writer / horror enthusiast

I lay in bed, covers pulled up to my chin and eyes glued straight up to the ceiling.


I wouldn’t look over. I wouldn’t and I couldn’t. If I did, I just knew that it would be over. My eyes burned to dart over to the right; to look out of the window and see what there was to see.


Sweat beaded on my brow, and eventually spilled over into my eye. I blinked rapidly but kept my eyes trained on the ceiling. I stared so hard at it that my vision began to turn grey around the edges. I needed to sleep, but there was no way I could do that while it was out there, waiting for me to look at it.

I yearned to know. My young mind told me that knowing would be better than this – this terrifying and gnawing misery of the knowledge that it was there, looking at me, while I was powerless to do anything about it. I stared at the ceiling.


It dragged across the glass of my bedroom window, causing a squeaking noise which set my bones on edge and made me want to leap out of my own skin. I pulled my feet up, crossing them like they had us do in school. I’d suddenly wondered if there might also be something under my bed, and the thought of it reaching up to grab my feet and pull me under was too much to bear.

The time dragged on and on. I had no idea of the actual hour or minute, since my clock was on the nightstand to my right and to look at it would mean looking at the thing. The it, whatever it was. I had the sense of time passing, but it could have been seconds, hours, or days for all I knew.

Shapes danced in the darkness around me. I suddenly became aware that I hadn’t heard the tapping in some time, and I wondered if it had gotten in. Had I left the window open, even just a crack? Had it slipped in, and was it now in the room with me? I slammed my eyes shut and pulled the covers over my head. I could feel it looking at me, drawing ever closer to my bed, waiting for me to peek from beneath the covers so it could spring at me and tear me to pieces. I held my breath.

Suddenly there was a loud, screeching BOOM against the glass of my window. Unable to bear it any longer, I threw the covers from my head and sat up, staring directly out the window. Better to die looking it in the face and knowing what it was than to continue this agony.

The branches of the tree outside my window rustled in the wind as the storm built, and as they recoiled back, they struck the glass.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

All Content Is ©2018 Robert Wright under CC BY-NC 4.0