Peephole

I lie motionless under the covers. I stifle my heavy breathing by burying my face into the pillow. “I’m asleep,” I think to myself. “I have to be asleep. Or else it will kill me.”

It left a few minutes ago, but I dare not move. Something tells me that it can still see me. It can still hear me. It is waiting for me to wake up.

It’s not human. I don’t know what it is, but it certainly is not human. A peek from under my covers as the creature was leaving quickly clarified that. It was mostly hairless, with thin patches of filthy white fur that fell out with every movement. Its sickly olive-green complexion gave it the appearance of a diseased animal. It had an awkward and lame stance, steadily leaning forward and catching itself with each step.

It’s coming back. I hear its claws along the wooden floor that is splintering under the weight of the brute. An eerie scraping noise is background to the sound of its footsteps and indicates that the monster is dragging something behind it.

I peek out from under my covers to discover that I was right. In one hand, the creature drags a large item behind it. In the other, it holds an assortment of things. I cannot make out what they are.

There is a trail of blood behind the animal.

It enters my room and begins arranging the items. It’s intelligent. It knows what it’s doing. It lays something beside my bed. It puts something in front of the door. It blocks the window.

No escape.

The demon is dragging its hands all across my wall, staining them with blood. On the wall opposite me, it writes something. I cannot see what it wrote without moving.

It retreats to the corner of my room then seems to disappear into thin air. The room still feels heavy. I feel it watching. Waiting for me to wake up. Waiting for me to see the message. Waiting to kill me.

If I move, I die.

So I stay there, motionless and silent, for hours. Eventually, the room begins to grow brighter as the sun rises and the security of light floods out the darkness and the evil residing in it. From what I can see through my peephole in the bed sheets, the room looks completely normal. The floor is not splintered and there is no trace of blood anywhere. Nothing is blocking the door that remains casually and invitingly open to the world beyond it. It dawns on me that the incident from the previous night was only a nightmare. I relax, taking the first deep and satisfying breath in hours. I stretch lazily and proceed to sit up, removing the protection of the bed sheets.

That’s when I see it. I had almost forgotten wall opposite me, out of view. But now I can clearly see the large crimson letters that were scribbled in the wall last night. There they remain, dauntingly real and undeniable.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”