I was always too tall for my bed which meant my feet normally hung off the edge of ever since I was young. The bed would fit me for a few months, but I’d inevitably grow out of it. As I grew and got older my imagination got worse—well that’s what my mom told me. 

I don’t think it was my imagination. I could feel them, see them and touch them.

It started one night, I was facing the wall and my hand was at the very edge of my bed. It was dark, but my eyes had adjusted to the low light. The orange light of the street lamp tried to shine through my curtains. My feet dangled off my bed. I heard my door slightly, creek open. A few seconds later, I felt something brush up on my feet. I thought it was my cat, but she wasn’t in my room when I closed my door. 

A moment later I saw something. 

Fingers. Long skinny black fingers with sharp long nails—I think they were nails at least. It seemed like there was no clear line of where they started against the skin. 

My heart rate seemed to triple at that moment. I watched as the hand rose and crept closer to my hand. Before it could grab on, I swiped my hand away, though, my fingers slightly brushed against it. 

It was cold. Not human. I didn’t touch anything solid just cold air. Like you opened your freezer and stuck your hand in. 

I started to think maybe that was my imagination. I could rely on that. Yes. The more I thought about it the more it seemed fake; like an extremely messed up hallucination. I fell into a dreamless sleep and hoped it was just a sick trick my mind was playing on me. 

Just when I thought my fears had faded, I started to see it more. Even with my eyes closed, I would see its hand. 

It was like a figure walking by my door, or a silhouette dancing in the shadows. Something that if I looked to hard or thought about it too long it just seemed to be fake and then I would forget about it.

My fears were lit up again, like paper catching on fire the next night. 

I saw all of it.

I woke up laying on my back, delirious. Darkness swarmed my vision, no nightlight for comfort. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I scanned my room and saw it. 

This… thing was tall, and dark, standing out against the shadows. It looked the same as the hand I saw. Black and slightly transparent; the body itself was solid, only the hands were clearish like icicles. 

The figure slowly walked over to me, growing taller and taller till it loomed over my bed. Goosebumps erupted over my arms and my heart rate escalated. One of its hands reached out and touched my chest, pressing weight down upon me. It was the same black transparent hand that had been on the edge of my bed, reaching for me, all the weeks before. My heart was beating so hard, like it was trying to leap out of my chest; a knot tightened in my throat. It was the only thing I could hear.

I wanted to scream and yell for the whole world to hear. I wanted to push him off of me, but I couldn’t. I was frozen. 

I was pinned down, and his hand pressed down on my chest, sending chills rippling through my body. When he removed his hand, the chill stayed, but then he grabbed my throat, crushing my windpipe. I was gasping for breath, as all remaining air swam out of my lungs. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t escape. 

I must have passed out, for when I awoke, sickly purple and yellow bruises were splotched all over my neck. 

Weeks passed, and I hadn’t had another interaction with the thing. But there was a feeling that it was still here; in my house and around me. The energy in the air was draining and uncomfortable. 

I was starting to think my family were possessed by it too; I would look at them and they were odd, not human. Like something slipped into their skin and wasn’t sure how to act like them; even in me. For a few days my reflection was off. It wasn’t synched up; the mirror-me was waiting for the real me to move, so it could match up.

Days after that, I noticed that the left side of the bed was weighed down, like someone else was in it with me. I shut my eyes, and tried to keep my breathing steady. I felt warm air blow onto my neck, like the thing next to me let out the breath it was holding, waiting for me to wake up. I sat up in a flash and turned around, nothing. 

There was nothing there. The weight was gone, but my door was open. 

It had left.

My mind was crazed when I saw it again when I was in the bathroom. 

I was getting ready for my bath, lit a few candles, and was looking at myself in the mirror. The tiny flames of the candles began to flicker and move widely, casting absurd shadows. It was like a wind had come into the bathroom. I looked back at the mirror and was met with it. This time I could see that it had a form. More than just a translucent black shadow.

It was human-like. The body wore a cloak of midnight with dark, wet splotches that I can only assume was blood.

And the face; it had an uncomfortably large smile from ear to ear. Its eyes had a crazed look like it was hyped up on drugs. They were so wide like they were forced open, about ready to fall out. The pupils were tiny and black, like pinhead small. To top it off, this thing, this creature—monster—psychopath—whatever this thing was—it had a box. It held a wooden box in front of its chest, resting on perfectly flat palms in white silk gloves. 

I screamed.

In a flash, the creature set down the box and grabbed me, holding an icy cold hand to my face. I continued to scream and thrash, trying to break free. I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror. I made eye contact with my captor as he stared back. He just was waiting for me to stop, and for some reason, I did. He gave me an unsure look, almost asking me if I was really done. 

When he let me go, and started to look through his box, I used this chance to attack him. I grabbed my hand mirror and slammed it on the back of his head. The mirror shattered and rained down as he spun around. I used all my body weight to push him back into the bathroom counter which granted a moment for him to be stunned. 

He quickly recovered, and pushed me to the bathroom wall where a loud thud! from the impact of my head and back smacking the wall. My knees gave out and I sank to the floor. My fingers reached for a mirror shard and it unknowingly sliced my hand open and warm crimson blood ran down my arm. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, so I didn’t feel any pain, but even if I did, I wouldn’t care. 

I stabbed the monster in the leg. Mustering up the strength, I got up and stabbed him again and again. 

His arms sprawled out, trying to keep me from hurting him, but it was futile. His white silk gloves were now red with blood, and I watched as his sweater dampen with blood. 

Finally he stopped moving and he went limp. His pale face was now white as a sheet of paper, and his crazed eyes were tightly closed and relaxed. 

I stood above him for a moment.

I just killed someone. I don’t even know if this thing was a person, but I killed them. I cleaned up my hand, and then the floor with the mirror shards and blood. Then I dragged the body of this monster to the stairs and pushed him off. His fall was dull and wet, like someone pushed a heavy, wet sack of meat down the stairs. 

From there, I grabbed my mom’s car keys and lugged the monster into the trunk.

—    —   —   —   —

Dirt pressed into the seams of my pants when I got home that night. After loading his body into the car, I drove out into the desert and buried him. 

As I drove further and further away from his body, I felt waves of relief wash over me. I could breathe again. I was finally safe in my own body.

I returned my mom’s keys to the hook and walked to my room to shower. I was so relieved that I started to cry. I broke down sobbing tears of joy; they mixed in with the shower water. I was so happy that I was safe finally. 

After the shower, I curled into bed and finally had a restful sleep.