Sleep Wouldn't Come

My new house wasn't exactly new. The stove, which had to be lit with one of those long lighters used mostly for grills, was ancient. The attic stairs were the folding, string hanging from the ceiling type. They creaked and groaned the one time I used them. There were some suspicious holes in the wall. To me, it might be a sign that some domestic violence had occurred here in the past. But it was perfect to me.

I never noticed it until the first night when I laid down in bed. There was no way that I could miss it then; a crack in the thick, wooden bedroom door. The crack didn't go all the way down, it stopped about half way. The crack was so pronounced, I could see the light left on in the kitchen as clear as I would in the room. It filled me with dread, although I couldn't understand why.

2:36 a.m. that night. Groaning in the familiar way, the attic stairs woke me up. Confused and sleepy, I rolled out of bed and went into the kitchen. The stairs were still folded up, the moldy string swaying slightly. Rationalizing the house was old and drafty; I thought nothing of it and walked back to the bedroom. Lying down, I stared blankly at the crack in the door, waiting for sleep to find me. A shadow, tall and dark, quickly darted past the crack. Sitting up, I squinted as it passed again, looking closer to my door than before. Not wanting to open the door if a killer or robber was in the house, I peeked through the crack. Nothing. Granted, I couldn't see much, just a bit of the table and the still swaying string to the attic stairs.

Maybe I was seeing things. I turned and shuffled back to bed. As soon as I sat down, the shadow came again, so close I swear the door shook a little. Bolting out of bed, I flung the door open without thinking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shadow walk towards the bathroom. I crept into the kitchen and silently pulled a knife out of a drawer. Crouching and scared, I made my way to the bathroom. I pushed open the heavy door. An overpowering odor of mold and death slapped my face. Scared and confused, I ran back to bed.

1:17 a.m. the next night. Stairs creaking, shadow moving, maybe some tense voices. I ignore it or I try to. My dreams are full of crying and darkness, of rotting wooden floors, of a horrible decaying earthy smell that seeps into my brain. I wake up and see a shadow standing at my bedside, I scream and wake up again for real.

The next few days blur by. My nights still filled with shadows and noises. Desperate to grasp at what was happening; I try to ask the few neighbors I have if they noticed anything strange. Nobody answers their door. Confused and slightly paranoid, I return home.

3:06 that night. The attic stairs screech open. I jump out of bed and hit my head on a windowsill. I peek out the crack in the door. Making sure the bedroom door is locked; I get back into bed and reach for the knife I now keep under my pillow. I do not go back to sleep. The shadow walks by 3 times. The heavy door rattles in the frame. I hear muffled voices and screams. I'm too terrified to investigate.

In the morning, I try to phone the police station. The line is full of static. I don't know if they understood me. I try again later, but the line is crackling louder than before.

1:56 a.m. that night. Whispers, whispers, whispers swirling all around me. I stab at the air. Voices sound familiar. The shadow has stopped at my door. Can't see the light. I stab through the crack in the door. No change, no reaction.

2:15 a.m. Whispers fighting, seem angry. Growing louder. Two voices, a man and a woman. Shadows dart back and forth, a chase it seems. Banging on the door sounds like a body slamming against it. The light through the crack fades in and out. Crying, screaming, is it me or the shadows? I can't tell anymore. The bedroom door burst open.

2:40 (?) am... the air feels heavy, sour, dead...lights are out. Still hear noise, still hear crying. Even in the absolute darkness, I can see a shadow.......I can feel it...closer...it surrounds me....... I am being chased. I stumble blindly around; I can't seem to stay awake.......

Am I awake? My nightgown is torn, dirty and bloody. Can't move, I look around. I'm in my attic, the stairs are folded up. The hard wood floor is damp and rotting. Mold and decay surrounds me, penetrates me. I can't even scream as maggots crawl over my purplish, yellow-green legs. Darkness comes for a moment. After wards, I feel a little better...

My new house wasn't exactly new. The stove, which had to be lit with one of those long lighters used mostly for grills, was ancient. The attic stairs were the folding, string hanging from the ceiling type. They creaked and groaned the one time I used them. There were some suspicious holes in the wall. To me, it might be a sign that some domestic violence had occurred here in the past. But it was perfect to me...