The Walls Are Closing In

I wake in my room.

At least, it looks like my room.

The walls are too close, and there are posters for bands I've never heard of, all blood-red and sharp edges. All my familiar knick-knacks have been replaced, dark and unsettling things left in their stead. I swear I see a stuffed spider move from the corner of my eye, but it's still when I turn my head.

Unease grips me as I stand up. I move past the dead gray walls and ashy curtains to my bedroom door. I hear it as I place my hand on the doorknob: a low, rumbling growl, steadily growing in volume and intensity until I can feel the vibrations in my chest. I look at the gap beneath the door and see a shadow pacing back and forth, stalking.

I quickly lock the door and dive back into bed, hiding beneath the light covers, shivering from both fear and the sudden cold. Suddenly, the lights go out as I hear the door bang open.

I wake for real this time, bolt upright and screaming, eyes wildly searching the room that is once again my own. Sunlight trickles through the gauzy blue curtains and dances on the cream-colored walls.

I cradle my face in my hands. My sheets are drenched in sweat; I really am shivering.

That same dream again. It's the third time this week. Dad said it was just stress over the upcoming track meet, but I've never had dreams like this before, not even when we went to State. Something doesn't feel right.

I nearly jump out of my skin as my alarm goes off. Time to head to school. I try to put the dream out of my head as I head to the bathroom to shower.

I tell Trish about the dream. She's into that kind of thing, and I trust her not to gossip. She tells me that the creature outside the door is probably a repressed memory and that I need to open the door to experience and reintegrate it. I tell her it doesn't feel like something I want to meet. We laugh, and everything feels lighter.

But when I arrive home, I swear my room looks smaller than it used to, and my cute bear pencil holder has been replaced by one shaped like a one-eyed crow. I ask Dad about it, and he denies going into my room. When I show him the pencil holder, he acts like it's always been there. He asks me if I feel all right and tells me to get more sleep tonight. My chest feels tight, ominous.

Sleep doesn't bring a reprieve. I reenter the dream almost instantly. This time, the room is clearly smaller; I can practically feel the walls contracting around me. I'm listening for the growl, guttural, feral; I smell the stench of a wild animal. Again, I jump to lock the door and huddle under the covers, praying for daylight and an end to sleep. The door crashes in, the lights go out.....

And I awake again in a pool of my own sweat and tears. Blearily, I try to make sense of the world around me. Daylight again, somehow. How does someone sleep through something like that all night?

I hear rain and step to the window to peer through the curtains. It's always been five steps exactly, but today I make it in three. My breath quickens with dread as I look around.

Smaller, I'm sure it's smaller than before. I count out the steps, from bed to door, from door to bathroom. I've lost ten steps all told. I walk it over and over, but the numbers don't change. It makes no sense.

I glance at my knick-knack shelf - where's the thimble my mother gave me? In its place, there's a miniature rat, black with bloody teeth. I've never seen it before.

This time, I scream when my alarm goes off. Time for school.

I ask Trish if dreams ever intrude into the real world. She talks about narcolepsy and cataplexy in dachshunds. I'm very sure that's not what this is.

Dad says I look even worse than last night, pale with bloodshot eyes. I don't want to go to sleep, worried about what will change when I close my eyes. I can't tell him that. He orders me to bed immediately after dinner.

The room is even smaller now, shrunk down so the bed barely fits in the space. I see the shadow passing in front of the door, pacing back and forth, back and forth. I swear I can feel fetid breath as the growl begins again, insistent, inexorable. I don't even bother to lock the door this time. I just curl up and cry for my mother as the door crashes in again.

I wake up. My room has changed again, grown smaller, almost as small as the room in my dream. The walls are dimmer, dingier. My posters have been replaced with the ones from my nightmare. They look like they're weeping blood.

I squeeze past my bed and out the door. I can't find my father. I go to the police department instead of school. They threaten to place me in DCFS custody, so I pretend to receive a text from my father. The officer gives me side-eye but lets it slide. He has better things to do than chase after a teenager.

The sun is setting when I arrive home, even though it's far too early. I lock the doors and curl up on the sofa with a microwave pizza and coffee. I won't sleep, I won't sleep, I won't

I'm in my bed again. The walls bisect my bed; there's barely space for me to move. The door is right in front of my face. I feel the heat pouring off it as something rushes back and forth on the other side. The growling begins again, echoing in my head. I can't think. I just want to wake up. Please, please, wake up.

I wake up in my bed again. The room is completely transformed, an echo of my nightmare. The growling is already at its zenith. I know what comes next. With nowhere else to go, I grab the baseball bat under my bed and prepare to open the door.