Hey, this is ali just a reminder to visit When the Night Comes Out
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our patrons and we can continue to make these terrifying episodes for you. Thanks
and enjoy. There's a moment when the sun disappears, when darkness falls,
and you're left with just your fears. That's the moment you feel your first
pang of doubt. That's the moment when the night comes out. When the
night comes out presents paper thin. You are about to witness a man whose
life is filled with fear, trapped by his own mind. And a small
apartment in a big city, perhaps a city near you. He keeps it
clean, but he also doesn't leave, and he never meets the neighbors the
problem. He can sure hear them. The walls you see are paper thin,
and sometimes, just sometimes, you hear things you cannot unhear. This
is especially true at that time between awake and dreaming. When the night comes
out, you'll probably say that I'm crazy. I know that. I mean,
it's hard to deny that there's something wrong inside my brain. You know,
how can you not think that when you don't ever want to set foot
outside your apartment. Part of it is the way things are now. That
was kind of a twisted sentence, so let me try to clear it up.
What I mean is you can have anything and everything delivered right to your
apartment or house these days. I didn't make that happen. The world made
that happen. I just take advantage of it because the world outside is a
horrible place. I saw enough of it when I was younger. What do
you think drove me into the apartment in the first place. Plus, I
can see enough from my windows. I watch TV too. I listened to
the radio sometimes. Mostly I listen to the building I live in. I
listen to my neighbors. The walls here, you see, are paper thin.
Of course, that means I hear everything. I mean, I can
hear stuff going on several floors above and below. I can hear the things
happening down the hall. Either way you go, there's very little that does
not get transmitted through the walls. I guess everyone here just lives under the
understanding you don't talk to each other about what you hear. I don't go
out, and I try not to meet the neighbors, so that's easy for
me. I know you want to know what I've heard. Well, yes,
you hear a lot of sex. There are a lot of young couples
here because the rent is relatively cheap, so this is their starter apartment.
You hear the bed spring squeaking and the bedpost pounding on the floor. However,
you also get to hear a lot of the moaning and the size and
the things. The lovers whisper to each other are louder than others. Of
course, a few years back we had a woman who was a screamer,
and it did so loud enough that the cops were called a few times.
Sometimes, when the couple is just in sync, the breathing and the sighing
and all the things come together merge into one creature. I can almost picture
this one creature, an amalgamation of limbs, mouths, standing in the room,
breathing heavily. So yeah, you hear a lot of that, But
you also hear all the bad stuff. You hear the couple fighting when they
are banging. Sometimes you hear the slaps or punches too. You get to
hear the children crying when their parents are really screaming at each other. Sometimes
you hear the lonely people crying too. Once a woman down the hall was
crying so hard. I don't know what it was that had happened, but
the weeping was something out of a movie. There I am in the apartment,
just trying to live, and there are people weeping all around me or
doing their things. Sometimes I can just sit there and listen to other people's
televisions, music or radio. See. I like things clean, I mean
really clean. I know, I know this has become so commonplace that it's
almost clichede And I did tell you that you were probably going to think I
was crazy. So yeah, I'm definitely in the Howard Hughes arena here with
wanting to be insanely clean. Most of my days I spend working on the
websites I build for clients who never meet me, and then cleaning. I
mean I clean the floors, the kitchen, the counters, and the walls.
They may be paper thin, but they always seem to be dirty too.
You might want to know why I'm talking to you, you know,
you whomever you are that might see this little video I'm recording and saving to
my laptop. Of course, by the time you see this, there's a
good chance I'll be deader than a door nail. I'm jumping ahead. Sorry,
my brain, Well it doesn't work so well. You see, I've
been pretty lucky when it comes to some of my neighbors. First there's the
landlady Joan, who knows about my fear of even stepping into the hallway and
delivers my mail right to me and picks up my rent check when I tape
it to the door. Second, there was the woman who lived next door
to me. Her name was Michelle, and she lived there for a really
long time. She was nice, a little older than me, and she
and I could actually communicate through the paper thin walls using short knocks. She
would sometimes leave food outside my door or also help me with mail and packages.
The problem is she got a job out of town she had to move.
I will admit I cried like a baby when she packed up and left.
She told me through my door that she wished she could give me a
hug, but knew I wouldn't let her. That was true, but I
had never felt such a powerful desire to overcome my fears and hug anyway.
