A hand raised in the darkness, as a showman presenting the night's highlight. Something moved back there in the shades. Slowly, but never stopping, it came towards the hand, until it lowered.
Right behind darkness, something stood.
The eyes looked at him.
He was now between lying in bed and sitting over it. Elbows holding the torso back. A slight tension filled the air. Even the moon out there seemed to be avoiding the room.
She came closer.
The eyes still fixed him.
Mouth wide opened. As a big slash had tried to cross from one ear to the other. It could be just one big wound, but the borders of the scar weren't quite touching each other. And it didn't look like it was recent.
–Hello!
Barely feeling his heart and shrouded into dreary thoughts before, his heart now pounded as if it prepared to explode. He had never felt so out of his body due to sheer horror. The smile that tainted that face during that word was so gross and deranged that his disgust for strange smiles that seemed unreal and macabre took to another level.
He stared at her face. Wishing to look anywhere else, but unable. It burnt. As if looking straight into it caused pain, they became increasingly teary.
The smile went away, and a face of curiosity now gazed inside his head. Not that he noted, but darkness moved away. It was just the shy illumination coming from the almost full moon. Stripes of the weak night shade crossed the room.
Coming back to his senses, he moved his head, nodding.
–It is ugly, isn't it?
A tear rolled through his cheek. That grotesque smile still ravaged inside his mind.
His vision was becoming blurry.
She was still there, but it was just as if she wasn't. In fact, nothing was actually present. The only control he had by then was a measly thought that wondered if that was what fear was all about.
The sun was coming through the blinds.
He woke up lazily, taking some time to open his eyes. And his head ached as if he had barely slept. The clock indicated he slept for a good amount of time, but it just didn't feel like so.
Classes were over, things would get better.
He had been trying to internalize that idea. Unsuccessfully thus far.
Forcing himself out of bed and into this new day, he crawled into the kitchen. It was late breakfast time. And there would be time enough to prepare something more than a rushed bowl of cereals.
Though he started it with the bowl of cereals. It was his daily meal, day in and day out, he never got tired of eating those. Even if it wasn't as tasty as when he was presented those chocolate flavored cereals, it felt like a good routine. After the first spoon, he realized it could get even better with banana slices and honey, he would make one heck of a bowl that morning.
That gave him some excitement.
He peeled the banana and left it close to the cereal box, then proceeded to the drawer.
The knife was held firmly.
Suddenly, he remembered the night that just passed. It wasn't as intense as back then, but it left him numb. It was a bad feeling he could not deal with nor fully understand.
The blade sliding slowly through those cheeks, blood decorating its path. Not oftenly, it would halt clumsily. It was almost as if lightning struck the skin around it when it happened.
The tears flowing unstoppably.
He closed his eyes in order to control himself. It was always easier to stop thinking bad things when he shut his eyes. But as soon as the surge stopped, the voice came.
–You need to face it.
"What?!"
–Do not run away from what scares you.
"Why the hell did you do this?"
–You wanted company. I got you some.
"I don't need this kind of company. Moreover, I already have my friends."
–You do. But what about all those days you felt so gloomy coming back home? What about all those nights wondering if there would be something else to do because you just could not stand the idea of coming back home. Or, adding insult to injury, coming back home alone. All those nights trying to sleep, thinking if everybody has already achieved sleep. Can you lie to yourself to this point?
"It's..."
–It is what it is. Become stronger. Face her. She can not harm you.
"What if I don't want to?"
–Then you will have some very sad nights ahead of you.
He opened his eyes. The knife was still in his hands. Foolishly, he stabbed the box of cereals. Wondering how dare it make such a move without thinking of the consequences, he rushed to the bathroom.
The three mirrors looked at him, at first looking mad. Then, feeling pity. That was ridiculous, it was just as when he was a child and got scared of some seriously bad dreams. But that was it, it was just a dream, it was all inside his head. Always been.
The four raised their heads and then closed their eyes.
–Perhaps I need you to remember one thing.
"What...?"
–If they can be real, so can I.
Not even ten years old. Just a child in a small house that seemed way bigger in his eyes. The kitchen was so far away. In fact the bedroom door was distant enough already. Anything could reach him in the way. Trapped, in his own bed. He used to sleep in the lower part of the bunkbed. Sister was fast asleep at the mattress that lied in some sort of big drawer you could pull from underneath. This was then a triple bunkbed. But the top was always empty.
At least he hoped so. But there was the wardrobe, and all the other doors in the house, the bathroom. Whatever it was, it could come from anywhere. He knew he shouldn't have watched those horror movies, but it felt so good. Even if he closed his eyes anytime someone died or the ugly monsters appeared on the screen.
But now, he wanted a glass of water. And that was one hard task. He could sob quietly until one of his parents came, as he did many times before.
But that was childish.
Deep down he wanted to go there. But the risks seemed to outnumber the advantages of not being childish. As many times before, he raised from his bed, and carefully watched the floor. It couldn't get him from under the bed as it did not have that empty space below. Moving slowly sideways, he kept eyes on the wardrobe.
In a few minutes, he was at the door, always looking back and forth, in order to not keep anywhere unseen. His parents snored at the room at the other side of the small corridor. That sound was already scary. As soon as he entered the corridor, there would be so many places an attack could come from he would not be able to be aware.
It was at that part that the glass of water quest always ended. The bathroom race, however, was a success, for the door was close to their bedroom. But sometimes his parents would scream at him, for he rushed and slammed the door behind him. Being safe was more important than keeping them asleep. At least that stood true during those years.
But now he faced the part that could not be won.
And once more, it felt like such.
The shadow rose from the top of the bunkbed.
It was time.
Thinking of all the many times he failed prior to this moment, he started to get angry. He hated feeling that. In fact, feeling many things made him just downright angry. It was as if being angry was the only answer to not having an answer. And this time, he felt so bad. It was so damn frustrating to be there, at his own house, and not have the courage to do something so simple. He knew it was simple, but it was too much for him.
Although he could not accept that was something that came with the age, his thoughts couldn't make him past the door.
The room got darker.
Eyes shut, forced to close even more, tears starting to form, he pointed his anger toward himself.
Darkness slowly moved out of the door.
And blindly, he followed.
Touching walls in order to keep in mind where could he be (despite the small apartment), he conquered meter after meter. Sometimes noises would make his heart go through an array of wild blasts, and his legs felt like running anywhere but there, but he held it.
He was ridiculous.
Close to his goal, but a ridiculous coward.
At the kitchen, but afraid to open his eyes.
Filling the glass with water, but not having the courage to take a look around.
He hated it.
He hated them.
Why didn't they just come, so he could bruise them. He wanted to hurt them, make them pay. Why was he the only one to feel such things? His thoughts started to question. And slowly he remembered of all the times he got angry at people, mostly other children, but couldn't do anything. Because it would not be right, and thus he always kept it for him. All those horrible feelings. He would make drawings of people dying, but it wasn't enough.
Because that was all he was, a coward.
And then came that odd, but pleasant thought. An old ghost that got to the physical world. Hair flying all around its old face. Wrinkled and torn skin, eyes as dark as the night. Mouth wide open.
A fire extinguisher. If that thing managed to touch him, it could be touched. The fire extinguisher flying into its face, then dancing in the air, like a jumping ballerina, smashing that face into bits. All those parts gushing to the ceiling...
He opened those eyes. He was at the kitchen, it was a common night. Silent, as much as it could be. He drank the water in one gulp. Later on, he would just walk back to bed, as if it daylight shined upon the building.
It was okay.
If they could be real, so could he.
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