself to calm. It was a difficult process, but over the years, she had many opportunities to practice.

     THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. The noise from the dream came again, only faster, and Shirley nearly jumped out of her skin.

     “Ms. Codwell, are you in there?” called someone from the other side of the apartment’s main door.

     Shirley turned to her clock, saw that it was nearly 10AM, and felt a new sense of terror flood her. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered, looking around desperately for a pair of pants. “Be right there!” she called.

     “Ms. Codwell, this is completely unacceptable. Preparations for Dr. Mansen’s arrival…”

     Shirley stopped listening. She couldn’t tell for sure, but it sounded like the same dolt she had spoken to on the phone earlier. Half running, half hopping, she pulled up a pair of jeans that were far tighter than she wanted them to be and made it to the door. Giving her hair a quick comb through with her fingers, she took a deep breath and opened it.

     The man on the other side was small, mousy, and clearly aggravated. His fist was held mid-knock, knuckle pointed to Shirley. He lowered it to his side, sheepishly, but his face remained beet red.

     Shirley’s heartrate had slowed to a dull thud, but she could still feel the lingering sickness from her dream pulsating through her. It always stuck around. “Well?” she asked, willing herself to be pissed off at being woken rather than depressed. She put a hand on one hip to solidify the image.

     The man looked stunned, unsure of what to say. “Dr. Mansen will be here in less than a few hours. Do you have all the items we requested?”

     Shirley rolled her eyes. “Yes, you made it very clear that he wouldn’t show up without them, although what he’s going to do with a taxidermied rabbit is a question I really don’t want the answer to.”

     “He didn’t requ—”

     “Relax,” cut in Shirley. “Let’s take a trip to the forestry center and I can show you what we have set up. “But first, I’m going to need a strong cup of coffee.”