shadows
The door shook on its hinges as I glanced outside from underneath my covers. Skin covered in goosebumps, and the itchiness of the comforter went unnoticed. I let just my eye come into view as the sea of blankets immersed me in what seemed like a giant cocoon. I was the fly, waiting for the black widow.
A bead of sweat dripped down my forehead, If I blink, I may miss it. So instead I let the salty water sting the whites of my eye as I strained to see what was coming. The shadow under the door rocking back and forth. What is taking so long, I think, as the rattling continues. It sounds as if it wants to come in, but it just keeps rattling the knob, driving me insane. "What do you want" I scream out into the void that is my bedroom, dark and unfamiliar now. Paintings that once held memories of happiness, now staring at me as if they find it humorous I am about to be devoured. Every shape and shadow on the wall making me uncertain that the lock was intact. Did it get in already and I missed it? What is that shape under the door then? My mind slowly losing grip on reality. The bed is soaked with sweat. My pajamas sticking to me and making it hard to breathe. Humid and hot under the covers, my only protection, silly that I would assume that a simple sheet and goosepillow would become my savior.
Bang, bang, bang, the door is shaking again.
The shadow under the door twisting and turning, becoming feet, then four feet, then nothing but a shadow of something I cannot comprehend.
The knob is twisting again, but this time slow, then fast as if the thing trying to get in cannot understand why the door wont open, but keeps trying with an insane fervor.
Twist, twist, bang. The shadow disappears from under my door.
At this point I am wishing the one light I bought in this lousy apartment wasnt next to the closet, open and dark, inviting me to come right on over. Im no fool, I would rather stay in bed, covered and protected. My phone lies dead in my backpack, which is also across the vast expanse that was once my sanctuary. How much longer will this last I wonder, yet at the same time, I cannot imagine it ending. What time is it? I feel as if time has stopped, but I am so terrified to look at the clock. If it has only just turned midnight, I am afraid I wont see the morning.
Bang....but quieter.
From below me this time. Strange, it seems to be moving around, getting frustrated and angry. I can sense the rage throughout the house, like a cloak enveloping the very air I am breathing in. Suffocating.
Another crash, the front door is open, I never fixed the creak that informed me that my cat had returned from her wanderings.
Maybe it left, I begin to gather my strength to put one foot on the floor. I know I can do it, I have to look outside.
The chill of the linoleum shocks me as I slowly inch my way towards the window, of course it is higher up in this room than any other.
Slowly now, no sudden movements, I barely make any progress because of how cold it is in here..or is that me shaking, Im no sure anymore, the fright has taken over now. Slowly, I shuffle my feet up to the windowpane, no lights on outside, why is everything so dark in this part of the world. Its as if they have forgotten about me and the streetlight across the garden is mocking me with this fact. Luring me into civilization and yet knowing I could never get there.
I glance around the small garden and notice nothing out of the ordinary. The bushes sway with the small pockets of air.A storm tomorrow. I can see the lights in the distance, but as I glance back to the grass and inspect my car, something odd looking about one of the bushes. A shade darker maybe, or did I look at the lights too long? I cant tell anymore, what else could it be but a bush.
A car is pulling in from the road, I see it moving this way, small, but life and all that is glorious about it. I beckon the car this way with my eyes, because by this time the bush has turned. I notice this because for some reason my skills at percieving the mundane and dull are much better than anything else, who could notice bushes being inches out of place if not someone who spends their time in hiding, and I know those bushes. Heavy and dark, full of secrets. It hides on purpose. Knowing the car was coming this way. I am still peeking out of the window, my eyes resting on the sill, I dare not make a move, if it sees me out of bed, it might come back in. The car turns onto my street. The bush stirs.
A bead of sweat dripped down my forehead, If I blink, I may miss it. So instead I let the salty water sting the whites of my eye as I strained to see what was coming. The shadow under the door rocking back and forth. What is taking so long, I think, as the rattling continues. It sounds as if it wants to come in, but it just keeps rattling the knob, driving me insane. "What do you want" I scream out into the void that is my bedroom, dark and unfamiliar now. Paintings that once held memories of happiness, now staring at me as if they find it humorous I am about to be devoured. Every shape and shadow on the wall making me uncertain that the lock was intact. Did it get in already and I missed it? What is that shape under the door then? My mind slowly losing grip on reality. The bed is soaked with sweat. My pajamas sticking to me and making it hard to breathe. Humid and hot under the covers, my only protection, silly that I would assume that a simple sheet and goosepillow would become my savior.
Bang, bang, bang, the door is shaking again.
The shadow under the door twisting and turning, becoming feet, then four feet, then nothing but a shadow of something I cannot comprehend.
The knob is twisting again, but this time slow, then fast as if the thing trying to get in cannot understand why the door wont open, but keeps trying with an insane fervor.
Twist, twist, bang. The shadow disappears from under my door.
At this point I am wishing the one light I bought in this lousy apartment wasnt next to the closet, open and dark, inviting me to come right on over. Im no fool, I would rather stay in bed, covered and protected. My phone lies dead in my backpack, which is also across the vast expanse that was once my sanctuary. How much longer will this last I wonder, yet at the same time, I cannot imagine it ending. What time is it? I feel as if time has stopped, but I am so terrified to look at the clock. If it has only just turned midnight, I am afraid I wont see the morning.
Bang....but quieter.
From below me this time. Strange, it seems to be moving around, getting frustrated and angry. I can sense the rage throughout the house, like a cloak enveloping the very air I am breathing in. Suffocating.
Another crash, the front door is open, I never fixed the creak that informed me that my cat had returned from her wanderings.
Maybe it left, I begin to gather my strength to put one foot on the floor. I know I can do it, I have to look outside.
The chill of the linoleum shocks me as I slowly inch my way towards the window, of course it is higher up in this room than any other.
Slowly now, no sudden movements, I barely make any progress because of how cold it is in here..or is that me shaking, Im no sure anymore, the fright has taken over now. Slowly, I shuffle my feet up to the windowpane, no lights on outside, why is everything so dark in this part of the world. Its as if they have forgotten about me and the streetlight across the garden is mocking me with this fact. Luring me into civilization and yet knowing I could never get there.
I glance around the small garden and notice nothing out of the ordinary. The bushes sway with the small pockets of air.A storm tomorrow. I can see the lights in the distance, but as I glance back to the grass and inspect my car, something odd looking about one of the bushes. A shade darker maybe, or did I look at the lights too long? I cant tell anymore, what else could it be but a bush.
A car is pulling in from the road, I see it moving this way, small, but life and all that is glorious about it. I beckon the car this way with my eyes, because by this time the bush has turned. I notice this because for some reason my skills at percieving the mundane and dull are much better than anything else, who could notice bushes being inches out of place if not someone who spends their time in hiding, and I know those bushes. Heavy and dark, full of secrets. It hides on purpose. Knowing the car was coming this way. I am still peeking out of the window, my eyes resting on the sill, I dare not make a move, if it sees me out of bed, it might come back in. The car turns onto my street. The bush stirs.
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