That night Jacob passed out nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow, leaving Monica to lie awake and stare at the ceiling. She loved that her husband and son cared about her enough to work in the hot sun all day building things for her. She loved her husband and his sweet heart, but a part of her couldn’t help but resent his reasoning behind it all.
It’s because I’m crazy. I need animals to keep me company. I need something to talk to when he and Zach are off doing something with their lives.
And she hated herself for thinking these thoughts she knew to be untrue. It came with the territory, she supposed: the self-loathing, the insecurity, she didn’t know where the thoughts came from, possibly from years of verbal abuse from her own mother, possibly from a combination of her medication and mental disease.
Stop it. Stop calling it that.
Well, that’s what it is, Monica. There’s no denying it, no hiding from it. A person born blind doesn’t know what they aren’t seeing.
And it was kind of like that, wasn’t it? Only she couldn’t trust what she did see. For instance, she knew The Tall Man wasn’t really standing in the corner smiling at her. She knew he couldn’t actually be in her bedroom, brandishing a freshly sharpened blade doused in blood.
“Fuck you,” she whispered. “You tall drink of water. Go to Hell.”
He only smiled in return, holding a finger to his lips. Monica shook her head in an attempt to make him go away, reminding herself that he wasn’t real. She wanted to prove to Jacob that she was getting better, and talking about The Tall Man would surely push that tide in the wrong direction. So she just lie still as he took a step forward.
And another.
She drew the comforter close and trembled as he stood at the foot of the bed now, silent.
“You’re not real,” she said in a weak voice. She wanted to scream, to wake Jacob so he could get his gun, or a shovel, or anything. He would know what to do, he wouldn’t be paralyzed in fear.
But The Tall Man isn’t real. Only crazy people see The Tall Man, Monica.
Well then, send me to the loony bin, because I can hear him breathing.
She watched then as he raised the knife to his throat and began to saw furiously, blood spraying the bed, splattering her face. His expression never changing from that sick grin as he tore through skin, tendons, and arteries. Monica covered her mouth to stifle a scream.
“No no no no no,” she whispered, her mantra. “No, you’re not real, you’re not real!” she cried.
Jacob—the world’s heaviest sleeper—only rolled over and snored louder.
The Tall Man worked with the knife against his own neck still, cutting against bone now. He threw the blade to the floor then, and with both hands he grabbed his head and twisted back and forth, back and forth, until finally—it came free. With a grotesque popping sound, he pulled his head from his neck and set it on the bed. Monica whimpered and shook as the head sprouted a half-dozen tiny legs and began crab-walking over to her. She pulled her legs up and reached to the bedside table and grabbed the lamp, ready to smash the monstrosity. It clambered its way slowly up the bed, still with that smile on its face as its body stood at the end of the bed, blood pumping from its neck.
The head scuttled right up to where Monica lay and looked at her and said in a garbled voice, “Who’s not real?”
Monica screamed.
“What? What happened?” Jacob’s feet hit the floor as he turned on the lamp.
“I. . .” Monica said, but caught herself. Looking around the room, she saw that there was no one there. There was no blood on the sheets, no severed head. “Just a bad dream is all, I’m sorry.”
Yeah right, bitch. You’re crazy as hell, if you really cared about him you’d tell him you need help. Before you hack his head off in one of your delusional fits.
Tears ran down Monica’s face.
“It’s okay, babe,” Jacob said, pulling her close. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
They both jumped as a loud crash came from the kitchen. Jacob reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out his pistol, chambering a round in one smooth motion. “Stay here,” he said as he made his way to the door.
“Don’t leave me,” Monica whimpered, afraid The Tall Man wasn’t done with her. But Jacob was already out in the dark hallway, leaving Monica alone again.
You can’t just let him go out there. He doesn’t know what he’s up against.
“Get back in your room and lock your door!” she heard Jacob say.
Fuck this, I have to help him.
She swung her feet off the bed, afraid some unseen hand might grab her ankle, but not too scared to help her husband. Gathering all of her courage, she stepped into the hallway.
“Jacob?” she called.
There was movement on the stairs, and Monica could see Zach peeking down through the bars. “Do as your dad said and get in your room!” Monica whisper-shouted. “And lock the door!”
“Mom? I’m scared.”
“Go!”
Zach ran up the stairs and into his room, locking the door behind him.
“Who’s there?” she heard Jacob say. “I have a gun!”
She made it to the doorway to the kitchen just as Jacob turned the kitchen light on.
“Damnit,” Jacob said. “I forgot to board up the hole by the dryer vent.”
There in the middle of the room the trash can lay on its side, its contents spilled out all over the floor; backed into a corner crouched a terrified raccoon, and a very angry Princess Jasmine, back arched and hissing.
Monica started laughing uncontrollably, it was all she could do to keep from crying tears of relief.