I Thought You Killed Me

I think you feel it, don’t you? The scraping and tearing. How, despite my cries, you stand in the dark corner of the stuffy room with your hands slack at your sides while I’m being killed. You feel it, right? You just said it. Please tell me again that you do because I ... I feel it --- every part of it. My body shudders when I hear the stairs creek and feel its teeth inside me. By now, you understand what that means. You’re shaking, too aren’t you?

Aren’t you?

The thing vanishes. I thought you killed me?

“We’ve already been here,” you timidly groan, sounding annoyed.

I laugh.

It’s loud and unrestrained, wicked enough to rip the rusted nails from the wooden floorboards yet ...

No one hears it except you because this never ends. I’m in hell.

I glance up at the shutters that cover the barred window, ignoring your starving stare. Leaving is possible but only if you let me. I think you should.

Another creek.

This time, my heart quickens. My bones tighten like the muscle is being swallowed from around them because I fail in understanding how you do it. How, exactly, you sit and stare in the corner while that thing stalks up the stairs. You’re pathetic!

“Shut your mouth,” you growl, masked in the shadows.

I squirm in the bedsheets as the scraping returns in my skull. Please stop.

“No.”

Just give me a—

“No,” you say again.

It’s always no with you! I’m crying, damn it! The tears never want to stay inside. Already, they’re trailing down my face, mixing with the piss stained covers that you keep me in. More noises come from the stairs, now a tad quicker like it’s working up the nerves, yet I see how—

“Quiet.”

I see how your shoulders twitch even if you hide your face! Remember, we’re here together in this room so—

The door hinges cry.

My breath becomes choked in my throat like a demon’s hand is clutching me. In fear, I turn my head and stare at the white door, the scratches from last time still deep in the wood.

“I think it’s time, huh?”

I force myself to breath. You say that every time.

A whimper, soft and adolescent like a scared infant, crawls from the doorway. I need to get up. Somehow, I need to escape and find a—

“Your arms are gone. Remember.”

I steal a glance at my body. You’re right.

“And your legs. That’s what it did last time.”

I look again, wanting to scream but knowing I physically can’t. You scrape my skull harder. Why’d you let it take my legs?

“It doesn’t matter. It’s time. I think this is the end.”

I grit my teeth at the pain in my head, still watching the doorway, knowing, deep down,--

“That this is it.”

Yes. I turn my head, praying you’ll accidentally reveal yourself from your stupid corner. You don’t. Suddenly, a coldness creeps in the room and the door whines louder --- it opens further, revealing the sound of labored breathing --- I hear it . This isn’t fake is it?

“No. It never is.”

No? No, no, it’s not. Just come out. I want to see you.

“But that thing’s coming.”

The door tiptoes further open, and a hand, grey and boney with long black nails that kill, peeks from the entrance. I close my eyes.

You blurt, “I’m scared. Oh god, I’m scared.”

Every part of me trembles as the thing’s nails scratches against the floor. Again, it whimpers like a child, sniffing the air and probably smiling. Smiling with the flesh-consuming teeth that cherish the metallic taste of blood.

“This is it,” you whisper, every syllable shaky.

My eyes are still clamped shut. Last time when this happened I did the same thing as it killed me. I had legs then but it stole them from me.

More steps. More crawling. I gag from the smell of it. What is that?

You sniff and cough. “Death.”

Death. I—

I feel its claws scratch at the cloth from my bed. It laughs like a child.

“How is this even possible?” you mumble, sounding terrified. “It looks worse this time. You need to look before it kills you again.”

I can’t. I feel frozen with fear like it’s paralyzing me.

“I’ll come from the corner if you do.”

My heart stops from your words. The thing’s breath slaps me, smelling like decayed skin. Suddenly, the scraping vanishes, leaving a cold print.

What did you say?

“That I’ll leave the corner.”

That you’ll...

“Leave the corner,” you finish for me.

Leave the corner.

Without thinking, I tear my eyes open, in the midst of screaming from the...

You’re laughing. Why are you laughing?

Confused, I strain my neck, breathing in gasps while scanning the small dark room. The thing is gone. The thing that bawled with the voice of adolescence and had malevolent nails just...

“Vanished.”

Right.

Relief comforts me, taking away some of the tenseness crowding my shoulders. I turn my head to your corner, flinching from the deepened darkness that seems to drape itself around you like a curtain of skin. I feel your smile even through the darkness as you say, “Are you ready?”

Yes. Yes, I’m ready. I’ve been ready ever since the day you—

“Enough. Don’t say that. No one can know.”

A footstep. Only a step but it surprises me. Your tall silhouette becomes perceivable like peering through a thick fog, but it’s there. I shiver in anticipation, my mouth becoming dry. Do you feel it as well?

“Of course, I can. I feel everything that you do.”

What do you mean?

Another step. My eyebrows jump.

Answer me. I wish I could say it.

Nothing. You’re suddenly quiet now like you’re shy. Don’t be. Somehow, hiding in your shadows, you found a way to save me so I owe you.

The floor creaks. Closer. The darkness is slowly leaving you. I think I can—

You stop.

No. Don’t.

At the same moment, I feel your fear as the same noise that always torments me comes running back up the stairs. It’s back.

“I’m sorry.”

I gasp, struggling to find air.

“I thought I helped,” you whisper, retreating further. “But I was wrong.”

No. Please don’t let it take me. Anything but that. Anything.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. I can’t see you anymore but ... did you laugh?

The question becomes lost. My ears sting as the devilish cries return, veiled in the tone of a child. The door roars open like the gates of hell have finally been unleashed, and I slam my eyes shut, but it’s too late. Claws ascend upon me and teeth tear into my throat, hungry to hear my pain, my troubled pleas for all of it to stop. I try to fight it off. I try.

I try.

But it’s killing me and eating me and savoring me and—

You.

I think you feel it, don’t you? The scraping and tearing. How, despite my cries, you stand in the dark corner of the stuffy room with your hands slack at your sides while I’m being killed. You feel it, right? You just said it. Please tell me again that you do because I ... I feel it --- every part of it. My body shudders when I hear the stairs creek and feel its teeth inside me. By now, you understand what that means. You’re shaking, too aren’t you?

Aren’t you?

The thing vanishes. I thought you killed me?

“We’ve already been here,” you timidly groan, sounding annoyed.

I laugh.

It’s loud and unrestrained, wicked enough to rip the rusted nails from the wooden floorboards yet ...

No one hears it except you because this never ends.

I’m in hell.

--The End--