Chapter 11

What the hell is that noise oh my god quit screaming, Gerald thought, as he was woken up by the blaring car horn. He snapped open his eyes to see a car barreling down on him, horn blaring, tires screeching.

   Gerald screamed, rolling out of the road.

   The driver slowed without stopping completely, rolled his window down and yelled, “What the fuck is the matter with you? Get a job you fucking bum!” then sped away. Gerald stood up, thinking about how he’d almost been hit by the car—

   A car!

   Was he back in his normal world? He looked around, seeing only road and trees, but noticed they looked a little more familiar. Up ahead, he could see a stop sign with a road name sign adjacent to it. He ran full tilt, got to the road, and found he was within a mile of his house. He cut through some woods, across a field, and was back in his own yard within the hour.

   He felt like a sailor who’d been in a lifeboat for weeks, falling to his knees and kissing the ground in front of his home. He almost stood up and screamed “Hallelujah,” but managed to stop himself. He wasn’t so sure of his sanity any longer, but didn’t think there was any reason to convince the neighbors he was crazy.

   He unlocked the door, walked inside, and went straight for the kitchen, pulling a box of cereal from the top of the refrigerator and pouring it into his mouth. He saw a bag of potato chips on the counter, dropped the cereal, and went for them. After that, he stuck his mouth under the tap and drank greedily, slurping and gulping until he thought he would vomit.

   Hunger satiated, he wanted a shower. Discarding his clothing on the way to the bathroom, he stepped into the shower, cranked both the hot and cold wide open, and rejoiced in the blast of water. He didn’t even bother to adjust the temperature for five minutes, content with the water beating down on him. Once the initial euphoria wore off, exhaustion set in, and he sank to the tub floor, shivering in the now cooling water.

   He got out, grabbed a towel, half-heartedly dried himself off and went to his bedroom, collapsing onto the queen-size bed. He didn’t move a muscle for the next 12 hours, didn’t hear his phone ringing when Matilda called to see where the hell he was, nor did he hear her knocking on the front door a few hours later. He didn’t hear the police calling to say his car had been found, wrecked and abandoned, nor did he hear the officer pounding on his door to tell him the same thing a few hours after Matilda had been there.

   Worst of all, he didn’t hear the gator-faced creatures enter his home, pick him up, and carry him, naked, through the field behind his house and into the forest.