Everyone goes through the phase of being afraid of the dark. Personally, I was never a fan of the void that surrounded me as I fell asleep, even now as I am twenty-three. But when I was about eleven, I had a bone-chilling fear of the dark. The kind of fear that could kick me into a panic attack even when going into the basement to turn on a breaker. I was never far from any light source for the longest time, even scared to simply go to sleep. Every night was like trying to live through a waking nightmare.
My parents were rarely home at night. My mom working as a nurse in an older hospital meant she was being called out late at night. Dad was always out of town on business meetings, coming home once or twice a month. His little time at home was wasted on the couch with a bottle within reach. I never blamed them or cried about it. I like to think the younger me understood that they had to get money. Even if that was the case, I was still left alone at night. I was left alone a lot, actually.
One night when my parents were gone, I remember lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and hugging my bear. It felt normal to a point. It wasn’t even a type of therapy or something I did to pass the time. I just couldn’t sleep. The lamp was always on, and my clock’s tick was mind-numbing to the point that I usually counted every tick before falling asleep. But that night, it stopped. The room fell silent, and I remember feeling cold. It was like a draft had finally found its way into my bed, but there was no wind. I sat up and looked at the clock, but it was gone. It vanished from my nightstand in less than a moment, leaving me. I honestly didn’t know what to do. The light was still on, and I still didn’t feel tired, so I sat up and looked around the room.
I remember searching for a moment before locking eyes with the clock and finding it lying flat on the other side of the room. It was close enough that I wanted to get it, so I got out of bed and went over to it, across my fuzzy carpet. When I got there, I heard the sounds of my box spring and mattress giving as something went on top of my bed. It felt quiet still.
I remember turning around and seeing this shadow sitting on the edge of my bed, staring directly at me. It resembled a humanoid shape and lacked many features. It seemed to be faceless, but I still felt its stare. I stayed frozen for a moment before it stood slowly, walking towards me and stopping directly in front of me. I didn’t dare move. It wasn’t a case where I felt afraid; I just felt like it would be a dumb choice to move. It crouched and came down to my level, being in my face as it tilted its head. With a closer look, two noticeable white dots were on its face, replacing its eyes. There were also curves where the nose and mouth would be. I just remember the resting silence, and I stood still, frozen and confused.
It held out the clock slowly. Its movements weren’t quick or sudden. It just bent down and brought it up close to me. I remember slowly reaching and taking it, feeling oddly relieved and a bit less panicked. I hadn’t noticed the light was off or that the room was nearly pitch black. I remember seeing its face and smiling gently back at it, whispering, “Thank you.”
Directly after that, it disappeared, slowly sliding under my bed into the deepest shadows of my room. It was not violent… or mean. It just felt normal. Misunderstood even.
A bit of time passed, maybe a week. Everything moved as it usually did. My mom would wish me a good school day. At the end of the day, I would go home. I would go to bed.
After the time passed, I remember coming home one day, and it was relatively dark. No one was home again, so I made some mushroom soup and went to my room to read.
I didn’t really have friends, but that was okay. A good book can take you somewhere completely new. But once I entered my room, the door closed, and there it was again. The shadow. My friend.
I will start referring to the thing as my friend from now on. So, my friend didn’t really talk. It liked to write on pieces of paper, dropping them on my floor for me to find. Through this, I found out that my friend was also lonely. It told me things good and bad, a lot of which I promised to never share and plan to stick to that. It told stories through writings on the walls. The words were different too. It seemed to speak a foreign language, one of which I had no problem with understanding.
When everything was good and done, I felt a little less lonely when it went under the bed again. The only thing was that Mom and Dad didn’t like that I was writing on the walls, but I took the blame anyways. But after a while, they started getting worried. I didn’t want to tell on my new friend, but Mom and Dad pushed me more until I finally told them about him.
He did not like that.
I think he felt betrayed by that and disappeared for a while. He stopped coming and talking to me for a solid month, leaving me alone again. I said sorry to my bed every night, hoping for a reply. Nothing worked. Nothing happened; he just left me alone again.
Finally, after a month or so, my friend returned and dropped me a note. The writing was messy and dark, being almost intangible and abstract. I won’t show the letter, but I can write out the contents here:
Death is fine
Even when it looks bad.
All is good
Do not worry
I remember feeling afraid after reading it. It felt like I didn’t know who my friend was anymore. I felt genuinely sad and broke down crying as I curled up on my floor.
All I remember was the police coming to the door, asking me to open the door, and telling me my parents were dead.
I didn’t find out until later that they both died from heart attacks, but it doesn’t really matter. My friend is still here, and I know he did this. He hasn’t left me alone and I am asking for help. He won’t let me talk to people and only allows me on social media. He promises to never look, but I think he is lying. He wants me all to himself.
I do not know what to do, and I am scared.
He’s here.
Goodbye.