Beating The Monster

The Writers' Block #10 - Theme: beating the monster

Last night one laid on top of me. I felt the deadweight on my legs. Another was drumming the base of my bed, rapid, rude. I could hear them deep in my head but I couldn’t move, paralysed as they sunk into my mind. I couldn’t breathe. I knew I must wake up, open my eyes, make them leave. And I pushed, against myself, into myself, forcing the deepest darkness away from me. I screamed, bellowed at the top of my inner voice to wake up. Straining, writhing, scrapping for freedom. They left me there, glancing at the clock, dripping in sweat, panting, aching from the duel.


Now they’re back.


I hear them outside my door, running along the corridor. Whispers, footsteps, excitement. Yet I fear them. They scare me. Terrify me. They try to get inside me. Why me?


My door handle flicks. They’re trying to get in. And I lie in the dark and feel the tears running down my cheeks. I sit up as the handle flicks again. There’s the running and I sense the mocking giggles.


In one swift and silent move I swing my legs from under the duvet. My feet feel the carpet, so comforting and safe. I stand and listen, discerning a few whispers. The door handle flicks once more.


The clock ticks far too loudly.


With stealth I slowly walk, inevitably drawn to the door. I stand by it and reach for the handle. So close to grabbing it, but I stop just before the touch. It’s getting darker. It’s getting colder. Just one piece of cheap plywood between me and them. But this will be on my terms. Fully awake. Fully conscious. There will be no sneaking around my mind and body this time.


I touch the handle. It is icy cold. One quick turn and I can pull it open, but something is pulling back. We struggle and the strain makes me grunt. Instantly the force lets go and I open the door. I face the wall and step out of my room. I look right to the kitchen. Nothing. Lava down my back as I turn and look left, into the void.


They’re watching. Waiting. Wondering. I can sense them. Feel their presence.


So I run. Straight at them. Making them flee.


I stand there naked in my own corridor and feel the dark consume me once more. It enters and surrounds me. My spine explodes with fire, my face burns, my heart stops. Something ominous charges at me, forcing the carpet to buckle under its enormity. Large, menacing, dangerous. I spin round and force my hand out, inwardly yelling ‘STOP!’


And it does. I feel its strength, sense its intentions. It smells my soul. But I stand firm, somehow knowing it cannot pass my outstretched arm. I am denying it.


It speaks within me, deep and deadly. ‘Who dares stop us?’


‘I do.’


A sudden release.


Streetlight returns through the window.


Have they really gone?

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