Before Daylight

By Christopher Knoll

Christopher Knoll, author of Tricks of the Trade, continues with Before Daylight, his newest collection of supernatural thrillers! The first, “The Bed Thrasher,” has a young girl suffering from a very real sleep disorder with a startling twist. The town of Sandy Hill’s elderly residents find new life from a visiting doctor’s potion in “Elixir,” but are they willing to pay the price? A prelude to “Savior II,” first written in Tricks of the Trade, reveals the entire story behind Earth’s potential destruction in “The Hand of God.” Taxi drivers in a large metropolitan area are succumbing to a serial killer as an aging detective and his team race to find the killer in “Curbside Caller.” “Bell Ringers” has five childhood friends pulling pranks throughout their neighborhood until three of them ring the wrong doorbell, and the group reunite forty years later to fight an evil presence.

These are stories to be read by one light over your shoulder and before the sun comes up. Unless, of course, you, too, thrash about your bed from the nightmares you keep buried!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662450518

Book preview

cover.jpg

Before Daylight

Christopher Knoll

Copyright © 2021 Christopher Knoll

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-5050-1 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5051-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Bed Thrasher

Elixir

Curbside Caller

Bell Ringers

The Bed Thrasher

Thank you, Nicole, for the inspiration behind this story.

Ever since she was twelve years old, Jenny Sparks was an extremely restless sleeper. She would dream and physically act out these dreams only to find her bed and sometimes her bedroom in disarray when she woke. Other times, she would find herself in another room of the house when she woke, not knowing how she got there. Sometimes, these other rooms that she awoke in would be ransacked: cushions from chairs thrown across the room, curtains pulled from their windows, or lamps overturned onto the floor. On one occasion she ventured outside and had thrown lawn furniture into the neighbor’s pool.

What if she had ended up in the neighbors pool and drowned? her mother asked hysterically of her husband.

I’m sure it’s just a phase, Martin, Jenny’s father, replied. I’ll take care of it.

Martin installed safety locks on all the doors and windows should Jenny try to venture outside again during one of her episodes. He seemed satisfied. Doris, Jenny’s mother, had her doubts and wanted to take her to the doctor to find out what was going on. However, the incidents seemed to have subsided after this, with only minor incidents of her bed taking the brunt of all Jenny’s thrashing about.

By the time Jenny turned fifteen, a sleep incident began occurring at least once per week. On one October evening, Jenny had made her way into the kitchen, pulled a knife from the butcher block holder, and slashed the Halloween pumpkin in the living-room window to pieces. She had also managed to cut her left arm in the process. She woke screaming as she ran through the house, blood dripping on the floor and furniture. Her mother found Jenny in the kitchen running water over the gash in in her arm. This was when Doris realized that her daughter required professional help.

We need to have Jenny seen by a doctor, Doris pleaded with her husband, Martin, the day after this most recent incident.

The skeptic Martin said again, Maybe it’s just a phase that she’ll grow out of. Besides, I have a feeling we wouldn’t be able to afford a doctor. They’ll probably run all kinds of tests that my insurance won’t cover.

A phase…maybe she’ll grow out of it, Doris repeated. This has been going on for, what now, almost four years, and it has gotten worse. She needs help!

After an hour of arguing, Doris knew she wouldn’t win. Her daughter, if Martin had his way, would never see a doctor. Doris knew she would have to do this on her own, behind her husband’s back, and suffer the consequences later. Doris contacted their family doctor the next day while Martin was at work, and she was able to schedule an appointment for three days from then. Unfortunately, an appointment reminder was sent to Martin’s phone the next day. He was enraged, and a screaming match ensued when he got home from work. Jenny heard everything from her room, and she cried. Her parents were angry about her, getting her help for something she could not control. Jenny was processing this argument negatively in her mind. Her parents were becoming the object of her welling anger, something she couldn’t suppress. That evening, Jenny thrashed through her nightmare as her parents were seen as evil—her mother insistent she get help, her father shaking her mother and then slapping her across the face, leaving his reddened handprint. Jenny snapped, rose from her bed, and went to the kitchen and removed the same knife she used to slash the pumpkin from the dishwasher since the others were locked up. Trancelike, Jenny mounted the stairway to the second floor, the knife held at her side until she reached her parents’ bedroom door. She pushed opened the door quietly with her left hand, raising the knife in her right. She approached her father’s side of the bed and drove the knife down again and again, which woke Doris.

