Chapter 1: There's a Demon in My Alarm Clock

Jon, a supposed deadbeat is surprise attacked by a demon in the middle of the night, and his cranky neighbor is more than he seems to be ...

Chapter 1

 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Went the little clock on the mantle. It had just clicked over with its aluminum handles to show one o’clock. It was one a.m. not that the clock knew. After all, how could it, having only twelve numbers and nothing to differentiate between morning and night on the poor thing. It didn’t have a brain either, but it didn’t mind much. Life for it was easier that way.

To think that’s all there is to thoughts. Brains are, after all, only an excuse humans made up out rationalize the fact that since they had the biggest ones they must be the smartest. Well. Take a moment to consider, not all thought is directly linked to grey matter, and is in fact held in the body. Its even said that information is passed into objects through wave particles and that information is stored inside the object. In other words, objects retain records of events they come in direct contact with soundwaves, objects, heat, light, etc. … and in tiny ways they respond.

How on earth is this relevant to anything? You might be asking right now. Well, that information is this story’s segway to its protagonist. It was by this very phenomenon of nature that he made quite an important self-discovery. And he was never the same after. It was also because of this he was able to … Well, you’ll see later on.

Digressing… the clock clicked over to one o’clock in the morning, or well, one o’clock anyway. It had no a.m./p.m. indicator, and therefore had no way of relating whether it was in fact morning or evening, leaving it instead up to the teller of the time to know by other means what portion of the day they were presently in.

Jon looked up and sighed deeply. He was wide awake. He was not wide awake because it was one in the afternoon, but because it was in fact one in the morning, and he was restless. I truth, he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in some time. Confirming his alertness, his blatter reached capacity from him getting water habitually throughout the night, and he finally registered his need to pee.

Standing up in the silver moonlight that draped his bed, Jon creaked along the scuffed and splintered wooden floor of his apartment towards the bathroom. With a flick of a yellowing plastic switch, his frame illuminated in the mirror, highlighting the white scar running down his left shoulder towards his sternum. It still hurt to touch, even after five years. A bold of electric force ran through him as he rubbed his collar bone subconsciously. The buzz of energy reignited his memories of the event he was constantly trying to disremember.

Furrowing his brow Jon frowned and shuffled over to the toilet. Business done, lights out, back to bed, but not back to sleep. In truth, there were many reasons he might not have been able to rest that night. There wasn’t much in his life to help him rest easy. Jon’s life was more/less a wreck. It didn’t make sense to his family. Not that he talked to them enough for it to matter anyway. He’d had a good life. He was average in high school, not a jock, not a nerd, or a band nerd, or a game head, or a pot head, or anyotherclickyoucanthinkof kind of kid. He was just a teenager with above average grades, but he always ascribed it to studying hard.  Jon had always loved learning. His family had expected him to go to college. But he didn’t. When that didn’t happen, they hoped he’d try to find a good job. That didn’t happen either. They didn’t know why. Honestly, neither did Jon. He was just another whatever, someone destined to work at a gas station for the next forty years and have a heart attack from too many prepackaged donuts and soda pop. Oh well, too bad. It takes all kinds to make the world go round anyway, even washout. He would tell himself.

Thinking about this, he stared out his window from his old full sized mattress that laid directly on the floor in the middle of his room. It was a full moon. Silver too. How pretty. He loved the metallic-blue light dancing around his room as clouds passed across the sky on nights like this. It should have felt so peaceful. But Jon was ill at ease. Something was out of place. He figured it must have simply been a sense of deeply ingrained dissatisfaction with his personal choices.

He turned and laid down to try to sleep, facing away from the bright light from his window when he saw it. Had a figure’s shadow just passed across his window? Impossible, he was three floors up, and there was no ledge. Just old wood slats all the way down. Weird. Must have be going too long without sleep, he thought to himself.

There it was again! This time, it stopped, clearly visible on the floor. The shadow of a person crouching down on his window sill. Oh man, what did people do in situations like these. He was paralyzed, feeling totally unprepared for this kind of thing. He could yell, but his neighbors probably wouldn’t care. Not in this neighborhood. People would just think it was another domestic disturbance. Maybe he could reach something sharp. Nothing in reach. Crap. No wait, not nothing. Well it was something anyway. He grabbed his alarm clock and turned swiftly. At this point it was do or die- hopefully not the latter.

