Page 22 of Truth Be Told
The bed is so comfortable that before I even know what hit me, I’m fast asleep.
It isn’t long after I’ve drifted off that I’m awakened by a noise.
I sit up, the now-warm silk sheets sliding off the top half of me. I hold my breath so I can listen into the darkness. I could have sworn I heard something in my sleep – and surelysomethingmust have woken me, right? – but now I’m not so sure it was anything real. Maybe it was a dream.
I’m about to settle back into the comfort of sleep when I hear something again. It’s a loud moan, deep and nonsensical, and it only lasts for a split second before it’s gone.
I sit up again, this time quickly with my hands holding the bed on either side of me.
What the hell was that? It sounded like it came from outside my door, from somewhere in the hall.
I grab my phone off the bedside table. I don’t have my charger with me, so it only has forty percent left, but so be it. I need this thing right now.
I click on the phone’s flashlight and the room is instantly lit up. I take a quick swipe around with the phone. Nothing is out of the ordinary in here, so that means I was right. It must have come from out there, somewhere in the hall.
I pull down on the doorknob and peer out into the hall. I look both ways but see nothing. It’s empty, but I’m surprised to find that it’s not pitch black. It’s very lightly lit by a few small lights here and there that Cohen must have left on.
Still needing the light from my phone, I venture out. I wrap one arm around myself. It’s chilly out here, almost as if there’s a window open somewhere nearby, but I can’t see one.
I think I hear another sound, this time coming from opposite the direction I’m heading. It was a creaking sound. I turn, flashing my light in the general direction, but there’s nothing there.
Great. Just great. Moans and creaks in the middle of the night in this dim, chilly, old unfamiliar mansion. What the fuck is next?
Whether or not that creak was just my mind playing tricks on me, there’s no way I can go back to sleep now without discovering the source of those moans, which I nowknowfor a fact that I heard.
Quickly, I try to remember – did Cohen say anyone else was staying here? No, he simply said he hasn’t had guests in a long time. Still, does that mean helivesalone? Just because he didn’t introduce me to anyone, doesn’t mean no one else is here. I should have asked. Damn.
I’ll be down the hall,he’d said.
That seems like the most worthwhile direction to take, then. It just sucks thatdown the hallhappens to be a long, dark, and creepy path to take. I start walking, my phone held out in front of me, illuminating the way. I wish I knew where the light switches were in this place.
After braving it a few tentative feet, another moan cries out. This time it’s strained, as though the person is trying to say something, but can’t, and is in some kind of battle to get the words out.
Oh, God.Maybe someone is being hurt.
That thought drives me on, and I hurry now, eventually making it to the end of the hall, where I find a door straight in front of me.
This must be the master bedroom.
I slowly lean close until my ear is pressed against the thick, mahogany-scented wood.
I don’t hear anything.
I lightly tap on the door, my knuckles making a deep, echoing thud. “Cohen?”
There’s no answer. I take hold of the doorknob and test it, expecting it to be locked. I’m surprised to find that it isn’t; it pops open with only the slightest amount of pressure.
I poke my head through the crack of the door. “Cohen?” I say again, this time a little louder.
Still, there’s no response.
It’s darker in here than it was in the hall, but it’s obvious now where that cold draft was coming from. One of the panels of the window next to his bed has blown open, and it’s swinging freely, a small amount of snow already gathering inside the room.
Still not having identified the dark figure who’s laying in the bed, I rush over to the window and push it closed, securing it with a latch in the middle.
My hands are wet from the snow that’s come in and iced around the window, so I rub them dry against my shirt. Then I turn around. The body in the bed hasn’t moved since I’ve been in here.
I try to hide my light from whoever it is. If the sounds did come from this room, they’ve stopped now. At least I closed the window.
