Blue Moon

His skin shivered in the dark. He could hear the sound of his alarm clock beeping and tormenting his eardrums. His eyes stayed close, despite his mind continuing to wander. Everything seemed so silent when nobody was around anymore. Everything seemed so, as he really loved to call it, stale. It felt like a weird combination of grief and anxiety. The added stress to his brain made it a worst-case scenario.

He laid in bed, silent, wondering, and beneath his sheets, he moved his hands, resting them on his stomach. He was certain that he heard something outside the bedroom door. If it wasn't for the alarm clock, he would've heard it a lot clearer.

After a few seconds of self-debating, he opened his eyes. Then he turned to the alarm clock on the nightstand and shut it off. The time read 3:30 in the morning. It wasn't his usual routine. He didn't usually wake up at that time, unless he needed to prepare early for a specific event later in the day. But, to his knowledge, he clearly remembered that it was Thursday. Nothing interesting happens on Thursdays. At least to him.

He sat upright on the side of his bed, contemplating whether or not he should walk to the kitchen to get water. Pretty common for some people who wake up at that time. He thought to himself, fuck it, why not? So he got out of bed and reached for the bedroom doorknob.

As he opened the door, he was presented with an empty and pale looking hallway. He rubbed one of his eyes and continued walking. The air around him was warm. Still, shivers ran down his back. The floor beneath his feet was wood. It made little creaking noises as he walked. He could feel mucus going down his throat the more he tried to swallow.

"John," a voice whispered from behind.

He stopped in his tracks. His eyes wide open.

"John," the voice called. It sounded dry and rusty. It sounded hurt, as if in pain.

"What do you want?" John replied.

"Help me. Please."

"Right now is not the best time, Jane."

"It's burning."

"What's burning?"

"It's burning down here."

John took a step back. He was inches away from the staircase. Without a second thought, he turned around, but saw no one standing in the hall. The room was left the same as it was when he left his bedroom.

"Jane," he whispered.

"John," the voice replied.

This time Jane's voice was coming from downstairs. He heard it loud and clear.

"Please," she said.

John hurried down the flight of stairs as fast as he could. He attempted to catch sight of Jane, but failed when he saw no one upon stepping on the first floor. The living room was dead silent. He watched the view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. His empty backyard and garden.