That Which Occurs is Too Quiet Places

Waking Nightmares

Not again, oh please not again.

The Boy thought as he shook awake from the cot in his room.

I need to check. It's nothing but I should look.

This wasn't the first time a feeling at night made him so uneasy, but he was far from used to it. but the Boy knew he could not fall asleep unless he made sure everything was fine. Well, not fine, but as fine as anything could be while mother was still sick. She hadn't been getting any better, and he had taken up the responsibility of doing what he could to help.

If It really is here again, I'm the only one who can.. Stop it? Could I, even if I wanted to? I have to get up and check at least.

He swore he could feel the atmosphere of the tired house growing heavy and bleak, just like it had been every time before. Crisp air flowed quietly through the room and accumulated around him, biting where it touched exposed skin. He shuddered under his sheet, pulling it closer, frozen to the core.

I can't get up, I don't want to see It again. I'm scared. Too afraid to move. Would my body move if I tried?

That's when he heard the discordant shriek coming from the hall, and he recognized it. The anthem of the third board from the wall, halfway down the hall from his mother's room. The Boy knew all the songs of the ancient house, because he prided himself on being able to always navigate quietly. He knew it all from the ballads of the railings to the chant of each stair. He had learned by sneaking to the kitchen at night, but he hadn't done that since mother had gotten sick. She didn't have time for his stupidity anymore, and he had to be responsible now that she couldn't be.

Why am I thinking about all this right now? The figure is out there right now! Why does It keep coming back? Is it here for me or for her? I need to get up right now. I should have already! I need to get to Mom's room...

He sat up urgently, breaking out of his reverie while rouge branches raked at the window. Heart visibly thumping through his shirt, the Boy threw the sheet on the floor and embraced the needle-like feeling of the unusually frigid air. His arms became a mess of bumps as hair stood up on end; the cold fear coursing through him. Rustling off the cot, he lamented his task for the tenth night in a row.

Have I ever been this frightened before? Surely I haven't.

His bare feet met the hardwood with a practiced precision, making only a slight beat. Careful, he stretched out his step two boards to the right, and began stalking his way towards the hall. With a rehearsed stride, the old oak door quickly came within his grasp.

He creeped open the door slowly, just enough to squeeze his body through. With such care did he move, lest the hinges sing and revive the dead air.

I need to look, to see if It's there, but can I do it? Can I brave it again? What if It's there? What if It sees me this time. Oh please not again...

As he pressed his narrow frame through the door, the Boy jerked the door by accident. The accompanying chorus snapped the silence and his trance. Fearful and softly whimpering, he scanned the hall. Darkness held a tight grip on the corridor, urged away only by the dull yellowed light blooming from his mother's bedroom door. He waited and he watched, staring into the darkest areas of the hall, until he felt It staring back. He could barely make out where the wall began, though while he watched, the figure's movement bent the shadows near his mother's room. He felt sweat painting cold streaks down his face, the thing's stare ruining his bravery and hope. He watched helplessly as the figure drifted into his mothers room, the aura around It seeming to suck away all light and sound until the Boy's world deafened.