Things That Go Bump in the Night

Once she’d adjusted to living on her own, creaks and squeaks in the dark had gradually stopped unnerving her. She’d learned to sleep though thunderstorms, sudden car alarms, and neighbors’ footsteps that were so unnaturally loud, she’d been sure the tiny old lady upstairs transformed into Bigfoot when the sun went down. Yet, now, on the rare nights she spent apart from Jim, Pam found herself reverting to imagining the worst with every invisible thud. When he wasn’t there the bed was too vast, too still, too cold. It was just no good.

It was past midnight when she finally admitted defeat; putting a pillow over her head and pretending she couldn’t hear anything was not a successful strategy. She reached him on his cell.

‘Hey,’ he answered, sounding a bit surprised to hear her voice.

‘Hey, where are you?’

‘Just leaving actually. Why are you still up?’

He’d been at a high school friend’s bachelor party and had planned to stay at his own place, since it was within walking distance of the bar and serious drinking seemed to be on the agenda. Pam had used the night to have dinner with a friend from her art class, finally get some laundry done and take a long bath. In theory, it had been a nice evening. In reality, she’d missed him like crazy.

‘Jim, I know this is lame but…there are noises here.’

‘Noises?’ He began walking towards his apartment.

‘Kind of a scratching sound. Near the bedroom window.’

‘Probably a cat.’

‘Levitating? I’m on the third floor, remember?’

‘Or a tree branch.’

‘Yeah. Or Freddy Kruger.’

‘Nah,’ Jim replied, his tone dead serious. ‘He wasn’t a scratcher. Gotta be that other guy – you know, from that movie we rented, the claw guy? What was his…’

‘Not funny.’

‘Come on. It was kind of…but, okay. What can I do to help?’

‘Are you alright to drive?’

‘Actually, I’m pretty sober. I only wound up drinking a couple of beers. Getting plastered with high school friends turns out not to be as interesting when you’re…not in high school.’

‘I think you should come over here.’

‘To protect you from things that go bump in the night?’ he chuckled, rounding the corner of his street.

‘Something like that.’

‘Pam…are you trying to get me to make a booty call?’

‘You wish. If I were calling your booty, you’d know it.’

‘Really? Interesting. What would you say? Tell me, so I’ll know when it’s happening.’

‘Well…I guess I’d be saying naughty things to you.’

‘Wow. Will you? If I come over?’

‘Will I what?’

‘Talk naughty to me?’

‘Jim, I’m serious,’ she said, beginning to sound a little exasperated.

‘Okay, okay. Be right there,’ he sighed, feigning exasperation back at her, as he approached his front door.

He stopped briefly at home to pick up some clean clothes for the morning, staying on the phone with her all the while.

‘Ready. But, I’m bringing the booty with me, just in case,’ he cautioned, as he grabbed his car keys and headed back out. ‘Don’t think I don’t see right through your little game, Pam.’

‘You’re so on to me.’

‘Well, not yet. Gimme a chance to get over there first.’

‘Hurry,’ she said, hanging up the phone.

When he arrived, he reflexively started to knock, before remembering the key she’d given him, a couple of days earlier. Either he was more inebriated, or even more insanely in love than he’d imagined, because damn if there wasn’t something oddly erotic about inserting that key in her lock and twisting it. He quickly decided to hold that thought for the time being, less he woke up the next morning completely sober and realize it was totally perverted.  

‘Hey,’ he said, slipping off his shoes as he entered her bedroom.

‘I feel better already,’ she smiled. ‘Come to bed.’

‘What, no dinner first? No dancing? No naughty talk?’ he asked as he quickly undressed. ‘Has it already come to this?’

‘Come to bed, Jim,’ she repeated, rolling her eyes, as he slid in besides her and flicked off the bedside light.

As he settled in, she wrapped herself around him in a way that made him especially glad he’d hurried over. Not to mention remembered to bring the booty.

‘Okay, Beesly,’ he murmured, slipping his hand under her t-shirt and burying his face in her neck. ‘Start talking.’