Endurance

Creak, creak, creak.

Closer this time.

The light on once again, Deb sat up in bed. No one was in the room. She wondered if there was some reasonable explanation for this. Maybe the creaks were coming from the floor below. Or next door. Or maybe she was hearing something else that she mistook for footsteps.

But it didn’t sound nearby. It sounded like it was coming from in the room.

She waited longer this time. Waited for the creaking to come back.

There was only silence.

Deb put her head back down, but she left the light on. If there was another creaking noise, she wanted to be able to see what was causing it.

Is someone messing with me?

Who? I’m alone in here.

After another long minute, she closed her eyes. She let her mind wander, and it found its way back to Mal. Cute guy. Obviously interested. All Deb needed to do was get out of her own way, and let things develop. If she stopped second-guessing everything, stopped thinking ten steps ahead, maybe she could actually—

Creak.

Deb opened her eyes, wide.

The creak came from right under my bed.

Moving slowly, she peeked over the edge, half-expecting to see some masked psychopath lying on the floor, waiting to spring.

She saw nothing. And that scared the living hell out of her.

My prosthetics are gone.

Deb left them alongside the bed. She was sure of it. She checked the nightstand, saw the gel sheaths were still there.

Maybe I’m brain dead. Maybe I put them on the other side.

Rolling over, Deb peered over the other end of the mattress.

All she saw was bare floor.

Someone took my legs.

Then the bed moved. Just a bit, but enough for Deb to realize what was happening.

The person who took my legs is under the bed.

Deb stared at the closet. She had her cosmetic legs in her case. If she could get to them, strap them on, she’d at least have a chance at getting away.

But how? Ease onto the floor and crawl there? That’s at least five yards away. I’ll never get there in time.

The bed jerked again. Harder this time. Whoever was under there lifted up the box spring and let it drop.

Then she heard him chuckle. Soft and low.

The fear that overtook Deb was the worst thing she ever felt. Worse than when she was falling off the mountain. Worse than when she was being stalked by the cougar.

This isn’t a mistake. This isn’t mother nature.

This is a human being deliberately intending to do me harm.

Her mind flashed back to the blowout. Maybe Mal had been right. Maybe someone had shot out the tire, to make sure they couldn’t get away.

And maybe that someone was under her bed right now.

What am I supposed to do? Any other person would be able to run away.

Maybe I can talk to him

Deb’s voice was shaking when she said, “Who’s there?”

After a terrible silence, a voice directly beneath Deb said, “I’m Teddy.”

It hit Deb like a slap to the face. She was so frightened she began to shiver. He was right beneath her.

“What... what do you want, Teddy?”

No answer.

“Teddy...?”

“I wanna watch you bleed, girl.”

Deb put her fist in her mouth, biting on her knuckles so she didn’t scream. She cast a frantic glance around the room, looking for some kind of weapon. There was nothing. And she’d left her fanny pack—and her knife—on the bathroom sink.

“I got yer legs.” Teddy said. “You can’t get away.”

The fear was overwhelming. What could she do, other than wait there, unable to escape, while this crazy man crept up the side of the bed and climbed on top of her? She might as well have been tied up. Or paralyzed.

How do I run from someone when I can’t even stand up?

Mal, Deb thought. He’s right next door.

“Mal!” she screamed, banging on the wall behind her. “Mal, help!”

“Help me, Mal!” Teddy joined in, using a falsetto. “Please help me!”

Deb filled her lungs and yelled as loud as she could. “MAAAAAAL!”

Mal didn’t answer.

“Your little boyfriend ain’t gonna help you, Debbie. Harry already took care a’ him.”

Teddy pushed the mattress up, so hard and violent that Deb almost rolled off.

“Ready ‘er not, here I come.”

She heard a palm slap the wood floor. Summoning up some dregs of courage, Deb peeked over the edge and saw Teddy’s hand, sticking out from under the bed. It was large and grimy, the fingernails long and yellowed. Teddy’s thumb was actually two thumbs; at the knuckle it split into a Y shape.

Deb thought about reaching down, grabbing it, trying to break a finger, but she was too scared to move.

Another hand came appeared, also with a bifurcated thumb. Then Teddy slowly eased himself out. His hair was brown, matted, a bird’s nest of tangles. He turned and stared up at Deb. His face was just as ugly as his hands. Bushy eyebrows. A scraggly beard. One eye bigger than the other, the lens gray with a cataract, the other so deeply bloodshot it looked like a maraschino cherry. Teddy smiled, showing stained, rotten teeth, and Deb caught his pungent odor—stale sweat and sour milk.

“Ain’t you a pretty one. Ol’ Teddy may get hisself a taste ‘fore we get to bleedin’ you.”

Then Teddy pulled himself the rest of the way out from under the bed, and Deb got another shock.

He doesn’t have legs.

No, wait. He does.

His overalls ended just below the buttocks, and jutting out of them were two tiny, underdeveloped feet. Like those of a baby.

I have a chance.

I can get away.

Fear gave way to action, and Deb rolled to the opposite side of the bed. She slid off the end, face-first, landing on her hands and knees. Then she peeked under the dust ruffle to see where Teddy was—

—and stared directly into his gray eye, only inches away.

Teddy’s hand shot out, grabbing Deb by her hair before she had a chance to flinch. Deb made her fingers stiff and poked at his good eye, jabbing hard. Teddy howled, releasing her, and Deb crawled like crazy around the bed.

Hall or closet? Hall or closet?

Closet. I can’t get away without my legs.