Nothing Can Hurt You

There it was. Again.
He leapt out of bed and felt his way across the room to the far wall, where the
light switch would offer some comfort.
The slow, rhythmic sound that had caused him to leave the warmth of his bed was
growing louder now, a deep and heavy bass thrumm which gently changed in pitch
every second or so. It sounded like someone had amplified an electric
generator.
Expecting an intruder in his ground-floor home, the small man in the blue
shorts wiped his eyes and seized the old
splintered baseball bat which leaned against his bedside table. His name was James Marsh, and he did not appreciate this disruption of his sleep.
A glance out of the window prompted a question – what time was it? A quick
glance at the clock answered it. Half past two. Go back to bed.

The hallway light was on because the switch was broken and turning it off gave
a nasty shock. Fine, thought James, as he crept towards the sound.
He stopped, because the sound grew louder. James had to drop the bat to cover
his ears and his teeth began to vibrate in his mouth. He leaned across and sank
down the wall, grimacing with the pain and wondering briefly whether this would
kill him.
It didn’t.
The sound had disappeared with a soft zoop and now his teeth ached and his ears
rang but whatever caused the terrible noise was still in the spare bedroom.
Wishing for his bed again, James rose to his feet and grasped the baseball bat
once more. It made him feel somewhat better about approaching the room.

The spare bedroom was less of a bedroom – more like an empty box. One door, no
windows and another broken light fixture meant that anyone wanting to sleep
there would have to do so under pretty uncomfortable circumstances.
There was also nothing in there to steal.
James crept towards the closed door like some kind of failed secret agent,
realising that the fact that he was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts did
nothing for his confidence.
“I know you’re in there,” he demanded in his most terrifying voice. Speaking
much too quickly for his own intelligence, he added, “I can see you.”.
Shit. The door was closed. He could no more see into the room than he could
see into the future, and he certainly could not see into the future.

James let one hand slip away from the bat and wrapped it shakily around the
door handle. The reassuring resistance usually offered by pushing gently but
not turning the handle was not present, and James felt himself becoming even
more terrified than he was already.
Replacing his hand on the bat, he gave the door a kick and it flew open. In an
uncharacteristic moment of quick, logical thought, James saw that he had kicked
the door far too hard, and while this may startle whomever it was who was in
the room making scary noises, the downside was that the door would then rebound
off of the adjoining wall and latch itself again.
It didn’t.
The room was dark. Really dark. James did not like how dark this room was,
because even he could see that the darkness was totally unnatural. Light from
the hallway should have spilled into the doorway but it seemed that this was
not the case. It was as if James was staring into a flat black sheet of velvet
stretched across the doorway.
So, as any curious person would do, he poked it. With the bat of course.
What happened when James poked the room with his bat was this: James fell back
and screamed. There was a reason for this.
As the baseball bat had entered the horrible darkness, there had been another
disturbing noise - the sound of shearing wood. It was an appropriate noise,
because the bat came back noticeably shorter than when it had gone in. It had
been cleanly severed, precisely cut to the point where it had entered the room.
James dropped the handle he was left with and crawled back to his bedroom,
where he failed to sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

James didn’t go to work the next day.
It was a cunning plan – because not only was he too scared to walk past the
doorless black hole in the hallway, but if he stayed home all morning, then his
friend and workmate Steve would appear at his door to see what was wrong.
And something, James was quite sure, was wrong.

Just as James predicted, Steve appeared knocking on his door at ten past one.
James didn’t answer, because the next thing Steve would try would be his
bedroom window, and that was when he’d speak to him.

“Steve! Bloody hell man, what took you so long?” Steve had spent fifteen
minutes knocking on the front door.
“Me? Sorry, I thought it was you who was late.”
“Yeah, whatever. Look –“ James brushed all the ornaments from his windowsill
and opened the window. “Get in here, would you?”
“Whoa, James, mate, I’m flattered but spoken for man!”
“Your wit is truly groundbreaking, Steve, now shut up and come in here!”
“Well, you’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” Breathed Steve as he clambered
easily in through the window.
“Look at this.” Steve turned and saw James holding a small piece of wood.
“you know, you could have just shown that to me through the window” smiled
Steve as he sat down on James unmade bed. “So why the unauthorised absence? I’m
no doctor, but-“
“Would you stop with the jokes? Christ! I’ve not slept all night!”
Steve suddenly realised just how bad James looked. He was a mess.
“What is it, mate? What’s up?” Steve now sounded concerned. “What is that
thing, anyway?” James threw the decapitated bat-handle into Steve’s lap.
“Man, what did you do that for? That’s my bat! My hittin-stick! What the hell
are you playin’ at?”
"Oh shi- okay, um, pass me that book, right there." Steve looked around and picked up a big volume sat on a cabinet.
"This one? The New Tales of-"
"Don't read it, you idiot! Bring it out here." James stepped towards his bedroom door. Steve observed him and frowned as he paused, lowered his head and closed his eyes for a moment before stepping out into the hall.
Steve followed him, looking bemused but feeling slightly worried.
James had stopped a few feet from the door to his spare bedroom. It looked dark in there. Stopping beside his friend, he followed James' stare into the room.
"Now just what the hell is going on with that?"
James stepped toward the door. The blackness seemed to shift, to ripple gently.
“No! Get back!” yelled James as he grabbed Steve by the
shoulder.
“Hey! Okay man, easy! Do you wanna tell me what’s goin’ on here?”
“Give me that book.” Steve handed it over, silent now.
James held it by one end and slowly advanced on the doorway. He moved the book
cautiously into the dark, and there came the noise which James fully expected
to hear – the shearing sound of many layers of paper ripped apart simultaneously.
He showed Steve the remainder of the book and for once Steve had nothing to
say.
Instead he took the stump of the book and tried it himself. Placing one hand
beside the doorframe he leant in close to the murk in order to see what
happened to the pages of the book.
“Be careful, man.” Steve concentrated on staring into the room. The book – and
his hand – moved nearer. “I think that’s about far enough, Steve.” No response.
“Steve!” Steve jumped, turned his head, and plunged his hand into the dark
room. James felt dizzy.
The sound this time was horrific. The crunch of a bone broken could be clearly
heard amid the confusion of tearing flesh.
Blood poured from the mangled wrist which Steve pulled back from the doorway.
His face was twisted in pain and utter terror.
The hallway which the two men stood in was narrow. This was one of the
contributing factors to what happened next.
“Shit! I… Shit!” James was frozen to the floor. “Say somethin’ man! Steve!
Jesus Christ, I…” James’s legs turned to jelly and he tried to crouch down
beside his bloodsoaked friend. His view went hazy and little spots of black
whizzed across his field of vision as he lost his balance.
And fell into the spare bedroom.

* * *

The room was just as he had remembered it. No windows, lights, or anything at
all. The walls were painted a flat and boring faded blue, the floor had no
carpet and the ceiling was white. There was a severed hand on the floor.
James picked up the top two thirds of a baseball bat and looked it over.

Outside the room, his best friend was dying. James called to him, but he didn’t
hear. James tried to reach, but he couldn’t leave the room.

James was briefly aware of a dull, deep sound growing in his ears as he fell to
the floor.