Ever since I was very young, I’ve played this game with myself. I don’t know where it came from, or why I continue to do it even though it’s the furthest thing from “fun” that I can think of. But it’s almost involuntary now. It’s the only way I can get myself to fall asleep.
Every night, I wake up around midnight. The time varies, but it’s almost always between 11:50 and 12:15. And it’s probably a product of my over-reactive mind, but I always sense something.
It’s hard to describe. It’s not a sound, or a smell, or anything like that. It’s just… a presence. I can feel it in my bones and in my brain. If you’ve ever had that horrible feeling that you’re being followed or watched, the prickling on the back of your neck and the sudden heaviness in your gut, then you’ll understand.
But I grew up in a dangerous neighborhood, and I’ve felt like that plenty of times. This is nothing like the rush of adrenaline and anxiety that comes from seeing a car slowly track you down several blocks before you hide inside your house. There is no safety for me anywhere, no house I could run to. Because I’m all alone… except for the Midnight Man.
-
It starts like this: I wake up drenched in sweat, my mind foggy, and my eyes find the digital clock at my bedside with its bright, blocky orange numbers. I read the time, and I feel my heart sink.
Simultaneously, he arrives.
Suddenly, everything feels darker. The shadows deepen and widen until it feels like I’m swimming in a pool of dark matter. The room suddenly yawns wide, like an open mouth waiting to swallow me whole. And I feel him. The Midnight Man.
He walks through the house. I can’t hear him, but I know he’s there. I know what room he’s in, and I know when he’s close, when I have to arrange myself into a comfortable sleeping position, ignore the rapid pulsing of my heart, and close my eyes.
I can’t look. I can’t look at him when he comes into the room, because if I do, something awful will happen. I don’t know what. But it’s going to be bad.
I know the exact moment he appears in my room. I feel him there, standing in my doorway. His eyes fixed on me.
He doesn’t move. He stays in the doorway, and he watches me sleep. I force myself to breathe evenly, my chest rising and falling. Underneath the sheets, my fists are clenched so tightly I worry that one day I’ll break my fingers.
Time seems slow. The air grows warmer, and disgustingly wet and viscous, like I’m surrounded by amniotic fluid. I can feel the room tilting, but of course that’s impossible. This is all a game I play with myself every night. It’s not real. It isn’t real.
Finally, he leaves. He makes his rounds through the rest of the house one more time, and then the pounding in my head and the senseless horror gripping me disappear. And I feel so tired. So tired.
When I wake up, everything is normal.
-
I’m writing this now in my room. It’s 11:44 PM, and I know he’s going to show up soon. I’m praying to whatever deities are out there that he comes late today.
Last night, he seemed to linger for much longer than usual. I could feel him walking around my room, rather than staying in the doorway. At one point, a tingling feeling ran through my entire body as if thousands of spiders were crawling over my skin, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek not to scream, to swallow down the bile rising in my throat.
He touched me. I know he did.
Of course he didn’t. I must be ill. My mind is working against me. It’s just my stupid phobia getting to me.
Right?
He left a sign today. I’m sure of it. I woke up and went to the bathroom to splash my sweaty neck with cold water, and in the sink I saw black mold flowering like some awful pustule, pushing its way through the drain. I leaned forward, disgusted, and it…it changed.
Do you know the kaleidoscope-like feeling when you rub your eyes and thousands of tiny triangles dance behind your closed eyelids? That’s exactly what it was like, but my eyes were open. It seemed to bloom, to open up, to deepen like a hole in the universe. It swirled with patterns, and suddenly I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.
I lurched back and gripped my chest, but I had to lean over the toilet and vomit. It was hot, almost scorching as it passed my lips, and before I opened my eyes I was suddenly terrified that he was behind me. The Midnight Man.
I started to tremble. I tasted coppery blood stinging my lips. I felt hot, then cold, wracked with shivers. Finally, I couldn’t bear it and I had to whirl around.
Nothing.
I hurried to the sink and peered inside. Gone. The mold was gone.
He was sending me a message, I’m sure of it. He’s coming for me tonight.
-
I’m terrified. Even now I’m shaking and barely holding back sobs. I’ve never felt like this before; it’s like a sickness. No one can help me, I have to deal with this alone. And this is why I’m writing it down, so if I disappear everyone knows where I’ve gone.
I have to see him, just this once, even if it costs me my life. I can’t live in fear anymore. I need to see him. I just need to—
…
He’s here.
He’s coming for me.
God help me.