Night TerrorsA Story by LizLadyNinja A lawyers see's the ghost of a little girl everynight. He is haunted by her and wonders if he is really crazy... The doctor called them night terrors. He had explained them as a sudden awakening that caused a person to wake up in extreme fear with no associated dream or nightmare. Frankly, it sounded like a load of bull s**t to Michel. He sat back in his large recliner. The pellet stove burned brightly, warming the small study. A glass of red wine sat lazily in his right hand. A soft, plush bath robe hung loosely around Michel’s trim figure. It was quite absurd. He was a lawyer for Christ’s sake. A sensible man! An educated and sane man. To even suggest that he might have exaggerated nightmares was ludicrous. He had been the captain of the football team in high school, and had studied law at He exhaled slowly. But if they weren’t night terrors, then he was crazy. Only crazy people saw and heard what he did. Am I crazy? He wondered. Would it really be so bad? Maybe I could get a deal like that sick b*****d who murdered that little kid. That had been a sick case indeed. The police had found that child’s body out in the country. Her body had been so decomposed, she had been almost impossible to identify. That sicko had taken that innocent child from her own backyard and walked her nearly two miles away. Then he raped and strangled her, before cutting her open and eating her heart. It had been enough to make Michel queasy. Were it not for the fact that the courts had appointed him to defend that b*****d, he would have never taken the case. When the jury had ruled the man insane and unaware of his actions at the time of the murder, Michel’s mouth had fallen open. He had wanted nothing more than to put that sick piece of s**t behind bars; to let him rot. And somehow they had won. That sick freak got to spend the rest of his days, or until he could prove himself sane, in Westbrook Mental Health Facility. Where he would have three warm meals a day, be able to watch TV, get to do random assorted crafts, and go to the gym. And that little girl was dead. Where was the justice? Michel ran a hand through his hair. It was wrong, completely and utterly wrong. This wasn’t the first time American justice had failed. Hell, if a person could afford a really expensive attorney like Cochran then they could buy their innocents. Everyone had a price. That was the cold truth. But Michel wouldn’t have taken that case for all the money in the world if he had been given the chance to turn it down. Now that little girl haunted him. She appeared every night. Maybe she was a dream, or maybe she was a ghost. He didn’t know. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that since the verdict, Michel hadn’t had good nights sleep. She just sat there, on the edge of his bed. Her hands were usually folded across her lap. Her long white dress, splattered with blood, glowed seemingly by itself. Her dead, decaying, grey skin seemed to be almost sliding off her bones. She never did speak. She never screamed. She just sat there, looking at him. Her dull, dead eyes burned into his memory. He had once asked her what she wanted. She had smiled, her lips curling in a snarl to produce rotten teeth, but hadn’t spoken. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of her, to be rid of that horrible case, and to wash his hands of it all. At one point he had thought himself quite insane. That was when he decided to see a shrink. A lot of good that had done him. Night terrors! Over exaggerated nightmares! It would have made since had he been sleeping every time they had occurred. He had even told the doctor that he saw the girl when he was awake. The doctor had shrugged and hocked it to temporary post traumatic stress disorder. The doctor had prescribed him sleeping pills to help with the anxiety. Michel had conveniently forgotten to fill the prescription on his way home that evening. And now he was sitting alone, in front of what should have been a welcoming fire, with a glass of very expensive wine, wondering when the horror would end. He looked over at the other chair that sat in front of the stove. She was sitting there now, staring into the fire. He wondered, if when he did get rid of her, what life would be like. The lights bounced off the wall, keeping the child transparent. She didn’t glow during the day, there was too much light. She was less frightening when she wasn’t glowing. That was why he left the lights on at night.
© 2008 LizLadyNinjaAuthor's Note
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LizLadyNinjaDenver, COAboutI joined Writerscafe almost 10 years ago, when it was in its infancy. I dealt with the breakdown when it lost our writing and many of my pieces were unrecoverable. Which, as you can imagine was pretty.. more..Writing
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