The man who gleers

Buying a weighted blanket did not help me sleep as was promised. But then then hot milky drinks, late night baths, lavender and meditation were equally ineffective. I’d try again tonight, once I’d finished my book I would put it down, shuffle down into the warmth of my bed and flick off the light. But would he be there? The man who I see when I turn off the light. The man whose dark silhouette stands behind the door, looms in a corner, peers from round the bathroom door or stands guard on the landing.

I had read a chapter more of my book than I had intended. I couldn’t help myself. I just didn’t want to switch the light off. But it was late. I was tired. It was time. I closed my book, placed it on my bedside table and took one last look around the room. The door was shut, I had long since removed every piece of furniture, there were no places for him hide. He wasn’t there. I took a deep breath and grasped the switch in my hand and turned to look into my bedroom. With a click the warm orange light was gone. Darkness. But not complete. He was there, stood still at the foot of my bed a deep and empty black, even so I could feel his expression. I could feel his eyes on me from under his crooked hat. His wicked grin, too wide. He gleered down at me.