There was a monster in my house.
I never knew what he looked like, but I could always feel him standing there. Standing there in the pregnant, hungry darkness of our stairwell. Standing and looking at me. Staring at me.
It was more fun that way for him, I think, knowing that I knew he was staring at me.
He never tried to confront me or force himself into my line of sight. He just watched me from the top of the steps, making himself known. He didn’t come every night, but I knew when he was there. He took the steps as fast as he could, beating down upon each of them in a crescendo, his calling card swelling into the silence of the night, until he hit the step right before the second floor.
It was always the step right before the second floor. I know because I counted them. And sometimes when he came, I would still be awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind in a million places. Until it wasn’t. The sound of the first step would draw my attention like a sinner to an altar call, and I’d start to count his steps—a rosary in the night.
The first few times he started to visit, I thought I was dreaming. My partner snored soundly through the night. The dogs never stirred in their kennels. Surely, if there was an intruder in our home they would hear.
But they never heard. They never heard his breath. They never heard the glee punctuating every exhale as his eyes penetrated me in the stillness of the night. They never heard the grinding of my teeth as my heart danced in my chest.
He never spoke to me, but he didn’t have to because I already knew what he was going to say. It didn’t matter the visit, I knew what he was going to say. And he knew that I knew what he was going to say. That was the fun for him.
For years, we danced this dance. My sleep shattered by his presence. His wordless words in my head, racing on repeat – heavy, draining, and intrusive. My ears would ring and my mouth would be dry. For years we did this, and not once did he ever leave that top step. Truthfully, I don’t know when or how he would leave. He was always the last thing on my mind before exhaustion would take me, and when I would wake up, there would be nothing but sunlight on the stairs.
That was until last night.
Last night, I finally gave him what he wanted, or so I thought. Like so many nights before, as my mind started to race, he began his sprint up our stairs, ending on that last step. His step. Though he spoke no words to me, I could hear him and everything he wanted to say, and it was loud. Pressure began to swell in my chest, and I struggled to breathe, but still I could feel his eyes leering at me from the top step. My ears started to ring and my palms started to sweat, and finally after all these years, I gave him the invitation he had been looking for.
I slowly moved my eyes to meet his, but the top step was empty.
There was no monster in my house. There was just me.