It's dark and stormy, and I'm home alone. About twenty minutes ago I hopped in the shower for a quick rinse. But now that I think about it, I'm not sure actually how long ago it was. It could've been minutes or hours. Nevertheless, the water drips down from my hair to my shoulders to my legs to my feet and down the drain, as I stand filling the imperceptible void of darkness consuming my bathroom's walls. Ever since I was a kid I showered in the dark. And tonight was no exception.
My parents are away on a trip. They'll be gone for three days, and they left this morning, so it's just me all alone in the house. Even though I'm 18 years old and have overcome many absurd childhood fears, something still spooks me about staying home alone. However, it only really begins at night. Whenever the sun descends, leaving nothing but opacity to fill the air's empty spaces, a metaphorical flip switches, and I begin to dread my safety.
"Click." "Click." "Click." I hear a sound, but it's very faint. It's as if I want the sound to go away, yet the vague knocking continues to nag at my attention. There's no chance that I'm getting out of the shower, however, I just now realize that the water's flow rate has drastically depreciated. Drip after drip, I grab my towel which strangely appears at the bottom of my feet. I'm freezing, shivering, but I remain stationary in what I believe to be the safety of my shower.
Lingering under my dripping showerhead, teeth chattering with nothing but a towel, I'm unable to escape the ringing of the monotonous noise. Now, I feel something though. It's on my leg and it's crawling up and down swinging from hair to hair. But, I physically can't look down. Some indescribable force is seemingly restraining my head from moving. I desperately need to pick it off, but I just can't.
I decide to leave the shower. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other in the shadows of my bathroom, I take a step out from the cold tile. Nothing hits my foot. Before I could save myself, my entire body flips over itself, and I fall down an endless black hole. Releasing my towel, my stomach drops, and I scream at the top of my lungs hoping that I will be freed from this living hell of a night. But as I fall, a hard surface keeps getting closer, and closer, and closer, and...
I wake up. Looking at the clock, it shows 4:32. I'm laying on the ground below my bed frame with nothing but underwear. My sheets are wrangled up in my bed which is soaking wet. The water bottle on my headboard is spilled over, saturating my pillow. I look across the room and see the window left wide open, its shutters clicking off of the windowsill as they flap against the wind. As I stand up, a spider falls off my leg. Absolutely petrified, I run to the bathroom and turn on the lights.
The shower drips, a wet towel lays on the ground, and five more spiders crawl out from beneath the drain.
My parents are away on a trip. They'll be gone for three days, and they left this morning, so it's just me all alone in the house. Even though I'm 18 years old and have overcome many absurd childhood fears, something still spooks me about staying home alone. However, it only really begins at night. Whenever the sun descends, leaving nothing but opacity to fill the air's empty spaces, a metaphorical flip switches, and I begin to dread my safety.
"Click." "Click." "Click." I hear a sound, but it's very faint. It's as if I want the sound to go away, yet the vague knocking continues to nag at my attention. There's no chance that I'm getting out of the shower, however, I just now realize that the water's flow rate has drastically depreciated. Drip after drip, I grab my towel which strangely appears at the bottom of my feet. I'm freezing, shivering, but I remain stationary in what I believe to be the safety of my shower.
Lingering under my dripping showerhead, teeth chattering with nothing but a towel, I'm unable to escape the ringing of the monotonous noise. Now, I feel something though. It's on my leg and it's crawling up and down swinging from hair to hair. But, I physically can't look down. Some indescribable force is seemingly restraining my head from moving. I desperately need to pick it off, but I just can't.
I decide to leave the shower. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other in the shadows of my bathroom, I take a step out from the cold tile. Nothing hits my foot. Before I could save myself, my entire body flips over itself, and I fall down an endless black hole. Releasing my towel, my stomach drops, and I scream at the top of my lungs hoping that I will be freed from this living hell of a night. But as I fall, a hard surface keeps getting closer, and closer, and closer, and...
I wake up. Looking at the clock, it shows 4:32. I'm laying on the ground below my bed frame with nothing but underwear. My sheets are wrangled up in my bed which is soaking wet. The water bottle on my headboard is spilled over, saturating my pillow. I look across the room and see the window left wide open, its shutters clicking off of the windowsill as they flap against the wind. As I stand up, a spider falls off my leg. Absolutely petrified, I run to the bathroom and turn on the lights.
The shower drips, a wet towel lays on the ground, and five more spiders crawl out from beneath the drain.