Sunday, October 30, 2011

A Living Nightmare

I was home alone. (Isn't that how all these stories start?) It was evening and the house was turning gray in the advancing twilight. Only one light lit the house, and it shone in the bathroom where I stood in front of the mirror.

I heard a creak from downstairs, whose steps ended just a few feet from where I was. I stuck my head out and called, "Court," thinking my older brother came home without my realizing it. Silence was my only response. I went back in the bathroom.

After a few moments another creak sounded, this time louder and closer. I recognized the creak now as footsteps on the stairs. I pushed open the bathroom door and saw a man a third of the way up the steps.

The man was grotesquely fat and was making his way slowly up the steps. He didn't speak but only grinned at me. I felt evil radiating from him. My only thought was to get to my dad's room and grab his gun.

I ran passed the top step and around the corner, keeping the railing between him and me. Faster than I would've thought, his hand shot through the railing and grabbed ankle. His iron grip yanking me to the ground.

I woke up in my bed, relieved that it was only a dream but still immersed in the feeling of evil that permeated the dream.

A few days later, I prepare for bed in an empty house. I stand in the bright light of the bathroom, removing my contacts in the mirror. A creak sounds downstairs where there should only be silence. I leave the room to call out to my brother, thinking it's him. Standing at the top of the stairs, the memory of the nightmare washes over me. I retreat back in the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and turning the lock on the knob. I stay there until Court returns home.

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