Page 7 of Dark Rapture
I’m getting really tired of people making me feel unsafe today.
Chapter Three
Adisquietingtensioncoilsaround me like a snake, pulling me from the comfortable fog of sleep. My eyes flutter open against the thick shadows that envelope my bedroom, and I groan softly as I turn my head towards the window to the right of my queen sized bed. It’s still dark outside, because my vision fills with faint amber light from the streetlight outside my apartment.
It must be the middle of the night, because there isn’t even a hint of morning light in the dark sky. My tired eyes struggle to focus, the light from outside just barely illuminating my room from behind the heavy curtain. Wondering what time it is, I turn my head away from the window to glance at the clock on my nightstand.
3:33 am.
With a groan, I turn back to my right, curling up into the fetal position on my side. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself back to sleep.
It has been several days since the stress of my family dinner. Sleep hasn’t come easy to me since my recent encounter with the man that abused me.
I didn’t get home until late last night, struggling to manage the new inventory of books my boss brought into the drab used book store where I work. It took me several hours of overtime to sort the fragile old texts, the expensive first editions, and the popular new releases for shelving the next day.
Knowing that my next shift would require me to haul heavy stacks of books around the shop for hours on end, organizing shelves and rearranging sections, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to put myself to bed early after I finally made it home.
Despite hitting the sack early, I still found myself lying awake for several long hours, unable to actually drift off until well past midnight. My head has been a chaotic whirlwind of repetitive thoughts lately, and I can’t seem to quiet the noise when bedtime rolls around.
Just as I am starting to doze off again, a loud creak pulls me right back to wakefulness. This time, when my eyes open, the only thing I notice is how the dense shadows linger heavily in every corner of my room. The dim light filtering in from the street isn’t strong enough to chase those shadows away.
In a drowsy haze, I wonder where the creaking sound came from. Nothing seems out of place. The three-unit building my apartment is a part of is quite old, so maybe the sound I heard was just the floors shifting. My apartment is full of old, worn wooden floors. Hearing them creak and shift is common enough, especially when the temperature changes with the seasons.
I lay there waiting for something to happen, the silence so intense that it brings with it a bout of tinnitus. After several tense minutes, when the tinnitus finally dissipates, I sigh and turn back to my right to curl up in the same position as before.
My mind eventually falls silent once again, and I find myself drifting along the foggy edge of sleep. I am on the cusp of slipping away when a rasping sound pulls me back. At this point, I am so exhausted and so close to sleep, that the distant sound comes and goes and I never fully rouse.
Until I feel the unwelcome brush of fingertips across the back of my neck, accompanied by the nearly inaudible whisper of an unintelligible voice.
Unfamiliar words. The tone impossibly low, and slow moving like molasses.
Jolting awake, I practically fall out of bed as I scramble to get to the window. My shaking hands reach out to grasp the curtain keeping the light at bay, tugging it open so the streetlight can spill inside my room. Uncoordinated, I stumble on my feet as I turn to face the intruder, my back pressing tightly against the chilly window pane.
Except, there’s no one there.
My heart pounds like a frantic prey animal in the cage of my chest, my eyes open wide as the sound of my panicked breaths fill the room. My eyes rove back and forth from wall to wall, desperate to find something to explain that strange sensation I just felt on the back of my neck.
The street light outside bathes my room in an uncanny orange glow, but it is still too weak to light up all of the dark places lingering on the other side of my bed. I am fatigued and terrified, so my brain is seeing shapes in the shadows that my rational mind knows cannot possibly be there.
I see faces devoid of features, and shadow figures contorted into crouched positions, hiding in the dark corners, trapped in the shadows. Some staring wide-eyed at me, mouths gaping, as still as statues.
I take several slow, deep breaths as I try to calm the frantic rhythm of my heart. Then I give my head a shake to clear the fog of confusion and paranoia.
“There’s nothing here. It’s just my overtired brain seeing things,” I whisper quietly, desperate to comfort myself. I don’t know what could have touched me, because nobody is here. Maybe it was just a dream, a dream that felt entirely too real.
My eyes dart back and forth as I continuously search my bedroom for anything out of the ordinary, fear coiling tight in my gut as I try to pretend like I am not actually seeing monsters in all of the dark places surrounding me. The longer I stand there reassuring myself, the faster the faces begin to vanish.
A few minutes pass, and my pounding heart finally settles. I stand there with my back pressed against the window, fear giving way to confusion. The cold from outside radiates from the window pane and seeps into my skin, making me shiver as I stand there surveying my bedroom.
“It must have been a dream,” I tell myself out loud, lifting one shaky hand to brush across my face and rub the exhaustion from my eyes.
That completely reasonable theory is proven false when the door to my altar room slams shut. I startle so violently that a small scream escapes me as I catapult myself right over my bed, and head straight for the light switch across the room. I slam the switch to the on position and reach for my bedroom door, throwing it open to launch myself out of my bedroom.
Panic has my body trembling while the bright light from my ceiling fan stings my eyes.
I step back into the doorway to face the direction of the walk-in closet, eyeing the closed door suspiciously. I had done such a good job convincing myself that I was just dreaming, that when something significant finally happened it scared the living hell out of me.
“Who’s there?” I call out, my voice far more shaky than I intend it to be. The bright light has me blinking rapidly, squinting while my vision struggles to adjust as I stare at the door.
