After 30 Years in a Forest

I sit on my rickety bed, trying not to let the paranoia sink in too far. I try not to think about what could be waiting for me outside my room. The dank smell of my house creeps into my nose; an unwelcome guest.

Maybe I shouldn’t have kept the doors closed, in order to reassure myself there isn’t anything.

But then again, that would make me paranoid about being vulnerable. It’s a lose-lose situation.

I wish I could go to sleep, but then again, I would be completely open to attack. I'm between a rock and a hard place.

Maybe if I just listen to the sounds of my house creaking, it'll lull me to sleep.

Wait, why do I hear creaking?

The more I listen to that repetitive sound, the more it sounds like footsteps... is someone in my house?! My fortress?!

My breathing speeds up, and I become as still as a rock, staring up at the ceiling from which the noises emit. It's extremely subtle, but it's there.

I can hear the footsteps coming downstairs.

I run, turning off my light and crawling into my squeaky metal bed as quietly as possible, hiding myself under the covers like a child. I'll admit, I am a little foolish for thinking I will be protected.

The footsteps stop at the door nearest the foot of the bed, the one that leads to the rest of the house. I sit in silence, waiting anxiously under the meager comfort of my quilt.

Several minutes pass, the only sounds being my distressed breathing and the slight hum of my furnace in the basement.

--

I must have fallen asleep because as I wake up I see light seeping through the cracks of my singular boarded window, trying to push its way into my residence. I would apologize, but you can't apologize to light. Either way, I chose to sacrifice the privilege of a sunlit home in favor of safety.

I begin to prepare myself breakfast, which is mainly just any food I can scrounge from around the house. I think I'm going to have to find my own food soon.

It's funny; one aspect of human nature is that even if you know and/or explain something, you still don't physically achieve the results of the lesson you're trying to learn. For example, I am fully aware of the psychological cycle my life takes, being level-headed in the day, and paranoid and fearful at night. Even though I'm sure the things that go bump in the night are just the result of psychosis from these years I've been separated from social interaction, yet I still become afraid when the night time rolls around. I know I'm probably just a madman living out in the woods yet I will become utterly terrified again tonight.

--

I sit in bed, writing a new diary entry of my nighttime experiences. It is the afternoon. I dread the night-terrors that eagerly await and greet me every damn night I spend in this forsaken structure.

I clutch the sides of my head as a piercing headache burns through my temples, squeezing and stabbing like my head is in a vice with two long needles attached. I fall to the floor, crying out in pain. I taste metal.

Just as abruptly as it began, it ends. I sit on the floor for a bit, catching my breath. I get up to see that it's now dusk. How had so much time passed?

I hurriedly continue writing the diary entry. I think I catch a glimpse of some figure standing in my open doorway in the corner of my eye, but when I look there is nothing. I finish the entry, and close my door as the sun bids the inhabitants of this realm its final farewell, making way for the darkness to consume the land and the night dwellers to exit their hiding spots, using the cloak of night to hide their ugly faces.

I sit in bed, frozen in utter terror of what horrid abominations may torture my ever-weakening psyche tonight.

I grow more tense as I get a feeling that there is someone peering in through the window at me, through the wooden slats, sizing up the security of my abode. The feeling causes me to turn off the light finally and get under the lukewarm covers of my cot. I hear more footsteps, this time in the room just outside my bedroom. They seem to pace for several minutes, until eventually stopping just next to the door.

I strain my ears, but there's nothing, not even the furnace, and I'll tell you what, this silence is the most noticeable noise I've heard in my entire life.

After a while, I can't bear to wait anymore. I peek from under my covers. The woolen quilt slowly recedes from my vision, revealing a small, pitch black room. This room is not mine. It may be in my house, it may be in the same spot as my room, but it is not my room. This room is an entirely different beast; one that only emerges as the sun sets behind the horizon. This room is cold, dark, and unforgiving.

The more I look, the more I begin to see shadowy figures in my room, but only one at a time. Sometimes it'll be one sitting in the corner, curled into the fetal position. Sometimes it's just standing a few feet away from my bed. Sometimes it begins to get up from its sitting position in the corner and begins approaching me, showing one frame of its approach every few seconds. Hell, who's to say it's not the same figure each time?

I can feel a horrible presence outside the bedroom door nearest the foot of my bed. It will get in and it will kill me. All is lost. I am in tears of sheer, mortal peril.

I feel a cold hand reach under the covers and touch the palm of mine.

I retreat, gasping loudly and shaking my arms violently, thrusting the covers off of me, now hanging off the bed.

There is no one in the room.

I sit in my bed as thoughts of the invader hiding under, waiting for me to step onto the floor or peer down under.

I begin to hear a light rapping on the door nearest the head of my bed, the one leading outdoors. I jerk my head in its direction, pure fear reverberating through my body. My breathing is shallow, my muscles are tense, and I'm shaking immensely.

I sit for what feels like an eternity, the occasional knocks on my door and my hyperventilation being the only sounds.

I feel vulnerable. Vulnerable like a baby in a stick hut in the middle of the jungle.

I jump out of my bed and sprint over to the door nearest the foot of my bed, pushing the door open with my shoulder and entering my kitchen. Luckily, I left the light on.

I grab a knife and sit at the table, remaining prone. I can still hear the soft knocking on my front door.

--

I wake up, my face down on the table, knife still in hand. My bedroom door is open. I slowly get up, clutching the knife tightly. As I enter my room, I let out a sigh of relief to see that my front door is still closed.

The lightbulb in my room is shattered, though.

I grab a spare and replace the bulb.

As the day chugs on, I find that I have to carefully ration the food more and more. I'm running out.

Tonight I decide to simply go to sleep, and spare myself the anxiety.

--

I can't sleep.

I hear the knocking again.

I hear a light shatter in another room, jolting me. The knocking stops.

I slowly crawl out of my bed and grab a candle lantern. I quietly walk out of my room, grab the box of spare bulbs, and head upstairs, turning on lights on the way. I begin the tedious -albeit terrifying- task of opening each door and looking to see if the bulb is broken. It was in the study. I begin to replace the bulb, constantly feeling like something is creeping up behind me, ready to strike. When the bulb is replaced, I quickly pull the chain and turn it on, looking around for predators hiding in the shadows.

I hear another bulb pop, this time from downstairs. The knocking begins again. I quickly shuffle into the hallway and down the stairs. It was the kitchen one this time. As I'm replacing it, another breaks. This time in my room. I run into my room, and as I enter the gentle knocking becomes a furious pounding, like whatever abomination is out there is trying to break the door down. The door behind me slams shut and I spin around, accidentally dropping the box of spare light bulbs, causing each and every one to break. I hide under the bed, curling into a ball, eyes wide with fear.

I feel a freezing cold hand caress my cheek.

I launch myself out from under the bed, screaming. I fall to the ground as another piercing headache begins, clutching my temples and grunting in pain. I barely make out the front door being forced open and slamming against the wall.