In the end, the human mind is just too strong, and I listened
to her footsteps fade away like a lost radio signal down the hall. I
just leaned against the door and wept. I'm sure others in the building heard
me crying. It took a couple of weeks before I had a new neighbor.
Each time I heard a real estate person visiting next door, I would
listen against the walls or try to get a view of them through the people
in my door. First there was a single mother with a small child.
I did not want to listen to a baby crying all night, so I
did my best to stomp around, clanging dishes. I wanted the mother to
know how thin the walls were and how loud the place could be. Was
I an asshole? Probably? But I wasn't going to let just anyone take
that apartment. I needed peace, and the baby did too. Anyway,
the mom decided to keep looking. The next person to show up was what
I would call the standard dude bro. I saw him through the peepole and
he had his baseball cap on backwards, wearing a T shirt a few sizes
too small. He had muscles coming out of his ears, so I imagined
the sound of him lifting right next to my bedroom. The sound of weights
clinking and clanging on top of each other all night long, or the other
nights when he would have parties long into the night with his pals. Perhaps
there would be loud sex too, which I had already had enough to deal
with on other floors. There wasn't much I could do about this guy.
Just banging around in my kitchen wasn't likely to deter him. I did turn
on music and made it quite loud, and made sure it was class music
too. I'm sure his house party tunes would drown out the sounds of Beethoven,
but I wanted him to picture the snooty classical music listening next door neighbor
who would probably be the most likely to call the cops on him. Dudebro
did not take the apartment. It went like that for a while. Someone
would show up to look at the apartment, and if I didn't like the
looks of them, I would make noise or play music. I'm sure the
real estate people were ready to murder me, too bad. This was my
safe space, this was my domain, and I wasn't going to let just
anyone move in. Then came Kathy. I knew her name was Kathy because
I heard the real estate lady call her that she was young, blonde,
wide eyed, and very sweet. Well I guessed she was sweet because she
seemed very nice. In short, she reminded me a lot of Michelle.
So for this one I was quiet. I mean I was church mouse quiet.
I sat in my bedroom listening to the real estate agent and Kathy talking,
not quite understanding the words, but knowing she was asking a lot of
questions. The entire time I sat there praying, hoping no one else would
make a lot of noise. I got lucky no one did. It was
just a few weeks later when she moved in. I listened, hoping she
was single. It seemed like she was. Her dad was there and her
older brother. I tell you, when someone isn't aware of how thin the
walls are, they will talk a lot. Just by listening, you can
learn so much. That very night I heard footsteps from her apartment, walking
up and down the hall There was a soft scrape against my door. When
the footsteps vanished down the hallway, I opened my door and found a small
business card sized piece of paper. She had drawn a son at the top
and introduced herself as Kathy Morris from Ohio, who had just moved to town.
I was so touched by that I nearly cried. I wished I had
the gumption to even walk next door to knock on her door. I wanted
more than anything to introduce myself. Instead, I kept quiet for a few
days, listening to her playing music and singing to herself. For a while,
I tried to work on building websites for clients, but it was so
hard when I found her so fascinating. You see, I am terrified of
people, but I am also a standard contradiction. I'm terrified of the world
but still want to be connected. I want to have friends, but the
horrific idea of meeting them in person keeps me inside. Yeah. Sure,
I have some online friends I chat with, but you know what that's like.
Sure, some part of it feels real, but it's not the same.
The connection I had with Michelle was as close to being in the same
place with the person without actually touching. So I listened for a while.
I didn't hear any of the other neighbors walk over to her door and knock.
She was sweet from a small town and was probably used to everyone knowing
everybody. Kathy was in for a rude awakening about living in the city.
The city is a confusing mess of a place where everyone is crammed together,
but you can feel so totally alone. One night, I didn't hear the
music. I heard her sitting in her bedroom sobbing. I sat in my
bedroom and felt every moment of her tears. She was alone, I could
sense it. You didn't have to be psychic to know that I was lonely
too. So I got up, walked over to the wall of my bedroom
and very softly, gently knocked on the wall, just four knocks, as
soft as I could make them, and still be heard her sobbing stopped.
It felt to me as if my heart stopped too. Would she think I
was knocking to shut her up? I hoped not. I could just barely
make out the sound of her shuffling toward the wall. Her voice was barely
audible, so I pressed my head against it. Hello. I felt fear
shoot through my body. Hello, I replied, nearly kissing my bedroom wall.
Hey, no judgment out there. I knew it was clean because I
had wiped it down just a few hours before. Am I being too loud?
