Dark Thoughts

I don't know how many nights I've gone without sleep.

The days blur together, and the walls of this house feel tighter, pressing in, suffocating me. The storm passed, but the air remains heavy, thick with something unseen, something I can't shake.

I can barely think anymore. I don't know what's real and what's not.

The whispers haven't stopped. They linger in the silence, curling around me like cold fingers. My sons don't mention them, but I know they hears them too. My husband pretends nothing is wrong, but I catch him glancing at the staircase, eyes dark with something he won't say aloud.

And my sister, she's the only one who looks at me with knowing eyes. Like she's afraid for me. 

Or afraid of me.

One night, I sit at the edge of the mattress, staring down the staircase. The house is silent. Too silent.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, feel the exhaustion creeping into my bones. My mind is too clouded to process anything clearly, but something feels off.

Then I see it.

A movement in the darkness below.

At first, I think it's our cat. The small, shifting shape at the base of the staircase, just barely visible in the dim light. I exhale, trying to calm my nerves.

But then...

The cat turns up the stairs.

Past me, tail bristling, ears flattened against its head. It doesn't stop. It doesn't even look at me. And that's when I realize... The shape at the bottom of the stairs is still there.

I freeze.

A pale face peeks from below.

Watching.

A feeling I can't describe grips my entire body. It's not fear. It's not shock. It's something worse. My body moves before my thoughts catch up. I'm standing, stepping forward, toward the staircase. My legs feel like they're moving on their own.

The face doesn't move.

It just watches.

I descend, one step at a time.

It feels endless.

Each step echoes through my skull, a distant drumbeat pounding through the fog in my mind. The face is waiting. It's patient.

It knows I'll come.

And when I reach the last step...

It's gone.

---------

I lay down on the bed after an exhausting day. My mind has been restless for as long as I can remember, and my body is just as worn. Sleep should come easy, but it never does.

I close my eyes.

Then, suddenly, I'm outside.

I don't remember walking here. I don't remember leaving my bed. But here I am, standing on the pavement, looking up at the house. Our house.

Through the second-floor window, I see them, my family. They're inside, bathes in warm light, talking and laughing together. My husband. My children. My sister. Even my parents are there. All of them. Without me.

I call out. "I'm here!"

No one hears me.

I shout again, louder this time, and my youngest son pauses. His head tilts slightly before he walks toward the window. A wave of relief washes over me. He sees me. He sees me.