A Hooligan's Imagination

Phantom Love

It's the creak in the old wood, the howling of the wind, the odd, neon-like light of the moon that keeps you up at night. The winter seeps through the stones of the outer walls of the house, chilling you to your very core despite all the layers you've piled on yourself. The glow of the moon shines through your window, yet your house feels as dim as an entrenched cavern. The scent of dust clogs your nose. The windows are closed, yet the curtains carry a current on their own. Every step you take makes you feel like the house's very foundations shiver, like a rat crushed under a distracted child's foot.

You really ought to be in bed by now. You don't want to be, though. You don't think bed is worth the hassle.

You'd have to change into your sleeping clothes. You'd have to brush your teeth. You'd have to shut your eyes and pretend like your mind isn't running at a mile a minute, and hope to fuck that whatever nightmare you're plagued with doesn't send you into another frenzy about how a sharp knife could slot itself so perfectly into that little, odd juncture in your ribs just above your heart-

Something moves out of the corner of your eyes. You turn quickly, that little primal animal inside you making your heart pick up the pace. You wait. There's another movement, just on the other side of you. You feel a slight pressure on your right cheek. Your lip quirks up. "Just a little bit longer," you say. You say that every night.

It never works.

There's a pressure on your hand, and your limb moves a bit away from you like it has a mind of its own. You chuckle. "It'll only be a bit, promise." There's a tug at your elbow, and your arm goes higher. You smile. "C'mon, it's not that bad." Something pushes insistently on your back. You giggle, like you're full of bourbon and that pig fucking half crushed cockroach of an aunt that you have fall off her chair and shatter her nose. "Alright, alright," you finally give in. "No need to rush me." The walk to your room make the house shutter in approval as the pressure on your back lets up slightly.

You pull off most of your clothes and quickly slip under the heavy quilt. You stare at the blackout curtains over your window as the space beside you dips. You turn around, grinning at empty space as your eyes scrunch up. "G'night," is all you say.

You let your eyes shut when you feel a slight press on your forehead.