She asked, No, not at all. I've just wanted you to
know I got your message. I wanted to let you know I was here.
I felt like I was stammering. How the hell did I tell her
what I was thinking and why I was knocking without sounding like a creep.
I just started talking. I told her my name was Daniel. I told
her about how ten years ago my wife and child were brutally killed when caught
in the crossfire of a gang shooting. I told her about how I had
moved out of our house, found this apartment and sealed myself inside. I
had been that way for a long time now. Perhaps it was a bit
rude, but I also told her about Michelle. Are you my friend,
Daniel? She asked. I thought I would be able to make friends really
fast here, but the city isn't anything like where I'm from. I smiled
and said, yes, I'll be your friend, and so we became friends.
When I got up in the morning, she was usually up too,
and I would knock on the wall to say hello. She'd knock back.
Before too long, we had our own little code going. I mean,
it was to the point that certain knocks would tell me to turn on the
TV and watch certain shows. The worst part for me, anyway, was
that she worked out of the apartment and I was there all the time.
During the eight hours or more when she went off and worked at a local
cafe, I was very lonely. Somehow, having a friend, but then
having that friend go off and do their life was even worse than not having
a friend at all. It's hard to explain, you see, losing my
family sent me down a spiral. I did drugs and drink a lot.
I starved myself to the point where if I turned sideways you might not see
me. It all drove me crazy. I mean this literally. I was
diagnosed with a long list of mental illnesses and have been on medication for years.
I sometimes lose the threat of reality. I can usually keep it all
in check. When I think my mother is sitting in my living room having
been dead for ten years, I can push it out of my mind.
You learn to cope. However, when the sound of a demon coming out
of the elevator at the end of the hall comes storming down and breathes outside
my door, it's a little harder to push that away. The times when
I was with Kathy, it was easier to know what to push away and
what to fear. She was my touchstone to reality. She didn't ask for
this responsibility, and given how young she was, it was probably wrong for
me to do that, but it was what happened. So when she was
gone, even on my meds, it was easier for me to become unmoored
from reality and drift away. For example, I became convinced the man across
the hall was actually the Zodiac Killer. This was because I watched a documentary
about the Zodiac Killer and then started to obsess over the man who lived there.
This was the same guy who had lived there the entire time I had,
and was always nice, and when he made his amazing tasting pizza would
leave a slice for me at the door. Still, he was the right
age, and I became convinced he had lived in California at one point.
And well, when you lose touch with reality, you can invent any number
of reasons for your delusions. I was certain at one point that the woman
who lived in the apartment across the way was trying to send me secret messages.
When she wasn't doing that, she was reporting back to her handlers at
the KGB. The crazy part beyond just the delusions themselves was I would tell
Kathy about these things. She would listen against the wall and tell me what
was real. Then we'd laugh about it, and it felt so good to
laugh. Kathy was real. I knew she was real. I had seen
her through the people and walking out the front door of the apartment. I
know what you're probably thinking. You think I'd fallen in love. That's not
true. I mean, yes, I love Kathy, but not in the
way you're thinking, not at all. I wished I could have been her
father, if anything, or maybe a brother. I wanted to protect her,
but I also didn't want her to end up like me. Maybe if
I had been braver or more direct about things, I could have warned her
about Kyle, I would maybe have seen what was lurking there beneath the surface.
Who's Kyle. I'm sure you've already guessed. She met him at the
cafe where she worked. She told me this one night while we were watching
an old movie on television. By this time, we were not only communicating
through the wall, but had exchanged phone numbers and social media platforms so we
could talk through our phones. He was tall and black, his hair always
looked, at least to me, like he had to run his hands through
it when it was wet and called it a day. He was always well
dressed, but in a weird, haphazard way. For example, he'd wear
a blue suit coat and matching slacks, but then the shirt would be unbuttoned
at the top, and he would wear shoes with no socks. I never
saw him wear a tie. I hated him from the first time I watched
via the window him come pick Kathy up. He drove a fancy car.
He didn't get out of the car to come get her, but honked his
horn while he sat at the curb. She went out with him several more
times over the coming weeks. Once when they got home quite late and stood
outside the apartment making out and talking, I took my phone and got a
clear shot of this guy's face. I had a bad feeling about him and
wanted to keep his image handy. Of course, it was just a matter
of time before she was sleeping with him. I knew this when the first
time she must have gone to his place, because she did not come home
from her date that night. Then, unfortunately for my ears, they came
home to spend the night at her place. Yeah, I heard it all.
