Reflections

Sometimes I cannot sleep. I maintain it is due to too much caffeine from the coffee. But when you explain to people you’ve only had two cups of the stuff at noon, they just look at you like you don’t know what you’re talking about. Yep, that’s me, Crazy-Two-Cups-Owl-Eyes!

When this happens, I lie in my bed at 11:35 and think about getting up early to get stuff done before work. Home office does weird things like that to you.

I stare at the space I reckon to be the ceiling, I can’t always be entirely sure because it’s really dark in my room. Of course, it could also be the wall. I sleep pretty high up, in my bunk bed; if I was two inches taller I’d certainly bump my head. So, you see, the distance between my head and the wall, and my head and the ceiling is about the same.

On these occasions, when sleep becomes a distant friend, I stare straight into darkness. My brain feels no fatigue and I toss and turn – would even spin in circles like a dog, only to find that one position to send myself to sleep. But it doesn’t seem to exist on such nights. I sigh and check the clock on my phone. 11:41. Time crawls.

The neighbours’ outdoor light blinks on and sends shadows into my room through the curtains. I turn my back to them; I know I will not like what I see. I close my eyes again and try to will my mind to be still, but it shows me people. People I crossed paths with that day, only, they don’t have eyes. Their eye sockets are hollow and faintly glow white. To erase that image I turn around again and briefly open my eyes.

At the same time I force my eyes open, I hear a noise coming from beneath me. It is a “clack” noise, like a wooden spoon being laid on a wooden floor. I want to direct my gaze to the foot of the bed, where the cat sleeps, to reassure myself there’s nothing in the room with me but her, but it is too late. My eyes have already seen something else below me, briefly illuminated by the neighbours’ light right before it clicks off.

I lay on my side, stunned and immobile. My heart hammering; my breaths withheld in order to be completely silent.

“Don’t draw attention!”

I urge myself. It starts wheezing, or has it been doing that all the while? I cannot remember when it began.

It whimpers in the dark; it wheezes and it whispers. The neighbour’s light flickers back on and it is there, in the middle of the room. It seems to be stuck in a puddle; almost skeletal, so skinny is this creature. It’s hard to tell in this dim light and from my hidden view, but it looks as though it is melting into the ground.

This is all I see in the second it takes me to yank the blanket over my head. Safety. Blessed safety. Primal instincts kick in. Every child knows the safest place from any monster is under the covers.

Time goes by and that thing still wheezes, whimpers, and whispers. I can’t make out its words, if it even uses those. I focus my mind; it is the reasonable one, after all. It is awake and should know that this is not some creature, just the clothes stand, and those noises are emitted from nothing but my own imagination.

It is getting really stuffy under the blanket and I realize I will need to breach my shield if I want to keep breathing. What a dilemma. I decide to do it. I open the covers and gulp in a lung full of air. Am I imagining the fowl taste that comes with it? More importantly, is that thing still in here with me? I can’t help myself; I glance over to the creature, which is still illuminated by the outdoor light. At the same time it whips its head around to face me. It cocks its heard from side to side, as if listening for me. Its eye sockets hollow and bare, I don’t suppose it can see me anyway.

It sniffs distastefully and returns its attention to its own predicament, mewling once in frustration. My heart has calmed just a little; the danger, it seems, isn’t focused on me. Still, I don’t want to look at that skeletal frame. Before I can return to cowering beneath the duvet, however, I notice movement in the doorframe. My arm poised above me, ready to shroud me once again, is frozen above my face. My pulse speeds up again.

This one is different, I notice, as it steps into the room. It wears a mask, a long, terrible thing. The creature that is stuck to the floor screeches and reaches out for the newcomer, who slowly looks up at me. I throw caution to the wind and swoop the duvet over my head in one swift motion, making sure every last hair and toe is covered.

The little noises of discomfort stop abruptly and all I can hear is the scraping sound of textile moving across floorboards. Then there follows a heavy silence, almost deafening. The only sound now is the rushing of blood in my veins, but still, it doesn’t feel safe to leave behind this impenetrable force field. And then there is a new sound, much closer than all the others. It is the sound of something being pushed across fabric.

I can feel this presence too close to me, and then I see, but I cannot believe my eyes! A long, skeletal hand pushes its way through my blanket! Its index finger extended from its fist, it prods me in the rib, and a raspy voice proclaims, “So long as you are in the dark we will find you. And I see you under your blanket. I have always seen you under there.”

The hand is retracted and I sweat and I scream and I kick the blanket off me, feeling betrayed, and then I see my room is filled with bright sunlight. Shaken, I reach for my phone. Great, only three hours before the work day begins.