You could call it a midnight circus, but you'd be lying. 'Cause nothing scary ever happens at midnight. That's just urban legand. For me, anyways.
It all happens later than that. Y'know, 'round 1:30 all the way 'till 4:59. The worst is around two. 'Cause that's when you want so badly, yes, oh so badly, to be able to sleep, but the world around you just won't let you.
The other night was one of the worst ones yet. I'm going insane, yes, I no longer doubt that, and I'm seriously contemplating trying to get TAPS to investigate. They might do it, if I show them my blog and tell them my tales. Like I tell you.
Whoever you are. You probably think I'm crazy.
You're probably right.
Anyways, it's not a midnight circus. It's a circus, but a cirque de la lune. Circus of the moon.
I lay back in my bed, staring straight at the ceiling. The the that's worst is that I can hear everything, see everything, all as it happens. All as it unfolds upon itself.
My fabric pencil case is strewn across a pile of junk on my bookshelf which is just to the right of my bed. It's perfectly stable, up 'till that point I had no reason to believe it would fall. But it did. Every few minutes, I'd hear a little scratching noise, the sound of canvas being pulled across a pile'a crap. I could hear, yes, hear the zipper quivering. Then it fell. Just like that. I saw it slide to the ground.
I didn't want to keep watching, I wanted to close my eyes. But the sad part of that is that it's like losing a sense. You take away one sense, another one steps up, stronger than ever. Then I could hear more, the voices got louder.
I have one of those lamps that's real tall and has the different coloured shades, like, I dunno, five of 'em I think. They bend, you can adjust their positions easily.
Apparently too easily. Easy enough so that out of the corner of my eye, I could see the one lit bulb bobbing around. Just a little bit up, just a little bit down, now slightly to the right.
My head was fighting the idea of it, trying to bring back just a wee bit of sanity that no longer lie there. No...no, no, NO! But whatever it was wasn't listening, just kept moving it around.
Funny, I don't remember falling asleep that night. But when I woke up, it was five. I love five in the morning, love how at exactly five the birds wake up and they chirp so loud as the sun comes up, how they get audibly quieter when it's later in the morning.
But I didn't go out to see the sun rise.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
<-- Hungry. Gr. -->
For some reason, it always hits at around 1:15 a.m. Always.
Hunger.
And for some reason, nothing ever sounds good. Gr.
Well, the other night I was in my room, trying to ignore my paranoia when the hunger hit. Just as it always does. Except this time it hurt, it hurt sooo bad, and I just had to get something to eat. So I grabbed a flashlight off the floor of my bedroom and felt my way to the top of the stairs, careful to turn it on only when I was about halfway down.
The shadows, they were everywhere. I suppose they're there during the daytime, too, but not the way they are at night. At night they're alive. They dance, they wink, they grin, they whisper, and their goal is only to torment you.
They want to be known.
And they want you to be scared.
I tried not to look, forced myself to stare straight ahead of me on my way to the kitchen. I felt frantically for the lightswitch, flicked it on and watched the light drown out all the shadow monsters in the kitchen. But I could still feel them, all around, in all the other rooms.
Finding a bag of croutons and a container of yogurt, I headed back for my room. This time might have been worse, though. This time I turned off the lights, but I didn't turn on my flashlight knowing the shadows would come back. They always do.
I sprinted. Literally. I sprinted for the stairs and up them, the whole time the darkness was alive, it was an object that could be felt and stroked, it was someone and that someone didn't like me. Always just a step behind is that suffocating feeling. That feeling that the night seems to have an abundant supply of.
That night, the darkness was watching me.
Croutons and yogurt never tasted better.
Hunger.
And for some reason, nothing ever sounds good. Gr.
Well, the other night I was in my room, trying to ignore my paranoia when the hunger hit. Just as it always does. Except this time it hurt, it hurt sooo bad, and I just had to get something to eat. So I grabbed a flashlight off the floor of my bedroom and felt my way to the top of the stairs, careful to turn it on only when I was about halfway down.
The shadows, they were everywhere. I suppose they're there during the daytime, too, but not the way they are at night. At night they're alive. They dance, they wink, they grin, they whisper, and their goal is only to torment you.
They want to be known.
And they want you to be scared.
I tried not to look, forced myself to stare straight ahead of me on my way to the kitchen. I felt frantically for the lightswitch, flicked it on and watched the light drown out all the shadow monsters in the kitchen. But I could still feel them, all around, in all the other rooms.
Finding a bag of croutons and a container of yogurt, I headed back for my room. This time might have been worse, though. This time I turned off the lights, but I didn't turn on my flashlight knowing the shadows would come back. They always do.
I sprinted. Literally. I sprinted for the stairs and up them, the whole time the darkness was alive, it was an object that could be felt and stroked, it was someone and that someone didn't like me. Always just a step behind is that suffocating feeling. That feeling that the night seems to have an abundant supply of.
That night, the darkness was watching me.
Croutons and yogurt never tasted better.
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