Nightmare In Aus Blog Hop

I was never really afraid of the supernatural as a kid; what I was afraid of was someone hurting my parents. That, I couldn’t handle.

One night, my eight-year-old self was lying in bed, awake, trying as hard as I could to fall asleep. I’d counted sheep, I’d taken deep, meditative breaths–I’d even had a warm glass of milk, although I went a little hardcore on the microwave, so it was more like hot milk through skin top.

And then?

It. Happens.

A scratching at the window, a tapping on the wall. One after the other.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was a dark, dark night... Photo: Big Stock Photo

It was a dark, dark night…
Photo: Big Stock Photo

I shoot upright in my bed. My pulse is racing. Silence envelopes me, stifles me, buries me with its overwhelming thickness.

There’s nothing, no other sounds. Nothing but my stupid heart, thumping against my ribcage.

I slowly sink back down into the pillows, close my eyes, and will sleep to take me once more.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Tap, tap, tap.

This time, there’s no mistaking it. There’s something making a noise out there, even though I’m the only one in the room.

My hands scramble in the darkness and  grab for a weapon. Sadly, all I can find is a pencil and heavy hardcover book. It’s the life story of a nerd.

I rub my shoulders, protection against the midnight chill on my singlet-clad body. With slow, and steady steps, I creep out of the bedroom. I have to do this. There’s something out there, and I need to know.

Goosebumps prickle on my arm as I slink through the dark house, my back flattened against the walls. An owl hoots outside, and I start, sucking the air in sharp against the back of my throat.

I peer out the glass sliding door into the backyard, seeking any sign of movement. Palm frond silhouettes dance across the night sky, but I see no sign of human-shaped movement.

I sigh, letting my breath steadily flow between my teeth. There’s no one out there. Everything’s fine.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Tap, tap, tap.

That must mean somebody is in the house.

I’m so scared that it hurts. I feel a physical aching in my belly, and my heart starts hurting again, my eyes darting every which way to try and catch the potential perpetrator.

I tiptoe up the hall to my parents’ room. I need to warn them. There’s someone here.

“Mum,” I whisper, my hand on her shoulder. “Mum!”

“Jesus!” She shoots upright in the bed, her hand straight across her chest. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone in the house,” I hiss, my finger to my lips.

“What?”

“There’s someone–”

“Did you see them?”

I pause. Memories of the sounds filter through my brain.

“Well, no, but–”

“Go back to bed, Lauren.”

“Can I just sleep here?”

“NO.”

I slink away, shutting their door behind me. It’s so close to the front door of our house; I worry. If there’s someone in the house now, they’ll need to go past it to get out. And what if they decide to look beside the door to the left, instead of going out the front?

What if they think Mum and Dad’s room is the front door entrance?

My heart races and my breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Tears well in my eyes and I bite my lip. Mum won’t take me seriously. What the hell am I supposed to do?

I’m shaking, and that overwhelming sick feeling takes over my body. I feel horrible, my stomach churning against the walls of my body.

I spy some cushions on the couch in the lounge room to the right. That’s when the solution hits me.

I can sleep here. On the cold, tiled floor, outside my parent’s room. It will be cold; it will be uncomfortable. But if there’s someone in the house, they’ll walk over me on their way out. I can wake up, and scream, and save Mum and Dad’s lives, giving them time to lock their door and call the police.

Or, if someone’s not in the door yet, when they open it, it will hit me on the head, again waking me up and causing noise so they have time to save themselves while the intruder kills me.

That was seriously my thought process. For about six months, I slept outside my parents’ bedroom door from the hours of 1:11 am through till 6 am. I was just so scared that someone would hurt them.

Now, I’m no longer that scared. I don’t sleep outside my mum’s house, or anything like that–although I do live in the apartment below her, so I guess I may as well. After all, surely an intruder would come down here before they went up there. And that would give me time to scream . . .

Want to see other blogs participating in the Nightmare in Aus blog hop? Click here for the linky list. 

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One thought on “Nightmare In Aus Blog Hop

  1. My bedroom was the closest to the stairs that led to the front door. I used to lie awake at night, thinking that if someone broke in I was the first line of defence. So I totally relate to this!

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