I heard all of his whispered love speak, and then the sexual commands
he gave her. And yes, there was the sex itself, a lot
of it. I could only imagine that Kathy was now so smitten, so
far gone into Kyle, she forgot how thin the walls were. I sat
in my living room with earphones on, watching videos on my computer. I
turned them up so loud. I had a headache and ringing ears for two
days afterward. The next day, she wanted to talk and text me all
about her date and how great Kyle was. I refrained from telling her how
I heard their entire escapade in the bedroom the night before, but also told
her to use caution. People in the city hide behind masks. I told
her, and something about this guy rubbed me the wrong way. She told
me I was being silly, but I was sure there was something wrong.
I started doing research. I got things off the ground by doing an image
search using the photo I took of Kyle. Unfortunately, although I thought it
was pretty clear, Google did not, and nothing came up. Kathy told
me his last name, so I searched first and last name. I got
his LinkedIn profile, and knew he worked for a big investment firm downtown and
was filthy, stinking rich. He loved fancy cars and traveling all over the
world, eating expensive dinners and very expensive clothes. Everything about him set off
alarm bells and raised red flags. There were con men all over the world
who had similar photos to khn young women like Kathy. What did I do
next? I turned to the online communities and posted his photo in some of
the true crime forums where I like to hang out. Of course, doing
that took a few days, while the rest of the people did their own
searches. I had to wait and wait. I don't do well with waiting.
Kathy and Kyle continued their dating. Most of the time she spent the
night at his place. I began to get worried she was going to pack
up and move. I mean, he lived in some sky high penthouse,
so how could this thin walled, tiny apartment complex compete with that? There
were more nights when he spent the night with her, though, too.
I couldn't sleep in my bedroom with all of that noise going on. Her
bed was right up against the wall, so the banging was loud enough and
hard enough to crack the plaster. Then I started seeing things. Well I
think they were things just in my head, But I wasn't sure then and
I'm still not sure now. But one night I was watching the news and
there was a report about a woman who had been kidnapped right off the street.
Her dead body was found days later. The man who had done it
had been seen, however, and they had a sketch. It looked just
like Kyle. I was certain. I nearly went into a panic attack.
I called my therapist and she talked me down. I took my meds.
The next morning, the story ran again, and the sketch seemed less like
Kyle, not entirely unlike him. Though I didn't know if I should tell
Kathy. I wasn't sure. My delusions seemed so real. What if I
was having an episode? I said nothing. Then I got some replies from
the True Crime Forum. Five people got back to me convinced sinst Kyle was
a murderer. One said he had killed two young girls in Indiana. Another
was sure it was a brutal killing of a teen in Chicago. The others
placed him in Salt Lake City, New Orleans, and Seattle. In my
increasing panic, I became convinced he was responsible for all of them. However,
I had checked his LinkedIn and other social posts, and he seemed to
state he had always lived in the area. The thing about phobias and crazy
thoughts is that even when you see evidence against them, you can't stop believing
them. My fear and paranoia grew. I started taking photos of Kyle's car
and the man himself. Whenever I could get a clear shot, I had
them on my computer. I posted them to the crime boards. I got
more people convinced he was the perpetrator of more murders. It seemed Kyle had
a face that could be put on any one and anything. I had just
made up my mind to tell Kathy my fears. When she talked to me
and said she was going to invite Kyle over that night, she knew I
could hear them when they were having their dates. I told her not to
worry. Of course, I had plans to worry for both of us.
I put alerts on my forums. I also had my phone ready to call
the police if I heard anything I didn't like. I stayed there and listened
the entire night. I told myself to stop, I should sit in my
living room and put my headphones on. But I couldn't I could barely breathe.
The night seemed to go on forever. The movie they were watching ended
and the part I'd really dreaded started. I could hear them kissing, and
then more things got out of hand fast. I heard him hit her at
one point. It was not some friendly spanking sort of thing. It was
a hard hit, and Kathy cried out. Then I heard her scream.
I began to panic. I started to dial nine one one when I heard
Kyle let out his own scream. This was followed by a loud thump.
He let loose with a string of curses and called Kathy some truly vile names.
However, I heard another meaty thump, and Kyle let out a sound
that only a man who had just been kicked in his balls would make.