He looked at the window perplexed. There was nothing there. Not a person or body, or even a figurine. He shook his head, and looked back at the wall he had seen the shadow on. Nothing was there. John stood up, weirded out now. Maybe a beer would help him nod off. It had been about forty hours since he slept last, and he’d heard that if you go to long without sleep you could begin to hallucinate. That must have been it. Out of caution, he kept hold of the alarm clock.

He opened the door, thankful for the incandescent light it cast about his small one-bedroom apartment. Hahaha… Wow, he was twenty-five and still couldn’t totally get over lame crap like fear of the dark. But that’s what was weird. He’d never been bothered much by it. Assuming it was all due to emotional distress and fatigue Jon pulled out a bottle of some cheap IPA that tasted like second world bathwater. He manhandled the twist off cap and swilled half the beverage down in three big gulps. Something breezed by the back of his neck.

“What the hell was that!?” His voice seemed alien breaking the faint yellow silence of the apartment. His fear thickened the air around him, suffocating his ability to call out again. The hairs on the nape of neck and arms raised as his sensed automatically heightened. Fight or flight, here we go. I’m holding a beer and a clock, wow. These wouldn’t have exactly his weapons of choice. He polished off the beer in another quick swill, hoping it would dissolve the creeping feeling running down his spine, and simultaneously banish any ghoulish hallucinations he might have been having. It was still his imagination. He chuckled nervously at his own foolishness. “Get a grip, moron. It’s just a breeze coming from the window.” But he remembered he had closed it earlier. Ohhhh, crap.

That was when he saw it. Something dark, a shadow traced along his wall and sliding into his bedroom. His refrigerator light blinked out. OHHHSHIT!! Ohmanohmanohman. What could he do? A knife. Get a knife, stupid. You’re in your kitchen. But how was a knife supposed to defend him against a shadow. What the hell was that thing?! It was a shadow, but it was in the shadow, and it moved in places a shadow couldn’t have been, like against the wall where his window was- which was the only light source. How could a shadow be casting toward a light? What was going on!?

He stood frozen. Nothing happened. Okay, apparently it was his move. Maybe if he stood there for just another thirty seconds… Still nothing. Even in the dark, he could see the white on his knuckles from clutching the alarm clock. He forgot he was carrying it. And he forgot to grab a knife. Some of his wits returned and he grabbed a semi-rusted blade from the sink behind him. It was just a butter knife. Crap. Whatever.

He very cautiously walked into his bedroom. Something dark and electric bolted towards him. He threw up the hand he was clutching the knife with. S**t! The handle was metal too. A sharp buzz coursed up his arm and made his scar burn like fire and bolts of pain shot into his brain, then back down his arm. He dropped the knife. Oh no. Another quick attack. This time, it was the shadow itself. How was this thing not attached to a wall or something?!?! No time for logic now. This was reality. He barely dodged a hit to the face. Another attack. A kick? He swerved again. A forth strike, this time a discernable fist. He reacted fast this time. All or nothing. He dodged and smashed the corner of his alarm clock into the side the shadow’s head.

And then something even weirder happened. As the clock struck the shadow, an ovoid of light pulsed outwards from the contact point, and filled most of the room, seemingly pushing against its surroundings, then collapsing back into the clock. The shadow had gone. Destroyed? He seriously hoped so. And what the somanyfourletterwords was that!? He realized he still held the clock. It was now glowing slightly. He looked at the clock, curious. It didn’t seem to be damaged, but now emitted a faint bluish light, slightly less blue than an Indiglow watch. Cool, but wtf. “I think I need another drink or something.” He stared at the clock as he walked towards his kitchen. Sitting it down on the table he walked over to the fridge.

