Photo by Debashis RC Biswas on Unsplash
The
room is swallowed in darkness. The only glow comes from the red digits of the
clock on the nightstand, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. I tell myself it’s
only a clock, but the way it stares through the dark feels like a warning.
I
can only sleep in silence and shadow, and even then, rest is a rare gift.
Insomnia is my curse.
Tonight,
though, exhaustion claimed me quickly. A day spent lifting furniture, unpacking
boxes, and forcing order into chaos left me drained. I had managed to complete
just one room—the bedroom, a sanctuary. Everything in it had fallen into place
too easily, as though the house itself had been waiting for me. Dark wood
floors polished smooth, carved trim that seemed older than memory, a king bed
draped in white organza—perfect—too perfect.
When
I finally lay down, I slipped into sleep at once.
But
now I am awake.
My
eyes snap open, ears straining. A sound stirs the air. Not the floorboards. Not
the shifting timbers of an old house. Something else. Something deliberate.
Again,
it comes. A presence. Someone is in the room.
“Who’s
there?” My voice is thin and shaky.
Silence.
Yet
I know. Fear grips me, pins me to the bed. I cannot move. I cannot
breathe.
She
is beside me. I cannot see her clearly, but I feel her weight, her gaze.
Then—just enough light from the clock touches her face. Blonde hair frames pale
skin. A smile that brings terror. Eyes, black and endless, lock onto mine.
“What
do you want?” The words scrape from my throat.
She
does not answer. She only leans closer. Closer still. Until her breath should
be on my cheek, though I feel nothing but the crushing cold.
“Help
me…” I try to scream, but the sound dissolves as my heartbeat slows… and stops.
I
no longer suffer from insomnia.
My
new home—this perfect bedroom, this perfect trap—sits untouched and unused, a
shrine to the living I no longer am. I wander instead, the soft whisper of my
gown brushing across the boards, the only trace of me.
Now,
I seek out the dark. I wait in it, patient, hidden in shadows, aching for a
life gone.
As
a ghost, I do not sleep. I wait.
I
wait for the next restless soul, the next weary seeker of silence and
blackness. Only light can bar me from them. Only light can save them from my
stare.
For
when they meet my eyes, they will see their death—and my release.
Exactly
what she wanted from me. Her freedom, purchased with my final breath.
And
one day, when the house claims another, I will lean close, blonde hair spilling
forward, eyes gone dark and endless.
The
cycle will go on.
The
only question is—will it be you?
…After
all, you’re already here, in the dark, reading my words.
And
I am very good at finding those who keep the lights low.
© Yolanda Renée 2025
500 Words
Initially published on March 29, 2013, rewritten for this year’s Halloween Celebration.
HAPPY
HALLOWEEN!
Photo by Camara Negra on Unsplash
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