<-- Midnight Circus -->

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.

<-- 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.

<-- Invisible Needle -->

It's almost noon, and I'm not home alone. I'm almost safe.

The weird thing about being freakishly paranoid like me is that you know you're not the only one, but finding others is nearly impossible.

So impossible that even after you've faced the fact that you're mad, insane, bonkers, you start to wonder if maybe you really, truly are the only one. The only one that sees things in the darkness, that hears things in an empty room. The only one who knows.

It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, 'cept the haystack is the size of Planet Earth and the needle just so happens to be invisible. And you know you just have to keep sifting through, searching for something that you can't see. Stopping is like giving up that last little echo of normality in the back of your mind, the voice that pushes you on.

Stopping is suicide.

Suicide is a mortal sin, but I'm starting to see that there are exceptions.

Not yet, though, the fight's just beginning.

<-- Voices -->

What a lame title for this post. It is about voices, yes, but isn't that the title of every scary movie and book where someone goes nuts and ends up in a madhouse?

Yesterday, I was outside helping Mom with some gardening when I got thirsty and came in for a glass of water. (Dun, dunnn, dunnnnnn.....) Yes, I know. Water, right? I don't even like water! It was that or milk. Soy. Milk. Ugh....

I sprinted in, dropped my gardening gloves on the counter and grabbed a cup of water. Sipping, I was just sorta walking 'round the house, and I heard someone whisper, like one of those stage whispers that you wonder if you're actually hearing, the words, I'm gonna kill you.

Look, I'm the oldest of three boys. I've heard the term a lot. So my immediate reaction is that it was one of my little brothers.

Well, to hell with that theory. They were in the living room playing Wii at the time. There's no way it was them.

I hate disembodies voices.

<-- Serious -->

Look, I would like to point out, and I know you won't believe me, that absolutely none of this is exaggerated in the least. I may be crazy, and none of it may be real or there, but I am not lying.

Y'know what, I bet I am mad. Stark, raving mad. But at least every word that falls from my lips onto this page is real and the godhonest truth.

I can live with a lack of sanity.

Right up until I can't.

<-- The Closet -->

I, like most other carbon-based life forms under the category of human beings, tend to try to take a shower daily. Usually in the morning, it's awful trying to at night. Got plenty of reasons not to want to be near the bathroom when it's dark.

One time I was taking a quick three-minute shower at night while my parents were trying to get my lil' bros in for bed, and their room is right next to the bathroom, so I would've heard if they were in there. Everyone was down in the family room 'cept me. Now, mind you, they're both toilet trained and not infants. They cry all right, but not like an infant would. So I'm shampooing, and I hear this scream. Just godawful. Like a baby, but not like that Feed me! kinda scream, more of a Please stop whatever the hell you're doing to me! kinda thing.

I instinctively looked out from the curtains, scanning the room for anyone. No one. Huh. What a shocker. But the bathroom linen closet doors were open. So, they're two doors. They don't latch, but if you push them into place they usually stay. I closed them before I got in the shower. Swear to God, and despite the fact that I hate being Roman Catholic, I've never, to this day, broken a swear to God.

Creeeeepy.....

But nothing in the least out of the ordinary. Not for me, anyways.

That was a while back. Like, years ago. This is now.

The other day I was taking a shower, yes, again with the showers! I get real freaked in there nowadays, if you were me, you would, too! So I was in the shower, when I heard the door to the closet just slam open. I, of course, backed up into the wall of the shower and then this shadow just stalks out of the closet, by the shower curtain and disappears. I saw it through the curtain, so it was blurry, but I am not hallucinating. At least I don't think so.

Only one more year 'till I get outta this hell hole. I pray to God I make it 'till then.

<-- Spreading -->

It's spreading.

It used to be just at night, during a certain time period. Used to be. The paranoia would hit around eleven at night and then bam! as soon as it hit like three in the morning, everything was fine. Funny. I could even hear birds chirping that early in the morning.

Now it's during the day. It still hits at the same time, most of the time I don't even bother trying to sleep. The times I do, my face just barely stays out from under my comforter. If they can't see me, I'm safe. But man is it hot at night. My room's the hottest one in the house. If they don't get me, I'll burn to death. Some nights I think 'bout moving into the basement 'cause it's always nice'n cool down there, but I think it'd be worse. Down there, the darkness is always shifting, just to remind you that it's there. Besides, I'd only have to have, what, a thousand nightlights down there? Not worth it.

So it hits at eleven, but it doesn't go away anymore. Not 'till roughly noon. I know I'm always being followed 'cause, well, I am. Those dark little spots that you see jumping 'round in the corner of your eye? They're out to get me. And they never. Stop. Ever.

'Cept from noon to eleven. That's it now. What'll it be next?

Always?