Jenny! Jenny, stop! Doris cried. The look in Jenny’s eyes was something Doris had never seen before. She stared straight ahead, looking at her mother with no expression, as she brought down the knife again and again into her father’s side of the bed.

As the knife rose again and Doris reached out to her daughter, Jenny’s arm was grabbed from behind while another arm wrapped around her waist. Jenny’s father had been in the master bathroom and rushed out when he heard Doris scream. Martin was able to remove the knife from Jenny’s white-knuckled grip as she woke and whispered, You’re dead, and began to cry.

Easy, honey, Martin said as he handed the knife to Doris. Easy. It’s just a bad dream. You’re okay. At this point, he turned Jenny and looked at her, the blank stare still in her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek.

It’s time, Martin said, turning toward Doris as he walked Jenny to the bedroom door. Keep the appointment. It’s time.

Doris, with a sigh of relief and the look of horror still on her face, opened the nightstand drawer and laid the knife inside. Thank you, she said more to herself as her husband and daughter were gone from the room.

* * *

Dr. Weeks will see you now, the receptionist said as she directed the Sparks to the door on her left. The Sparks family rose from their waiting-room chairs and proceeded through the door. Jenny had told her parents earlier that she would see the doctor, that she needed to, as she put it, get myself under control. But deep within, she seemed reluctant. She was almost afraid what she might find out. Doris was very willing to do whatever it took to get her daughter well. Martin, although he agreed to go through with this, was still apprehensive.

The Sparks met with Dr. Weeks, their family physician for the past nine years, in his office. It was a large room with a desk and high-back chair with its back against a large window that overlooked the parking lot from the third floor. Two chairs sat opposite the desk, and to either side were built-in bookcases. Many of the shelves had no room due to the doctor’s collection of medical and quite out-of-the-ordinary, paranormal tomes. Across from the desk was a small conference table with two chairs on either side and another chair at the head that Dr. Weeks pulled out to sit.

Please sit, Weeks said, gesturing with his hand toward the chairs on either side. Martin sat to the doctor’s left, while Doris sat at his right; and Jenny next to her mother.

Been a while, Martin, Weeks began.

Two years, Martin replied.

More like four, contended Weeks and then said, but we are not here to go over your health. We’re here about Jenny, Weeks concluded, smiling at Jenny. Dr. Andrew Weeks was a slender dark-haired, graying-at-the-temples man. He was around fifty years old, thought Jenny. Compared to her father, the doctor was about ten years older. He had a five o’clock shadow for being only two in the afternoon. Blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled showing perfectly straight teeth. He somewhat slouched when he sat, placing both arms on the table and folding his hands in front of himself. Jenny blushed a bit when the doctor smiled at her and returned his smile.

Thank you for taking the time to see us, Doctor, Doris said politely.

My pleasure. Now let’s see what we can do to help. Please fill me in. You had told my nurse over the phone that these episodes have been occurring for about four years now?

Doris Sparks did most of the talking, telling Dr. Weeks that these episodes had seemed to become less over the past few months but that lately, they had become more violent and disturbing as she relayed the incident that occurred two nights ago. Martin sat fidgeting and rolling his eyes and occasionally interjecting with a It’s not that bad or She’ll probably grow out of it.

Dr. Weeks interjected on one such occasion, ‘Not that bad’… Martin, what if you had been in the bed?

I’m pretty sure Jenny knew I wasn’t in the bed, responded Martin, isn’t that right, Jenny?

Jenny looked from her mother, Dr. Weeks, and then to her father and said, I didn’t know. I really didn’t know.

Martin sat back in his chair, his mouth trying to form words, as he did not know how to respond when Dr. Weeks said, Probably a good thing you weren’t in the bed. We need to ask a few questions, more than likely run a few tests, and work on a treatment of care plan. This may take some time and I think would be beneficial in the long run. If you are all up to it?