“Ouch” he stubbed his toe on the kick board under the counter, still staring at the clock. That seemed to help him snap out of it. He started shaking. What do you do after something like that? Should he go to the ER to get checked out? Should he be in a psyche ward? Should he tell someone? Nooohohoho way Hose’. That’s the high road to the nut farm. He decided to keep this to himself. Or at least, that was his plan. As he pulled another beer from the fridge… Knock knock-knock. What the…

It was one-thirty in the morning, what could anyone want right now? He guessed it was one of the neighbors who most likely had heard the noise. Mr. Zhang next door was one of those cranky neighbors who hated noise. John figured that considering the area he chose to live in, he must be a glutton for punishment. Speak of the devil… “Mr. Zhang?” What are out doing up so late? Can I help you?” Timothy said through the cracked door.

With no introduction, the old man pushed into the room, disregarding that Jon was in his underwear. He had a very serious look on his face. But that wasn’t so unusual for Mr. Zhang. Even when he did tai chi across the street at the park, he always looked perturbed, his he’d just lost a game of poker to a dirty card player. He grunted crankily in greeting as he entered brushing passed Jon, who was embarrassed at both his state of undress as well as the state of the apartment, but was a bit perturbed at the sudden intrusion. “I hear noise in here.” Mr. Zhang said tersely.

“I’m really sorry about that, there was a really big cockroach in my bedroom and I had a hard time getting it.”

“That so… Easier to catch cockroach with lights on.” The old man was pragmatically rude as ever. He turned the light on, inspecting the space, looking up and down and everywhere. It was very strange. He then gave himself permission to go to into the bedroom. A light in the room flipped on. “You move everything to kill roach? Must have been big one,” there was now a clear note of disbelief in his voice. Following him in, John saw why. That strange blast of light had pushed everything against the walls, and had even knocked the few things that had been hanging on the walls down, including his guitar and posters.

“Haha, well, I hate the damn things. I guess I overreacted…” John began.

“Overreact my a*s. I see your clock.” The old man pointed to John’s hand. “Give here, let me look.” Jon was surprised, and suddenly nervous. Reluctantly, he forked over the clock to the tiny old man. Fear began to rise back up again. What was this guy’s game? Something was definitely up with him. Jon had the sense of being suspected of something, and felt cornered.

The old man took the object surprisingly gently. He held it in his hand and turned it around in every direction, bringing it in to his face and adjusting his glasses. He sighed an old man’s “Mmmmm…” his hum was low and gravely. He was apparently gaining  some kind understanding through his visual inspection.

“You make this?”

“The clock? Haha ... uh, no, I bought it at the store when I moved in …” Jon rubbed his scar nervously.

“Not, Clock, STUPID. This!!” He pointed furiously at the clock, indicating the light.

Jon thought fast. He didn’t want to sound crazy. “What do you mean? It’s just one of those clocks that glow in the dark, it runs on batteries…”

“Bahhh,” growled Old Man Zhang waving his free hand at Jon’s face. “Bad lies don’t help. Tell me what happen.” He took a seat still fixated on the little clock. Did this old man really know what was up?

Jon narrowed his eyes at the old man, attempting to figure him out. After a moment of appraisal, he gave up. Sighing, and digressing, Jon sat too. “Look, it’s crazy, you wouldn’t believe it. I’m probably nuts. I just don’t think …”

“Not crazy,” the old man said, cutting across John’s words. “This light is seal for something. Only dark things are caged by light. Light confines darkness. Poor little clock.” He said stroking the plexi-face of the alarm clock. “It only made to serve, but now so full of darkness. See? Light cover outside, keep what inside from getting out.” The old man seemed genuinely sad for the clock. It was strange to see such a mean person behave so lovingly toward an inanimate object. He seemed as saddened at the sight if it as a child might be over a dead bird in the grass.

“Isn’t it just a clock?”

“You know nothing.” The old man sounded angry again, looking up. “You tell me what happen, NOW!” His fist knocked on the table with a thud.

“Whoa! Okay fine.” Jon said raising his hands to pacify the man. Clearly this old guy knew more about this crap than he did anyway. Maybe he could explain some things to him. “Okay so… Uh…” Where to begin? “Umm. There was this shadow, and it came in through the window. It came off the wall. And it…  it attacked me.” Jon looked at Mr. Zhang, who wasn’t looking at him like he was crazy yet. “Well, then I hit it in the head with that clock, and, … and there was this light.” Okay, that was it. John ma boy, you’re nuts. He heaved a bracing sigh. “Look, this is crazy, none of this is even possible.”

