I'm afraid of a thing with no face. I've never seen it, but every time I hear it my skin crawls like a spider trapped under a blanket, trying to find it's way out. Then, when it finally comes out, it bites me. That's when I wake up.

Dreams never make sense.

It's the middle of the night every time. I take my time getting out of bed, just in case it's still here, just in case it's watching, just in case it's not over.

But it always is.

I need water, I need food, and I need to go back to sleep. Stumbling into the kitchen clumsily while putting on some pants, I turn on the lights. They flicker for a split second before turning on. Odd. I dismiss the doubts swimming inside me like tadpoles, unstable and constantly moving. I hear something behind me.

But I pretend I don't.

I pretend this is a normal night, one where the lights don't flicker and a creaking floor board is just a consequence of a creaky house. I get a cup out of the cabinet and open the freezer for some ice, breathing as loudly as possible to block out any other noises that will just get to my head. Noises that mean nothing. The ice cracks as it take cubes out of the tray.


The water splashes.

I hear deep, noisy breaths, only too aware that the breathing was no longer mine. I tell myself it's just another dream, that I'll drink this water, turn around, and wake up. I tell myself that nothing is behind me. I tell myself lies.

It screams behind be. I raspy roar, one I've heard before. The one I hear in my dreams. Suddenly this situation is only too familiar. I know what happens next.

When I turn around, things go black, like they always do after this part.

Only this time I don't wake up.