Bolting up, I listened intently. The darkness of my bedroom surrounded me as I attempted to put my finger on exactly what had woken me. It had been a noise. Of that much I was sure. Was it here in the house? Did I have an intruder? Had it been a nightmare that made me think someone was in the house? Truly, I had no idea. Of course, a nightmare would be much easier to deal with—and quite understandable.
After a moment, I lay back, deciding it had been the latter. Another dream-plagued night was underway. One of these days, I will be able to sleep again, I thought as I closed my eyes. Suddenly, I heard the noise again. It sounded like a muffled voice. Then a thud quickly followed.
Throwing off the purple-and-black quilt my grandmother had made me years ago, I threw my feet to the chilled floor, quickly recoiled, and then leaned down to retrieve my bunny slippers that had found their way under the edge of my bed. I swear, sometimes those bunnies have minds of their own, I thought. Once my feet were snug, I hopped up and hurried toward my dresser. Nestled beside the dresser sat my daddy’s twelve-gauge shotgun. It had sat there, loaded and waiting on trouble, since he’d put it there over a year ago. Flipping off the safety as I made my way down the long stairway, I attempted to be as quiet as possible. Thank goodness for the soft bunny slippers on my feet. They muffled the sound my bare feet would have made on the hard, wooden floors.
Standing in the middle of the darkened foyer at the foot of the stairs, I listened intently. I knew the sound had come from outside. What I didn’t know was whether it had come from the front of the house or from the back. Then I heard it again—from the back. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Didn’t most horror movies start with a barely awake young woman making her way out back to investigate a creepy sound? This was just what I needed—an axe-wielding maniac to shoot with my twelve-gauge in the middle of the night.
Navigating my very large, overly equipped kitchen, I neared the backdoor. All I could think about was what would happen if my guests woke up to find me dead in here. My freshly baked pies that I’d spent the whole evening working on wouldn’t be worth a damn then. That was all part of running your own bed-and-breakfast though. Most of your time was spent cooking for others or cleaning up after them—or, in this case, shooting would-be maniacs in the middle of the night.
At the backdoor, I took a deep breath. The last thing I wanted to do was step outside directly into danger. No, I was smarter than that. My daddy had taught me a few things, and how to take care of myself had been one of them. I used the barrel of the shotgun to pull back the apple-and-coffee-cup inspired drapery just enough to see out.
There, under the small light by my storage shed, I saw what the commotion was about. Three men, big and dressed all in black, were in the process of beating the living hell out of another guy. I couldn’t make out faces from my vantage point, but it was clear that the guy on the ground was about to lose this fight in a big way. I briefly wondered why this would be happening up here in the boonies away from everyone. The only ones here besides me were out-of-towners. Still, I couldn’t just stand here and watch some poor guy get beaten literally to death. Instead, I stiffened, feeling my backbone lock into place, and then reached down and unlocked the door.
As the backdoor swung open, the eyes of the men in black all turned to me. The sight made me want to shrink back, scream, cry, and maybe even pray a little. They weren’t eyes that you would call normal. No, they were completely black, absent of all color but quite clear with their focus, which was now on me. I cocked the gun, aiming at the one nearest me.
“Look, I have no idea who you are or what you’re doing here, but your best option is to leave now, before you get hurt,” I told them, quite proud of myself for keeping the fear out of my voice. I sounded pretty badass.
The mouth of the man nearest me opened. I expected a string of cuss words, or at least a good threat. Instead, he hissed at me—literally hissed, like some hard-up tomcat prowling the streets. What the hell was happening? My badass feeling was quickly deteriorating. Something wasn’t right here.
“Get the hell out of my backyard,” I said once more, this time far less fearlessly.
“Shoot,” I heard a soft, almost melodic voice whisper. I glanced to the man on the ground. It was obvious it had come from him.
I don’t know why I did it. It was as if I suddenly knew whatever he had said was true. I trusted him almost immediately. Without another thought, I took aim and pulled the trigger. The man in black that I shot disintegrated in midair. There was no blood, no body—nothing. It was as if he had never been there. The two who were with him hissed menacingly at me and then vanished.
My shock, as well as my racing heartbeat, held me tight to the spot where I stood. I had never seen anything like that. People couldn’t just disappear. Maybe this was still a dream? Maybe I was still in my warm bed, dreaming of disappearing men and colorless eyes? It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Harley,” the man on the ground whispered, quickly pulling my attention back to the situation at hand.
“How do you know my name?” I asked. It was a fair question. I ran a bed-and-breakfast in the mountains. It wasn’t like I was wearing my name on my pajamas or anything.
“I’ll explain, but for now, will you help me?” he almost pleaded as his head fell back.
Swallowing hard, I stepped off the porch and onto the ground. It was still cold out. March in Tennessee wasn’t usually warm and blustery, but this winter had been a harsh one. Crossing the frost-laden grass, I looked down at the guy who had just gotten his ass kicked.
“Wow,” I muttered.
That was the only thing I could think to say. His face was beautiful. He was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen, and he was bleeding. Using the barrel of the gun, I nudged him slightly. It was clear he was out. Although I wasn’t sure how smart of an idea it was, I turned and hurried back to the kitchen, depositing the twelve-gauge. Once I returned to him, I wrapped my arms under his neck and pulled him up into a seated position. He groaned.
“You have to help me out here, guy. I can’t carry you,” I told him as I patted his face softly to try and jostle him. Slowly his eyes fluttered open. They were the most intense color of gold I had ever seen. “What are you?” I asked. I knew in my heart he wasn’t normal.
A soft smile touched his lips. “That doesn’t matter.” He sighed as he struggled to pull himself up. With my help, he succeeded.
“I have an empty room upstairs. It won’t be easy, but I think we can get you up there. That is, if you stay conscious.”
He looked at me again and smiled. I felt my tension ease. The fear I had been feeling drifted away. Looking into his golden eyes, I felt as if I were floating. A feeling of weightlessness overcame me. I didn’t have a problem in the world while I was near him. Then he blinked.
Shaking my head, I looked around me. I was no longer in the backyard. I was upstairs in one of the guest rooms. The charcoal-grey comforter and white drapes told me we were in room 9, the vacant one, but how?
“Thank you, Harley,” the man said as he lay back on the bed. Within seconds, I saw the rise and fall of his chest and knew he was asleep.
Perplexed by what had happened, I rushed downstairs to find the back door shut and locked. The gun remained by the door, but the safety was once again on. I glanced toward the stairwell and wondered what the hell had just happened. A man from my backyard had just turned a normally boring weeknight into something I couldn’t quite describe. I knew sleep wouldn’t happen, especially since all I wanted to do was watch over him.