It’s around 11pm, the rain is gently tapping against the slightly open window allowing a cool breeze to flow.
My brother and I follow a typical nightly routine which consists of bickering, laughter and a few stray punches here and there. Though somewhere in between we also brush our teeth, change our clothes and say goodnight to our parents.
We share a room but then again we usually share most things. You see, we don’t come from a very wealthy background. Money has never been in our favor. My mother is a cashier, where she somehow manages to deal with peoples ever so fluctuating moods and snide remarks. My dad, well he’s unemployed at the moment.
I wont go into much detail as why, other than the fact that hundreds of sleepless nights really takes a toll. Sometimes he would start rambling about strange figures with the strong conviction of a madman.
It was his eyes while he said it that really scared me though. Bloodshot and wide, darting from side to side as if searching for something. And behind them was pure terror.
It was his destiny to stay awake and calm them down so they don’t attack his family he would cry. It’s crazy and messed up, i know.
This went on for a year before he finally was prescribed some sleeping pills. The money was tight for a couple of months but his ramblings stopped. His eyes stopped searching and he finally calmed down. They say he might have some sort of insomnia so these hallucinations are not uncommon and should stay away as long as he sleeps enough.
I’m in bed now, my brother gently snoring in the corner. I watch him for a bit, as he breathes evenly in and out. His ribs can be seen poking slightly outwards from all the times he refused to eat the whole portion of food and insisted on sharing half with my work stricken mother. My mother would refuse, saying a growing boy needs to eat but he would tell her he already had some food with his friends. A lie of course but my mother believed it anyway.
But just as I am about to close my eyes, i see a slight flicker from the corner of my eyes. Where my closet is. Its slightly open, the hinges old and rusted. I dismiss it as a trick of the shadows.
However my heart started racing, a cold sweat running down my back. As if my body knew something I didn’t. My stomach felt like lead.
Soon after, I feel a swift and warm breathe against my neck. I shut my eyes with such ferocity it hurts, its just the breeze I repeat.
But moments later there was a slight touch on my wrist. Then, on the sides of my head. I didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe.
I counted to 40 before I heard the floorboard creak, the sound becoming more distant.
As soon as it stopped I scramble to turn on the light, my whole body shaking. I knew that if I saw anything amiss I wouldn’t have the courage to investigate but in the moment I feel brave. My eyes dart frantically around but everything seems normal. My brother slightly stirs but stays asleep.
See it was nothing I tell myself. I grin. Im just tired. My mind is playing games with me.
But my eye catches the slightly open closet door. It lingers there for a bit. And in between the cracks I swear I saw a shadow watching me.
It rains harder now, and its repetitive thrum quickly drifting me to sleep. Im overreacting. Tomorrow I will laugh about my foolishness.
But the next morning I wake up to screams. My mother is screeching, the sound ripping into me like a hammer. She’s clutching my brother so strongly her knuckles have turned white. Her despair almost tangible.
I soon realize his chest is no longer rising. They are perfectly still. He would look almost peaceful if not for the burn marks around his wrist. My dad runs in next, I watch as his eyes drift towards the marks and then the closet. I also watch as a strange look floods his face.
If I wasn’t paying attention to him I never would have caught his whisper.
I never should have stopped he had said.
It’s been a year since that incident. Im 18 now. My dad has stopped sleeping full nights again. He’s back to his manic ramblings. But they don’t feel so insane to me anymore.
I sit on my brothers bed. Sometimes I think that I should have died that day. That it was Death itself next to me. And when Death grows bored it slips through any cracks it can find, choosing its next entertainment.
I have never left my closet door open ever again.