“Finish story…” the old man seemed genuinely curious, but also concerned.

Sigh. “Well, like I said, there was this light. It kind of exploded out from where the clock hit the thing’s head, and made this weird bubble of light. It filled the whole room, and then shrank back down and covered the clock.” Call the nut farm. This one’s flown the coop. Maybe the old man was crazy too…?

“I see.” Mr. Zhen said briefly. He rose and looked around the apartment again. “You put clothes on now. We leaving here. Not save now.”

“Wait, what?” John was thoroughly confused. Hadn’t the violence ended? They were safe now, right? Plus, it was nearing 2 a.m. Where would an old Chinese guy and a 25-year-old dead beat go in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t the inside of his apartment be the safest place?

“You trap shadow. If shadow bad, shadow’s master worse. He come to find shadow. He come to find you.” What was this s**t? This was too real for him. Did he fall into a total fantasy delusion? Was he dreaming? That must be it. He was dreaming. He had finally nodded off and this was some weird, Mexican beer dream. Then again, in a dream, it was probably better not to swim against the current. Especially if the current is taking you to safety.

So, Jon threw on a pair of pants and a zip up hoodie, smashing a cap over his long hair. “You so slow. Need to hurry,” the old man was the pushy sort of guy you would typically never get to know too well as a neighbor. John had pegged him as soon as they’d met. They had shared a memetic contract not to bother one another. Both had obeyed it faithfully until this moment.

“Hang on already, I’m just getting my shoes on.” His tube socked feet slid into his high-tops easily. He grabbed his wallet, cell phone and keys, and they were out the door. They didn’t even turn out the lights, though Jon made sure to lock the door and latch the windows. As they left, the old man muttered something strange before they walked out of the apartment. As he did, something palpable and iridescent like gasoline poured around them in a spherical shape. S**t was getting weirder. “Uhhh …… what was that?”

“No time now. I feel them come. We go now.” The door clicked shut unaided behind them. And no sooner had john turned to step down on the landing had he realized he was no longer in his New Jersey apartment building. His attempted step down was met by an early footing, causing him to stumble a bit. Looking up he saw that he was on a side street surrounded by bodegas and Chinese shops. “Whaaaat the-”

Author's Note

*this is my 3rd edit. Please let me know if you catch anything that doesn't fit/work.
*please let me know any typos you catch.
*Did the first paragraph hook you?
*Enjoy!!!

Reviews

[Bilance]

(Shocker… “Mr. Zhang?” What are out doing up so late? Can I help you?” Timothy said through the cracked door.) Okay you got me. How did this happen? Where did little Timothy pop out into the story to talk to Mr Zhang. You mean John right?

“I see.” Mr. Zhen (Mr Zhang)

Well this story is interesting, definitely a really descriptive kind of story the makes it look like I am actually watching a movie instead of simply reading. Nice writing style you have there. Oh and for the first paragraph try not to insult your readers next even if it is to give them a feel of how your character is like. You want people to read your story don't you? Try not come up some comment that reader might get insulted by.

Good job on the story overall. Good luck for your next chapter.... Unless you are actually gonna tell me that this is it. XD

[willbradley]

Thanks for your feedback. I was writing 2 books at once and accidentally substituted the wrong name in the story. Must fix. The whole books is basically done but has to be reworked a bit for resubmission to editors.

[CLR9]

I disagree with the previous review. The writing style in this is too wordy. You don't need to say things like "bladder reaching capacity" and blah blah blah illuminating in the mirror. There are simply too many words saying something too simple.

A good example of this, the sentence

Jon took a s**t.

Vs.

Jon quickly, and daftly, as may might be added, pulled the cotton material down approximately three quarters of his legs to empty his over satiated and well endowed bowels into the porcelain basin in which constituted an apparatus for the servitude of man's defecation.

I created these sentences as an example, but which one is better?

Go read David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest to see what I'm talking about.
You only need to say what you need to say. Otherwise, you'll lose readers as easily as Wallace has lost me with his tub of crap.

Btw, my apologies, but I did not finish reading this.