I first noticed the scratch on the floor last winter. It was a straight, horizontal line gouged deeply into the wood in the corner next to my sofa. When I inspected it, I saw the scratch appeared to start at the outside wall—-up against the baseboard-—then run a few inches into the room. It looked at first like a chair had been dragged across the floor, but it was gouged too deeply to be from ordinary furniture. The scratch also contained traces of a chalky substance with a reddish tint. Very strange. I hadn’t moved any furniture recently yet I could see tiny splinters of wood around its edges, so it was a recent scratch. How, exactly, did I do this?
Sometime toward the end of spring, I noticed that the scratch seemed longer, at least by several inches. Was I imagining things? Did I absentmindedly move furniture around when I cleaned? Has somebody else been in my apartment? I called my landlady and asked if she’d allowed anybody in. Maybe to do repairs? She said no.
Over the summer, I forgot about the scratch. But sometime toward the end of August, I noticed it on the other side of the sofa. I pulled the sofa away from the wall and discovered the scratch was now about 12 feet long—nearly the length of the entire living room wall. Had it grown there in the dark all summer long??? This is insane. I called the landlady. She came by and took a disapproving look. No, she hadn’t let anybody into the apartment. Had I been moving furniture? She told me it must have been left by the previous tenant. She promised to get the building’s locks checked, as if that would do anything. She probably thinks I’m making things up. But I’m not a druggie or a drinker. Or a sleep walker. Or crazy.
I looked closely at the scratch that night, running my finger down inside of it. Razor-straight and gouged in by something sharp. I thought of sharp old-fashioned tools–an awl? A sickle? Or was it a claw? I drew my finger back and it was stained with an orange-red powder. I’ve seen that color. I looks like red ochre. It’s found in ancient graves, painted on stone-age bones and strewn on the floors of mortuary caves. Where is that scratch going? Where will it end? I shuddered and pushed the sofa back against the wall.
This morning, I woke up to find the scratch had extended into my bedroom during the night. Straight across from the living room, through the bedroom doorway, right up to the side of my bed. Gouged into the wood just as deeply.
But worse than that was the tiny scratch I found on my face. It didn’t hurt, so I only noticed it when I was brushing my teeth. Just a tiny little nick next to my right eye. Like from a razor (or a claw?). Back in the bedroom, I could see how my head on the pillow aligned with the scratch on the floor. As if the scratch –or whatever was making it–had been going up and over the bed as I slept. Over me before I woke up. Did I interrupt it? There were tiny splinters on the sheets. Tiny flecks of red ochre on the white pillowcase.
Now I sit her wondering what would have happened if I’d slept late? And what if I slept in the same bed, in the exact same spot tonight? And what–or who–is coming scratching in the night?