Doris nodded in approval immediately. Martin, just coming out of his speechless state, was reluctant at first, but then he and Jenny both nodded their approval as well.

Good. First, I need to ask Jenny some questions, and I need her to answer, unless she doesn’t know then either of you can if you know the answer, Weeks began, looking at Doris and Martin. First question, Jenny…are you taking any drugs that haven’t been prescribed?

Ah, c’mon, Doc. No, she— Martin began but was cut short when Jenny answered.

No, she responded, I don’t take anything.

Good, continued Weeks. Second question…to your knowledge, have you ever had a significant head trauma where you may have blacked out for a short period?

I don’t think so, Jenny answered as she looked at her mother.

Mom, Dad, do you know? questioned Weeks.

Both Doris and Martin shook their heads and responded, No.

Finally, do you ever drink alcohol? Weeks asked, raising his palm toward Martin when he tried to interject. Martin remained silent.

I’ve tried a beer a couple of times, but I don’t like the taste, Jenny replied.

That’s all you have tried, Jenny? Never got drunk or blacked out from drinking?

No, never, Jenny said.

Okay, that’s all the questions I have for now. The next thing we need to do is get you into a sleep lab for an overnight sleep study or two, Weeks concluded.

Is that really necessary? Martin interjected.

Do you want to get answers, or would you rather wait to see what happens next? Perhaps another attempt on your life?

Martin eventually gave in, and all three of the Sparks family agreed to the next step. The only way they were going to get possible treatment was to go through the process.

* * *

The sleep study began two days after the Sparks met with Dr. Weeks. Martin was on the phone with his insurance company for several hours the day after their appointment, trying to get some kind of payment for the study. Finally, the insurance agent was able to agree to pay half the cost. Martin, although upset, had to settle.

On the first night, after being hooked up with electrodes to her head and chest, Jenny slept soundly with no incidents. REM sleep showed only minor disturbances in her brain waves, heart rhythm, and breathing—which, according to the technician, was normal.

The second night, Jenny had trouble falling asleep, which she blamed on worrying about a science test that she had no time to study for. When she finally did fall asleep and enter REM sleep, her brain waves, heart rate, and breathing increased. She moved around in the bed but did not thrash about as she had on several occasions over the past three and a half years. Her blanket and sheet were in disarray when she woke, and that was all. When asked by the technician if she remembered any of her dreams, Jenny could not recollect a thing.

On the third night, Jenny seemed somewhat agitated prior to the sleep study. I had to take my test. My teacher would not accept the excuse you wrote for me, Jenny said to the technician.

I am sorry, replied Martha, the technician. Do you want me to have Dr. Weeks call the school?

No, let’s just get this over with, Jenny replied disgustedly.

At first, Jenny had difficulty falling asleep as she did the night before. She was agitated, thinking about the day she had. Martha tried several techniques to soothe Jenny into sleep. Over an hour later, Jenny finally calmed down enough to drift off. Several hours into the night, Jenny began to violently thrash about; blanket, sheets, and pillow flew from the bed. She was not secured to the bed as both Dr. Weeks and Martha needed to observe and record what was actually happening.

As Jenny thrashed about, several electrodes were pulled from her head and chest. However, Martha was able to record extremely elevated brain functions, extreme heart rates, and rapid breathing before the electrodes had pulled away. Jenny jumped from the bed and ran into the padded wall, turned to another wall, and began beating on it with both fists, wailing; and Martha could not make out what Jenny was saying. Jenny then turned toward the window that separated her from Martha. Her eyes were open, showing only the whites as her pupils had rolled back. Martha had never seen this before as she could swear that Jenny could still see her. Martha backed away from the window as Jenny’s eyes rolled forward while she pounded on the plexiglass.

Get me the fuck out of here! Jenny screamed and then collapsed to the floor.

Martha pulled herself together and rushed into the room. Jenny lay on the floor, motionless and moaning. When Martha touched her, Jenny’s eyes opened, and she whispered, What just happened? Please help me.

