The Nightmare People

6.

When he looked at his watch upon awakening he was startled to see that he had only slept for a couple of hours. Apparently he had only been ready for a nap – his metabolism wasn’t quite ready to switch over to a nightwatchman’s hours.

Well, he could accept that. That meant he had that much more of the day to try and get something done.

He certainly had plenty to do; he wanted to call the police and find out what had happened at Orchard Heights, and he wanted to find himself a new apartment. And he intended to go back to Bedford Mills, by daylight, and start moving his belongings out of his old apartment.

He got up, showered, dressed, and got ready to face the day.

When he felt sufficiently alert, he reached for the phone – then paused, and reached for the phone book. He didn’t know the non-emergency number for the county police.

Finding it, he dialed, and when a polite voice answered he asked for Lieutenant Buckley.

A moment later, a vaguely-familiar voice said, “Daniel Buckley.”

“Lieutenant? This is Ed Smith. From the Bedford Mills Apartments.”

“Yes, I remember you, Mr. Smith. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering whether there’s been any progress in explaining what happened on Wednesday.”

“Not really, Mr. Smith.”

Smith hesitated, then said, “Someone told me that there were officers looking at that unfinished office building yesterday; did they find anything?”

Buckley hesitated, and then said, “Well, it isn’t really any of your business, but I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. We got a call about that place, and when two of our men investigated they wound up walking through puddles of fresh paint. We think it might have been the same pranksters who got your neighbors over there on Wednesday, but we don’t really know.”

“Fresh paint?” Smith was honestly puzzled by that.

“Buckets of it,” Buckley told him, “White latex house paint was splashed all over the place, half an inch deep some places, and it couldn’t have been poured more than twenty minutes before – you know how fast latex paint dries.”

“But where… I mean…” Smith tried to formulate a single question that would take in all his confusion.

“Why’d they do it, do you mean?” Buckley suggested. “I’d say that pretty obviously, somebody thought it would be funny to get paint all over some uniforms.”

“Oh,” Smith said.

Another “prank,” that’s all it was, then.

At least, that was all the police saw.

No wonder there had been no police line. The nightmare people, or pranksters, or whatever they were, had successfully covered their tracks.

That had been ingenious, he had to admit. The creatures clearly weren’t stupid. Paint would hide the blood pretty effectively, and they must have carried the bones away and hidden them.

“Abandoned buildings like that always attract vandals, Mr. Smith,” Buckley said.

Smith made a wordless noise of agreement into the phone, and then added, “By the way, there’s something I should tell you, if you’re still investigating all this. I’ve moved out of my apartment there; after what happened, it made me nervous staying there.”

“I think that’s understandable, Mr. Smith, but if you’ll forgive me, don’t you feel that you’re giving in to the people responsible? They’ll probably think it’s all very funny that they forced you out of your home…”

“Lieutenant,” Smith interrupted, “That’s not my home. I only lived there a few months, and I was never all that comfortable there. I just wanted to let you know where you can reach me.”

“All right, then.”

“For now, I’m staying at the Red Roof Inn in Gaithersburg, Room 203. I’ll be looking for a new apartment this afternoon. If I forget to tell you where I am, you can either ask my boss, Einar Lindqvist, or a friend of mine, George Brayton.” He gave George’s address and phone number.

There was silence for a moment, and Smith assumed Buckley was noting down the information.

“All right, Mr. Smith, thank you. Was there anything else?”

Smith hesitated, trying to think if there was anything he could say that would force Buckley to push his investigation a little harder, anything that might help him discover the monsters.

“No, that’s all,” he said at last. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Smith.”

He hung up.