Get out. Kathy screamed at him, get out. Now. Kyle did
a lot of moaning than a lot of pleading. But I heard him wandering
around the bedroom. He must have been putting his clothes on. He offered
apologies of all kinds, trying to convince Kathy she had wanted to get rough.
To her credit, the scared little country mouse had become quite fierce,
and explained to him as to which circle of hell he could shuffle off to
and live. Kyle got angry as she herded him toward the door. I
could almost picture it. There he was an his underwear, holding his expensive
clothes and arms, while Kathy stood there, either entirely or mostly naked.
In my mind, she had a knife or some kind of weapon in her
hand. He called her more names, threatened her about releasing some photos he
had apparently taken. Kathy said she didn't care and he had better leave and
never call her again. Something about her face or the way she said it
must have convinced Kyle, because he left. I heard Kathy run to the
door and lock it behind him. Then she ran back to her bedroom,
fell on the bed, and cried. All of this I heard through the
walls. I didn't know what to do. If I had been a regular
person and not utterly insane, I would have gone over to her door.
I would have knocked and held her as she cried. Since I am insane
and she was in another apartment, I just walked into my room and gently
knocked on the wall. I heard her crying stop, followed by a lot
of sniffling. Then Kathy blew her nose. A few moments later, she
knocked back on the wall gently. I'm sorry, she said against her side
of the wall. No need to be, I replied, I was so
stupid and you heard it. Oh, oh my god, you're not stupid,
and you handled yourself beautifully. Don't worry. People in this building know
how to tune things out. It's part of how we keep living here.
She laughed quietly. I wish I could just be with you. I felt
a lump in my throat. I was old enough to be her dad.
I also had far too many issues. I wished she could have been my
daughter. But I don't think that was what she was thinking. I couldn't
think of a way to respond. But before I could, she asked an
important question. Do you think he'll stay away? Yeah? I think the
ass kicking you gave him will make him think more than a few times about
coming back. She said. She appreciated that if only it had been true,
Oh lord, if only it had been true, we got about three
days of peace, just three days, enough time to make it to the
weekend, and enough time to make us think it might be possible Kyle would
leave everyone alone. It was also long enough for me to see more news
reports about a possible serial killer roaming the area and to become convinced Kyle was
the guy. I still did not tell Kathy. She was so perky and
positive. The last thing I needed to do was implant my paranoia into her
brain. Kathy and I stayed up late talking during those three days. Usually
we chatted via our computers or phones, but we also spent time talking through
the walls. We got close. It was an amazing three days. Then
Friday night came. I blame myself. Of course, I fell asleep on
the sofa. Kathy and I had been chatting away on social media when during
a lull, I dozed off. It had been a long three days.
Work was busy, but since we had been spending late nights chatting, I
was edging towards exhaustion. The sound that brought me back to the land of
the conscious was a short, barking yell from Kathy's place. It was as
if she had tried to let loose with a loud, long scream, but
was cut off. Then I realized I could hear footsteps next door. And
there were a lot more feed than just Kathy. When Kyle snarled and barked
in order, I realized what was happening. Tell me, what would you
do if you were me? A man lost in paranoia and delusions, afraid
head out of his apartment, even into the hallway. Imagine a man who
has lost everything but convinced the world is out to get him at all times.
I grabbed my phone and was about to call the cops when I heard
Kyle distinctly hit Kathy across the face. I heard her cry out and there
was a very loud thump against the wall. I knew he had hit her
so hard she went spinning into the wall we had shared for so long.
Then he said something that caused me to forget about the phone. I'm gonna
fucking kill you, bitch. Not exactly original, but the way he said
it, well, you would have had to have been there. I knew
he meant it in my mind. I knew he had a knife. I
knew he was the guy I had seen on the TV and who had been
talked about on the true crime forums. I did hit the button, but
the phone slipped out of my hands. I heard Kyle kick. Kathy heard
her gasp, He threatened her again, said he was going to gut her
from crotch to chin. No it took a moment for me to even realize
it was me who screamed. I was even more shocked when I made a
fist with one hand and pounded it against the wall. The blow so hard
it cracked the plaster. The silence which fell was absolute. The building,
my apartment, the world around me was always a cacophony of noise. I
had been surrounded by it, absorbing it, taking the world in through my
ears, but never experiencing it. When I screamed and hit the wall,
the world turned off. The only thing was me, Kathy, and the
murderous Kyle on the other side of the wall. I stepped back from the
wall, plaster caking my hand, dust drifting down to the floor. I
heard footsteps on the other side, mixed with the soft sound of Kathy crying.
