I’ve never been great at sleeping. It wasn’t really fear of the dark, more the quiet. I used the TV to fall asleep for years now. It’s good background noise. Otherwise, I’d get too stuck in my head. Something about the dark and the quiet sent my mind racing. Not usually in bad ways. Just thinking about stuff that had happened, stuff I had to do, stuff I wanted to do, stuff I wondered about.
When I was a kid, I used to lie awake at night being terrified that that was what death would be like. Just dark, quiet, nothing to say, nothing to do, nobody to talk to, but forever. I grew out of that. Compared to that interpretation, actual death felt much less frightening.
For years I drank to handle it. Nothing like a couple beers and some whiskey to take my head straight from the pillow to sleep. I would just put my head down and then wake up the next day. But it turns out that isn’t the healthiest habit, so eventually I had to cut that out.
Anyways, recently, I got sick. It was 2-3 nights into that, and I was lying in the fetal position in my bed, forcing down water and praying for sleep. I had just managed to start dozing off. There’s a part of that I really like, where your dreams start to creep into reality. You’ll be lying there watching some star trek rerun one minute and the next minute you’ll think: “Wait, this whole episode is not about belt buckles. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t actually have a belt buckle in each hand.” I had just passed that point, and been solidly asleep for maybe an hour. I know that because when I woke up, the next episode was on. I had been woken up by some voices in the hallway. Not surprising. I live with 5 roommates, young guys, and they come home at all hours of the night, often talking about this or that, playing music, even hanging out. I don’t mind it, I like the noise, like I said, background, right?
I notice my door is ajar. Also not unusual. I live in one of those old victorians in the city. Really beautiful place. Weird little decor trims all over, but because of it being historical and all that people are reluctant to change it up much. Adds value and all that. Well one of those “quirky little things” is my door- it sits kind of at an angle, and the knob is mostly decorative. I think it worked at one point, but never while I was here, so a couple years back someone just put a latch on the inside, that you swing shut to both lock the door and stop it from swinging open with the wind or whatever. I don’t always remember to close the latch. But I see it’s open, and hear some voices in the hallway.
I’m still feeling pretty fucking sick. Too weak to get out of bed, sick, so I just loudly ask: “Hey- could you close the door?” It won’t stay shut unless I latch it from the inside, but I don’t really mind. When people aren’t coming and going it doesn’t swing open much anyway. In a couple seconds, someone does, great. I nod back off to sleep pretty quickly.
The next time I wake up is maybe an hour later. There are lights on in the hallway, and still voices. My door has swung open again. I make the same request. This time, whoever it is kind of comes partway in the doorway and stands for a second. I’m a little confused so I look over. Whoever it is, I can’t really see, but they’re crouched down, and kind of poking through my stuff. My room is messy, and I’m a little embarrassed about it. I don’t like people looking at my clutter. I yell out: “Hey, quit it” and whoever it was stands up and walks away, tucking something in their jacket. This pisses me off. Looking through my shit is one thing, but taking it is another. I get up, go to the door and look into the hallway to see who it was, but whoever it is is already headed down the stairs around the corner. Just that effort of getting up has already set my head pounding, so I just close the door, lock it, and roll back into the bed. Fucking assholes must be drunk or something. I’ll talk to them in the morning. Back to sleep.
Next time I wake up, I’m a little freaked out. My door is halfway open again. I wonder if those drunk idiots managed to figure a way past the latch, it probably wouldn’t be hard. Anyways, I get up to lock it again and notice a few things around my room have moved. A jacket here that used to be there. Shoes not where I left them. I’m fucking sure I locked the door. I get up to close it, and just outside my door, on the ground, is a box I use for some of my belongings. All rearranged and just placed there. I grab it and look around the hallway. “Hey!” I yell, “Cut this shit out! It isn’t funny.” I slam my door, lock it, and this time I put something heavy behind it. Someone’s getting kicked out of the house for this, but it can wait until morning.
I wake up again. The sounds of the city have died down, so it must be pretty early into the morning now. Still dark, but much past bar hours. My fucking door is open again. I look for whatever I had put there and it’s just gone. I look around and even in the dark I can see my desk has been rearranged. Books are off the shelf, some of my laundry is pulled out of the hamper. I’m legitimately freaked out now. I get up slowly and look around. A lot of stuff is moved. Just poked around, piled in odd places, straight up missing. This has gone way past prank, and into the territory of “I’m calling the cops on one of my roommates with a screw loose.” I’m getting up out of bed, looking for something heavy enough to make sure this asshole can’t do it again. Like, I’m looking at my toolbox across the room (not where it’s meant to be), and trying to figure out if I have nails in there to put into the door frame.
Just as I’m about to step out of bed, I look down, and there at the foot of my bed, curled up like some fucking dog, is the shape of a person. I immediately kick out and shout “Hey, what the fuck!” But before my foot even reaches him, he pops up and sort of crawls to the door where he stands up for a second, then dashes down the hallway. I say “sort of crawls” because I’ve never seen a human being crawl that fast. I’m fucking terrified. I’m not super proud to admit it, but it takes me a good 60 seconds or so of heart racing before I can get up and close the door. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my fucking eyeballs.
I can’t go back to sleep now. Whoever that was, it wasn’t one of my roommates. He was taller than any of them, and skinnier. He was wearing a long coat, and one of those old-timey hats, like detectives wore in movies where men smoke cigars and said “see?” a lot. His face was pale, and before he left, he just sort of stared at me.
I can’t go back to sleep now. There’s a shadow under the frame of my door. Not moving, not doing anything, yet.
Just waiting.