I was completely convinced that I'd caught Edwin Lawrence pulling a fast one with that deck of cards. There I was, lying in bed fully awake, the night's events replaying in my mind. I couldn't help but question how I could have been such a complete fool. We had grabbed dinner at the Trocadero and then hit up the Empire for a show. The venue was jam-packed and it was like a sauna in there.
"Let's bail," Lawrence suggested almost as soon as we got in. "I can't deal with this crowd and this heat." I was on the same page. So, we got out of there. "Why don't you swing by my place for a bit?" he offered.
We both had apartments in Imperial Mansions, same floor but different numbers; his was 64, mine, 79. To get from his door to mine, you'd head down the hallway, hang a right at the corner—the second door on your right—that was me. I tagged along to his place.
"How about we up the ante with a little wager?" he proposed. "It's something to do at least." I went along with it. We started betting small, but things quickly escalated.
I'm usually not big on drinking, but that night I'd already had more than my usual share. At his urging, I drank even more. As our bets grew, so did my losses—I didn't keep track of how much I lost until he tallied it all up on a slip of paper and floored me with how high it had gotten—nearly a thousand pounds.
"Hold up," I countered wide-eyed, "940 pounds, Lawrence? That can't be right!"
He passed over the paper sporting a casual grin, "Check out the math for yourself." As I went over his figures, they seemed a little off to me but since I hadn't kept my own score, challenging him felt pointless; their sum matched his claim regardless. Still, something told me there was an error in there somewhere.
"Come on," he urged, pushing his luck.
"You've got to risk it to get the biscuit! Double or nothing?" I really didn't want to—I'm not usually into high-stake risks like this. But he kept pushing and somehow convinced me—it must've been the booze talking. We made our cuts: mine was decent—the jack of diamonds—but then as he cut the cards himself, one seemed to slip from his hand before revealing the queen of diamonds and declaring: "That beats you!"
"But you dropped a card first," I pointed out immediately.
"Dropped one? What are you implying? If that happened it was totally unintentional," he retorted defensively—his smirk wasn't buying his excuse either. Despite feeling certain about what I saw, arguing felt risky given our friendship history—it was an uncomfortable standoff; standing up from my seat seemed like giving up.
"That means you owe me eighteen hundred eighty now," he smirked without a hint of regret.
"Tough luck Ferguson; maybe you'll get 'em next time." Right then and there, I swore off playing cards with Edwin Lawrence when no one else was around.
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As I made my way back to my apartment, my mind was swarming with the night's occurrences. It wasn't just about the cash – though I'm not rolling in riches and losing nearly two grand stings. What really gnawed at me was questioning whether this guy, who I was starting to see as a pal, was actually pretty shifty. Could he have been crafty enough to fiddle with those numbers for his gain, deliberately dropping that card? The more I mulled over what happened that evening, the uglier the implications seemed.
In bed, I was wrestling with these thoughts; they wouldn't let up. Sleep turned into a battleground of restlessness. And when sleep finally did claim me, it brought more agitation instead of peace.
Usually, I sleep like a log – dreams rarely pay me a visit. But that night, a vivid dream gripped me so intensely it still lingers, blurring lines between dream and reality even during the day. It felt weirdly authentic – I wouldn't rule out that maybe I wasn't just dreaming but partially awake and witnessing something extraordinary.
Time gets hazy in dreams but it felt like I had barely drifted off when something indiscernible compelled me to sit upright in bed – not just sit up but climb out of bed too. As far as memory serves, I didn't dress or flick on the lights; darkness enfolded everything. Yet driven by an inexplicable urge, I felt the need to go see Lawrence. In my PJs and moving through a darkened hallway lit only by a nightlight (I recall its dim glow), I reached Lawrence's door and rapped lightly on it. No response. As I lingered there doubting my next move, a peculiar sound from inside caught my attention.
I had never heard such an unsettling noise in my life. It's hard to put it into words. It was as though some monstrous animal had invaded the room, throwing a tantrum of raw fury. A cascade of growls, shrieks, and guttural squawks collided with each other in the air. Intermingled were softer yet distinct sounds of someone ensnared by intense suffering and fear. At that cacophony, I couldn't hesitate any longer. My hand turned the doorknob, and I entered. What greeted my eyes is etched into my memory.
Lawrence was locked in a desperate struggle with an indescribable entity. From this being emanated those gruesome noises. It moved in a blur of chaotic frenzy, an incarnation of uncontrolled motion assaulting Lawrence who seemed to try fighting back but to little avail; he was getting thrown around like a rag doll.
His defense stood no chance against such a force. Before long, he was downed, sprawling on the floor. The creature then viciously beat his still form, with that same disturbing breathy sound punctuating each blow – until suddenly it ceased.
The entire time, there was a hauntingly human aspect to this beast. It wore what seemed like a glossy silk robe that billowed out as it contorted violently. When its movements finally ceased, a woman’s laughter broke out – chilling to the core.
Despite not being typically faint-hearted or a coward, I have to confess that instead of stepping in or providing the much-needed help, I bolted from the room at the sound of that laugh – just like a scared dog. And oddly enough, right after that moment of terror, I found myself waking up. Waking up drenched in sweat and shaking vigorously in my bed appeared just as real as sleep could feel.
Scanning my surroundings frantically, I noticed the blind lifted at the large French window – something I routinely did before bed. The moonlight streamed in through it when suddenly a noise made me tense up. Determined to pinpoint its source, I moved closer to the window. Undeniably wide awake now, I saw through the glass someone standing on the other side – an enigmatic silhouette.
Then came the creak of the rusty latch lifting and an awkward shove; the window swung open under what seemed like an inexperienced touch. Emerging from the lunar glow like some ghostly entity, a woman stepped right into my room.