Barely audible was the sound of a hand pressing against the wall. Paper
thin, always paper thin. What came next was barely louder than a soft
breeze during a summer picnic, So light the air coming from the speaker would
have not moved a lace curtain. I hear you. Kyle stepped away from
the still whimpering Kathy and began to walk toward the door. I knew he
was headed right for me. He moved slowly, as if he knew all
about me, and for all I knew he did. I had no idea
what he and Kathy had talked about during their more intimate and private times.
Little pig little pig let me in every other apartment had to have hurt him.
No one stepped out of their apartments to say anything. No one had
done anything to stop Kathy from being heard either. I had no idea the
nine to one to one call on my phone sat in the corner, half
hidden under the bed, recording everything. I'm sure Kyle thought that I was
defenseless. This is a common belief when people hear about aguoraphobia. They assume
we cower in our apartments, afraid of everything, perhaps including ourselves. What
Kyle did not factor into the equation was the fact I had lost my family.
That comes with a built in anger too. It was anger I suppressed
most of the time, but it was always there. It was like having
a burning coal and my stomach at all times. He also did not know
just how paranoid I was. Paranoia comes with caution and the desire to create
defenses. Little pig Kyle called again, his footsteps closer to my door.
I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your entire fucking life in.
I ran to the kitchen. I reached into the drawer and came out with
a very large carving knife, long, thin, but brutally sharp. It
glinted in the light of the kitchen. Just to be sure I had something
for each hand, I also grabbed the two tined carving fork, hardly a
Samurai sword, but wickedly sharp, brandishing both. I stood in the middle
of my living room, ready for when the wolf came to my door,
this time against my front door. We can do this the hard way,
the loud way, or we can just get this over with. One will
hurt a lot, the other will be over with quick. You're just gonna
have to get huffing, I said, hoping I sounded tough than I felt.
So Kyle did. It sounded as if he took a couple steps back
and then hauled off and kicked open the front door, just like the walls.
The door frames were paper thin. My door banged inward, and there
was Kyle. I was even more sure now that it was the man I
had seen on the news, the same man in those sketches, blonde hair,
chiseled chin. There was a splatter of blood across his chest. I
thought of Kathy, and the anger inside of me just exploded. We ran
right at each other. I had the carving knife ready to go and swung
it from right to left in a large sweeping arc. At the same time.
Kyle slashed with his own knife. It was sharp, I could tell
that even as I was moving, and it cut across my forehead, flaying
open my skin, sending a stream of blood down into my eyes. But
I cut him across his left cheek, and my cut was just a tad
deeper. A large flap of his face just unhinged, and blood sprayed into
my face. Before he could recover, I brought the fork up and forward,
both times pierced his stomach, and I shoved harder. Kyle let out
a breath into my face, his bleeding face, sending more blood into the
air. Kyle wrapped his arms around me, and I felt the blade of
his knife go into my back, just below my right shoulder. I let
my momentum knock Kyle right over and we both fell back out through the door
to the apartment and into the hallway. I was flung over Kyle's body and
into the wall across the hall. I screamed for help, but no one
came to the door. Kyle, the entire upper portion of his shirt covered
in blood, got to his feet. I felt only pain on the right
side of my body, and it was very hard to get a good breath.
I tried to stand, but everything inside of me betrayed me, sending
me to the floor. Oh, little piggy, you are going to pay,
Kile muttered through his devastated cheek. I tried again, this time at
least getting to my knees. Kile punched me square in the face. I
felt the bones and my nose crunch and tasted blood in a rush down my
throat. I managed to slash at him with a knife and cut his left
arm open. He cried out and staggered back, but the wound was superficial.
I lunged, this time, catching his left thigh. This was deep,
and the blood flowed out of him in a rush spattering against the floor
like a broken faucet. Kyle laughed, but he staggered backwards toward the open
door to my apartment. That was a good one, he said, Good
shot, little piggy, not by the hair of your chinny chin chin.
He fell into my apartment as he did so, I got to my feet.
I held the carving knife, now coated in his blood, firmly in
my right hand. I could barely catch my breath, and the world was
turning gray around the edges. Kyle was laughing, chuckling to himself, as
if this were the most amusing thing that could have happened. Meanwhile, his
femoral artery pulsed with his heartbeat, sending out jets of the precious crimson fluid
he needed to stay alive. He fell hard to the floor inside the apartment.
