I stood in the bedroom doorway of a house I didn’t recognize. It was empty and silent. The hallway was long and the front door was just around the corner. I didn’t move, I was supposed to be there. I waited. I was vaguely aware of my consciousness, the thoughts that make me me, lost somewhere in my head. My consciousness was scared, confused, and frantic. It tried to gain control of my body again. It couldn’t.
I heard front door open, and a man walked through. He said nothing. I waited until I could see him.
He rounded the corner. I was supposed to greet him. “Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” he said without moving his mouth. I heard it, but not with my ears. It was loud. My consciousness recoiled.
My eyes did not move from his, but I took in his appearance. My eyes were not supposed to move from his. His arms and legs were too long for his gaunt, pale body. I was not supposed to notice this, so I didn’t.
He was a strange man. “You are a strange man,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied without moving his mouth. My consciousness didn’t like that.
“Don’t like that,” I said.
He smiled without moving his mouth.
A hand finally moved towards my face. It was long and bony with too many joints. I wasn’t supposed to notice this, so I didn’t.
He touched his hand to my forehead. He slithered into my mind and looked around, rifling through my thoughts and memories. My consciousness screamed and writhed in agony, calling out for someone to help. It hurt. It hurt me. It hurt my body.
I stepped back.
I wasn’t supposed to step back.
The man looked at me. He was angry. He screamed with a thousand voices.
I stood in the bedroom of a house I almost recognized. A few pieces of furniture were scattered here and there. There were faint voices and car horns outside. The man took a step towards me. My eyes did not move from his, they weren’t supposed to.
I was supposed to let him touch my face. “I am supposed to let you touch my face.”
“Yes,” he said. His mouth did not move. His long, twisted hand reached for my face.
I was supposed to let him take my mind for himself. “I am supposed to let you take my mind.” My consciousness screamed. It seemed louder now.
“Yes,” he replied loudly.
I took a second step back.
“I will not.”
The man was angry. He screamed in a thousand voices.
I stood in the middle of the bedroom of a house I began to recognize. This was my bedroom. It was filled with furniture and knickknacks. The busy city was loud outside.
There was a strange man in my home. His arms and legs were too long for his body. His limbs were long and bony with too many joints. I wasn’t supposed to notice this.
My eyes were not supposed to move from his.
They did.
He wasn’t a man at all.
Get out of my house, my consciousness screamed.
“Get out of my house,” I screamed.
“Get out of my house,” my consciousness and I screamed together.
I was slammed back into my body with so much force that I stumbled. The man, the thing in front of me recoiled and screamed. I was filled with a rage I’d never felt before. I lunged at it, wanting to destroy whatever it was. Wanting to kill it so that it could never shove its way inside my mind again.
It screamed, an awful sound that didn’t belong to it, that belonged to many other people it took for itself. It flung itself towards the front door.
“You will not return here,” I growled.
It screamed that awful scream at me.
“YOU WILL NOT RETURN HERE,” I roared.
“I will not return here,” it said, it’s mouth never moving.
It flung itself out of the front door. I collapsed.
This was my house. This was my mind.
You are not supposed to notice when he comes.
Notice.