I wouldn't call this as much a "scary story" than a rendition of what I experienced with my night terrors as a child. Now that I've grown up I've decided to write the fears that I felt in better detail...

That moment could have only be described as crippling fear...

Dark Bedroom

They made it a point to hold my hand and promise me security. Sing to me, warm my thoughts with soft coos; tell me that the darkness wouldn’t hurt me and that’s it’s only the inner workings of my mind. The departure into the other room was met with the grip of my hand, pleading for five more minutes, and then ten more, and so on to the point where comforting me became exhausting for them. They’d beg for sleep, keep open my door, and promise me a last time that danger would never approach.

I try to let sleep take me, but the distractions of the horrible night won’t let my mind ease. I lay still, afraid that if I may turn around, something will be waiting for me. I want to go check on them, ask them to come back in, but I know they’ll be frustrated with me. They won’t believe the things I’m hearing. It stops for a minute, but I always hear it again, the rattling and the whispering. Why are my curtains moving if there is no wind? Money spent on therapeutic sessions and relaxation tapes and techniques cannot save me from the enveloping darkness waiting to consume me. I hear trickling of pots and pans. I’m not safe. The corners of my eyes are always occupied by shadows. I must overcome the fear of movement. I have to turn on the light that they shut off every night. I get up, not breathing as I move, because if I breathe I’ll be detected by the things in the dark.

I turn on the light; it strains my eyes but keeps me sustainable. How can they sleep? Are they safe? I can’t protect them. Something is going to hurt all of us, in this home, in that dark spot in the corner, behind my closet door that still leaves mental scars. I go through it in my mind again. Did I remember to close every door in the house? The room across from me must be closed, or something repulsive will sneak. It will come from the room, crawling, making those strange noises I hear. Yet I can’t close my door. My door must be open. If I close my door, it will lock on me and they won’t be able to reach me. I won’t be able to escape what traps me inside my room when the door is closed, and what it will do when it is all alone with me.

This is my final night, I tell myself

I may not survive tomorrow. Every cell in my body, pulsating with the hot sticky fear and sweat from under the covers that won’t shelter me from harm, but I wish they could. I start to get the feeling again. I can’t breathe. Am I dying? The only things I can do are lay, sweat, and forget to breath. I need to scream. I want them back in here. I want them to save me. I scream as loud as I possibly can. Call her name, because I know he will be more frustrated with me. She runs in with her robe wrapped around her, in a hurry, tells me to calm down. The bags under her eyes are developing more so every night now. I feel guilty, but better. Safe only when she is with me. I ask her to lay down with me. This is the last time.

I tell myself it’s okay, that I’m foolish, and even when the lights go out when the flicker of her finger, I feel safe with my guardian in the room. I'm still thinking. Slowly drifting, but thinking. As I’m about to fall asleep, I hear the rustle of the bed. Is she getting up? She can’t. I’m not asleep yet. I yelp as she leaves the room. Don’t leave me and make me vulnerable again. I cause her misery. I’m stealing her from rest, sleep is nonexistent in this household ever since the things in the dark made me nervous. I think they know I know about them, and that’s why they’re watching and whispering their plans behind walls and dark crevices.

I feel myself falling into unconscious. Sleep decides to spare me after the many midnight hours awake and afraid. My heart, for the first time tonight, slows. I know tomorrow they will be exhausted, disappointed in me that I make them awake. They won’t have energy to talk. But at least I feel safe in the day. I want to know when this horrible notion will end, and how will it end? Will I finally be taken or killed? Will they be taken from me, forcing me to live alone; will I find them face down in a puddle of blood, or worse? I don’t want to think like this but the sounds and voices at night lead me to these conclusions. Please, I beg myself, to let it go away.