Memories That Still Haunt Us

Chapter Seventeen:

I jolt awake in the night, sweat dousing my body, making my sleep shirt cling to my skin. Immediately, the hair on my body bristles. An eerie feeling comes over me, like walking alone at night in a dark alleyway. It's unnerving, and I'm unsure if it's from a bad dream I might've had. I can't remember dreaming at all.

            My eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Yet, in the dark, everything seems to take shape. A chair in the corner looks like a scary monster. The particles in the dark shift and move like a ghost closing in on me.

            But one thing is for certain: something doesn't feel right. I push my hair off my face, tucking it nervously behind my ears as I sit up in bed. My heart is thudding in my chest. I feel exposed, as if someone is in the room with me, watching me.

            I don't feel alone. I feel eyes on me. Watching me. Observing me.

            I'm good at reading people. I'm also good at feeling the energy in a room. Everything feels off. I feel like a deer standing in the middle of a field, with hunters hiding in shrubs all around me. I have no protection, nowhere to hide. I'm a perfect shot. Vulnerable, lying on my back.

            My hand shakes as I reach over and flip on the lamp that's perched on the nightstand. It lights up the room with a hazy glow. Not quite giving me a bright enough light to illuminate the entire room but blinding me all the same for a short minute as my eyes quickly dart around the room.

            Everything is in its place. Nobody is in the corner watching me, even though it truly felt like someone was. When I look toward the door, my body stiffens. The bedroom door is open. I know for certain that I shut it before going to bed. I can never sleep with my door open. It always has to be shut because, ever since I was a kid, I've had this reoccurring fear of a man standing in the doorway at night, watching me sleep. It feels safer with the door closed.

            Yet there it is. Wide open for the man to stand in the doorway. Darkness tumbling into the room like black goop. It stretches its hands across the floor, battling with the light provided by the lamp.

            I was drunk last night. I had one too many glasses of wine, but still, I know I wouldn't have forgotten to shut the door. It's unlike me. But as I rub my eyes and stare at the darkness on the other side of the door, I begin to question my sanity. Maybe I'm losing it. I'm overthinking this.

            Pushing the covers off me, I slowly creep towards my bedroom door, eyes darting in every direction, preparing myself in case someone jumps out from the shadows and plunders me with a hammer or stabs me with a knife. All the crime shows I watch should have prepared me for a moment like this.

            But in this neighborhood, it seems highly unlikely that anything would happen. Why would someone break into the guest house when the mansion is across the lawn? Possibly because I have no lock and they allowed easy access into the guest house. Any stranger can wander into their yard and walk straight into my living space. No breaking-in is necessary. I'm practically welcoming them in, with the door always left unlocked.

            My fear was being locked in, not needing to lock someone out. Crime isn't common in this area. Not much happens. It's a boringly safe part of Boston.

            My hands tremble by my side. My breathing is fast as I reach the doorway. The bathroom is across from me, dark, and just as I left it. Heart thump, thump, thumping in my chest like a beat to a song. Repetitive and preventing me from calming down. I feel scared. I feel on display.

            Moving into the hall, I peer down towards the front door, and instantly, my knees begin to buckle. A gasp goes to escape, but I quickly slap a hand over my mouth, pushing it back down. I freeze in place. Terrified to move.