Martha helped Jenny to her feet and back to the bed. Jenny sat on the edge of the bed, while Martha explained that she had an episode. Jenny lay back on the bed and drifted back to sleep for a couple of hours with no further incidents.

* * *

Doris and Martin Sparks met with Dr. Weeks while Jenny was at school, two days after the completion of the sleep study. Weeks played recaps of tapes of the three evenings, more so of the third night than the first two. Both Doris and Martin were shocked. They had never heard their daughter use the F word until now. They were also overly concerned, especially the way Jenny had ransacked the room, pounding on the walls and window, and the way her eyes rolled back and yet was still able to see. Their biggest concern was her not realizing what she had done when she woke.

REM sleep behavior disorder, Weeks said.

You bet it’s a sleep disorder, began Martin.

That’s obvious, concluded Doris. "What do you mean REM?"

Rapid eye movement sleep disorder, responded Weeks. With this type of disorder, Jenny physically acts out unpleasant dreams with vocal, sudden, often violent movements of her arms and legs, all while in REM sleep.

I don’t get it. Don’t all people have REM sleep? I remember studying it in high school science, Martin said.

Yes, we all have REM sleep. It’s a normal stage of sleep that happens many times during the night, usually when we dream. With most people in REM sleep, a temporary paralysis of arms and legs occurs. But in Jenny’s case, during REM sleep, there is no paralysis. She is physically acting out her dreams. It also seems that Jenny has taken this to another level though.

‘Another level’? What do you mean, Doctor? Doris asked.

In most cases, movements such as kicking, punching, arms flailing about, etc. are in response to action-filled dreams while remaining in bed. There are some people that have fallen from bed, and in most cases, they awaken when this happens. In Jenny’s case, she gets out of bed and sleepwalks along with the thrashing about. This is extremely rare.

How rare? You make it sound as if this is only happening to Jenny, Doris interjected.

Oh, I’m sure there are others. But this is a first for me and for Dr. Linn, Martha, the sleep study technician. We have been placing calls across the country to see if there are other cases like this, and I’m sure we will be able to find others that this is occurring with and develop a treatment strategy.

And until then? What do we do…? How do we help our daughter? Doris said on the verge of tears.

"For now, I am prescribing melatonin. This may help with the acting-out behavior but may not for the sleepwalking. It is a safe drug and usually prescribed for older individuals who are having trouble sleeping. I can only hope this will help her some until other options become available. There are other drugs, but I am concerned with the possible side effects they may have on a girl of sixteen.

You’ll also want to take injury-prevention steps throughout your home. Remove sharp objects from Jenny’s room, which you did from the rest of the house, but from her bedroom as well. Consider placing padding on the floor around the bed or moving the mattress entirely to the floor. Moving furniture away from the bed and protect the bedroom windows, concluded Weeks as he tore the melatonin prescription from his pad.

That’s it? That’s all we can do? Martin questioned.

I’m afraid so until we can find other instances of this occurring. We can deal with REM sleep behavior disorder and sleepwalking on an individual basis, but combined is another question. Try the melatonin, and keep a log of her sleep patterns as you are able, especially if she has any other episodes. If within the next thirty days there is no improvement, we may want to try other avenues.

Martin shrugged as if in agreement, and Doris began to weep.

* * *

Jenny began taking the melatonin that evening and went to bed on the mattress that her father had lowered to the floor. She slept soundly without any incident. This occurred for nine consecutive nights. On the tenth night, Doris found Jenny in the basement going through her father’s tools. Doris approached Jenny and gently touched her on the shoulder and asked her to return to bed. Jenny turned to her mother. Her eyes were open, and she said, Okay.

Bitch, Jenny whispered as she ascended the stairs to the first floor. Doris knew Jenny had said something but couldn’t make it out.

The next day, Martin secured the basement door with a padlock, the key to which only he and Doris knew its location.

Jenny began showing signs of lethargy during the day, so much that it interfered with her daily routine. She continued playing volleyball her junior year but never made it to the first team. Eventually, she quit, stating that she was always tired and her brain was all fuzzy.

Jenny would have two other sleepwalking episodes that amounted to her standing in the living room, one time looking out the window and the next staring at a blank television screen.