I’m the thing that goes bump in the night.
I’m the shadow and the darkness. I’m the sound down the hall that doesn’t quite fit. I’m the door, not quite closed– did you close it? You can’t remember. Is the window locked? It might be… or perhaps not. Not now.
When you’re afraid of the dark, you’re afraid of me.
And you should be.
I whisper in dreams: you’re late; you failed, why can’t you run, why is this air so thick? Go on, run. I swirl around your legs, molasses in the dreamscape, never where it belongs. When you sleep with your mother, to chase the bad dreams away… I have whispers for her, too. Restless, sweaty, middle of the night awake and the curtains move– the bathroom so far away, and maybe not even real. Are you awake? You hope so. But you don’t know so.
I know. Because I feed on it, every molecule of fear, every trace of uncertainty. That list in your head that goes on and on, that keeps growing no matter how hard you try to prune it, that’s me. I’m the tree with roots so deep, you’d have to cut out your own heart to stop mine.
Do you remember? Do you remember that thing you said? That thing you did? I remember for you, your face got so hot, your throat tightened like a noose, but only afterwards. Only. Afterwards. The moment you realized just how stupid you sounded, how your voice distorted and broke and you made that face, and maybe spilled a little down your wrist, beads of soda racing to your elbow.
Hello.
Hello, friend. Forever friend. You and me, we’re made for each other. No, correction. Made from each other. I’m the only one who knows, who wonders, who crawls into your skin, do your friends really like you? Do they talk about you when you’re off being a small, superficial, broken and unwelcome wart? They probably do. They probably wish you’d go away.
They probably wish that you were never born.
You wish that, too, sometimes.
That’s me. I’m your monster.
And I promise, even when your mother dies and your cat dies and your brother dies and all your friends have gone on, away, far away, to get away from your taint, you’ll never be alone. We’ll sit here together, you and I. I’ll hold your hand, and press kisses behind your ear, and whisper all my love into you.
Did you lock the door?
Are you sure?
Are you?
Photo by veggiegretz at MorgueFile.