TW – Two A.M.


Two A.M 

At first it’s a complete sheet of whiteness.

When your eyes are closed, normally one goes blind in sight. Overtaken by darkness and everything that adds to the color black. But no, I see this sheet. This stillness. Like nothing ever exists.

All before I feel the vibration.

The screen is still white, with my eyes closed. But it’s moving, shaking, crumpling in waves of snow. I do the only thing I can and open my eyes. If I could. I was sleeping face against my pillow, my nose digging a narrow pit into the fluffy cushion. I groan as I roll over. What was up with all the whiteness? I thought I was sleeping. But I was conscious. Somehow even though I was sleeping, I was awake and I knew I was sleeping.

I must be really hung over to have these thoughts.

I grab my phone from under my pillow wondering if that had interrupted my slumber. But of course, as all the odds were in my way, my phone was perfectly silent and wasn’t the cause of my disturbed sleep. It was around 1:57 when I checked the time again.

I wondered if it could have been an earthquake. No, I was just taking this too seriously.

Darkness. With my eyes open, and with my phone screen unlit, my vision fills with darkness. My room is not perceivable and for a moment I gag with horror. I’m scared of the dark. But I’m also seventeen years old who can load a gun very well. So calm down girl, and go back to sleep.

Like in all those scary movies where the damsel calls out into the empty house saying, “Hello, is anyone in there?” My mind tells me to do something equally stupid. My stomach agrees with a groan of hunger. And my wearing teen hormones must be working at its best to cause appetite at 2 in the night.

Snuggling my feet in my flurry pink slippers that have nothing to do with the fact I’m still a baby in my veins, I clutch my phone and head downstairs. I hope mother doesn’t catch me lurking around for she’ll definitely think I’m sneaking toxic drugs or military explosives into the house. Yes, that’s what she thinks we teens do these days.

Milky, our cat, encounters me on the stairs down. He purrs softly, enough to make me scoop him into my arms and head to the kitchen. Raiding the fridge is not a good idea. I might eat about everything that’s in there. Instead I search the cabins for cookies. Come on, chocolate can’t give me a hyper rush at this hour. I’m tired enough to sleep where I am. I’m just here to calm my stomach.

I tear open one of the Mrs. Fields’ cookies when I hear a sound. It’s light, like a miscalculated step on the floorboard. But it’s enough for me to go all ninja. Slowly, moving my body cautiously, I gather a knife in my hand and move to the living room from where the sound originated. I dare not to breathe, fright inching on the tips of my fingers. I don’t know what makes me go on, but I do, like the idiot that I am. And enter the living room

I flick the light on. I’m done with dancing in the dark. And not that I can defend myself against a serial killer in the dead of electricity.

And then, nothing.

There’s no one. Thank you dear mind for playing tricks on me. I sigh, and as my stomach rumbles to remind me, I go back to the kitchen and grab the cookies. With it I pour myself some cold milk, to calm the adrenaline.

I slouch against the couch, munching on my cookie and laughing at myself internally. Woo! Did I think I was really up against a mass murderer? Wow, I must be really reading too many crime novels. Haha. I see Milky nestling at the corner of the couch. Poor cat, I’m sure I frightened him as well. As a compensation for my erratic thoughts I break my cookie and go over to feed him.

I don’t really know if he likes cookies. But, what the hell.

I see him already nibbling on something. “So I wasn’t the only person hunger, eh?” I say aloud, the sound of my voice comforting me. I shift closer, wondering what Milky stole from our larder now. He always gets away with the bread, and when he’s really lucky he manages to steal the tuna.

My eyes widen. It’s not black or white or vibration that I feel. I see the cat biting a cutoff grotesque finger.  Before I command my mouth to scream, blood and four other fingers clamp my mouth.




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