I had another visitor last night, someone new, it was 3am when I heard the banging on the door, I could see the flashing lights through the gap beneath the door frame. I was instantly charged, my whole body a mess of misfiring electrical impulses. As I gripped the door handle, a shot of pain ripped from my hand, ran up my arm and stabbed me somewhere deep in the back of my skull, I nervously looked at my hand to see two fingernails had lifted up from the skin, now only connected by white, stringy pus, as a black ooze slowly seeped from where they once sat.
Whoever was on the other side of the door banged loudly once again, he called my name, my name, ‘Mister Towns’ he called, he wanted me to open the door, said his name was Detective Toddard, and he needed to talk to me about a phone called he’d received involving a case he’d worked a few years ago.
I heard his words, all of them, but I just stared at my fingers, as the black ooze continued to seep out of the tips.
He banged again, said if I didn’t open the door he’d break it down, I forced my hand to move, begged this to be a dream, even though I knew I was not asleep. Slowly I turned the handle, opening the door, it was dark, the porch was empty, there were no flashing lights, no frustrated Detective, nothing, empty. I closed the door and stared at my hand, the nails were reattached, as if they’d never been removed.
He said my name, I spun around to face him, his head spilt open, the blood around his face dry and dark. Hell is coming for me he said, I won’t escape, retribution will be paid, no forgiveness, no hope, no happy endings, then, he grabbed me, thrust me against the wall and told me to never trust the beast, then I was alone again, or so I thought.
She lay asleep in the bed, snoring, I could hear her from the doorway, I was confused at first, so many things had just taken place, things that made no sense, I need time to comprehend what was happening. So, slowly I peered into the room, it was adorned with posters and toys, it was a child’s room, but this couldn’t be, this room was empty, full of boxes and junk only hours ago.
I creep into the room, to the head of the bed, she rolled over, talking in her sleep, who was this child, and what was she doing in my house?
I slowly reached out towards her, gripping the blanket that covered her, and pulled it back, the room spun around like a merry-go-round as I collapsed to the floor, vomiting dry air and whatever had managed to stay in my stomach from earlier that night.
When I looked up again the room was as it had always been, filed with boxes and dust.
My god, what’s happening to me?
When will this nightmare end?