The knife he held skittered away across the floor. This is funny,
This is so funny, he shook his head. I should have remembered that
the pigs hit the drop on the wolf at the end of that story.
The shud in the man too afraid to even step out of his door is
the one who kiss me. All the cops in the city are looking for
me, not to mention other cities and the FBI. I was wheezing.
The air just would not enter my lungs properly and get where it needed to
go. Tunnel vision was a real thing. The entire world narrowed down to
a pinprick. I could just barely make out Kyle, still scuttling across the
floor of my living room, spreading his blood all over by meticulously cleaned carpets.
He was like a pathetic insect with broken legs, trying to scuttle away
from a vengeful child. His eyes looked up at me, already a bit
unfocused. When he spoke, his voice got steadily quieter, as if the
volume knob on his entire existence were being turned down. You all think you're
so much better than me. The fact is I'm just the mirror of you,
and what's inside all of you. You're just too afraid to let it
out. You all want to hide behind wall, and there are as paper
thin as the walls in this fucking place. Look at you, barely able
to stand, hard to breathe. Right, Yeah, look what you did
here? How are we any different? It was hard for me to speak,
but I did my best I tried to lean down so he could hear
me, but nearly fell. I don't murder innocent women. I don't lie
to them and then kill them. I am nothing like you. Most people
aren't. You're a sad, pathetic, scared little boy. Now head off
on to hell. The fires are waiting for you. I would love to
tell you. He looked terrified when I said that, but I'm not even
sure he heard me. Instead, he coughed once, his eyes glazed over,
and he put his head down. The blood jetting from his thigh had
slowed to a trickle. Eventually it stopped, as did his breathing. As
for me, I tried to walk back into the hallway, but the world
closed in around me. The gray got darker, swallowed me whole, and
everything turned black. I fell to the floor right in the doorway. This
is where I'm supposed to tell you that everything was great after that. I
should tell you that we all lived happily ever after. Well, since I've
been telling you this story, you know I survived. However, it was
Kathy who found me on the ground, barely breathing. Thankfully, I had
nine one one listening in via my phone, and they sent over the cops.
I was taken to a hospital. Kyle was deader than a door nail,
and they soon found out just how many other women he killed. It
was a lot. He was a bad dude, and he used the same
mo he had with Kathy. Kyle had a knack for finding young women who
were lonely or new to town. He jumped from city to city, finding
them, dating them, killing them. The cops had to investigate me,
though. That meant I could not move back to that apartment. My safety
and my haven was gone. Ultimately, it was all self defense. As
for Kathy, she was hospitalized too, but she got lucky. Her wounds
were not nearly as severe, and if I can brag for a minute,
this was in large part due to my screaming and pounding on the wall.
Had I remained silent and frozen in fear, she might not have made it.
Kathy and I have grown close. I definitely at times feel like my
daughter is back. She helped me move into a new place in a new
building. I still have trouble leaving, though, but now she comes to
visit. She's helping, and I'm hopeful the therapy sessions will work out for
me. Too. I still wake up in cold sweats. Sometimes I swear
I hear things in the darkness. I hear sounds next door, or footsteps
in the hall. Sometimes in the mirror, I still see shadows of the
family I lost all those years ago, usually just for a fraction of a
second. I still have delusions, too, but they're getting better. Mostly
what sometimes keeps me up at night is thinking about what Kyle said to me.
I told him he was a liar, but I also know I was
capable of watching a man die without so much as flinching. I think about
how we keep masks over our faces and walls up inside our minds and around
ourselves. We keep the walls up to show one face to the world,
while often hiding another behind it. And those walls, well, they are
so paper thin. A man condemned by his own hand to live in fear
finally realizes that there are actual monsters. However, they are often deep within
ourselves. The fact is we can face them, maybe even defeat them,
or leave them bleeding out on our living room floor, But in the end
they always come back. They lurk with glowing eyes and biting teeth when the
night comes out you've been listening to When the Night Comes Out, a weekly
horror anthology podcast with stories by Brian w Alaspa and narrated and produced by Ali
James, music by Viveka Bishik. Or Brian's work, visit his website at
Brianwalaspa dot com or visit Amazon dot com for his books of fiction and nonfiction.
For Ali's work, find her on Facebook at Ali James Projects. Visit
When the Night Comes Out dot com to learn how to support us on Patreon