Hard Candy [Carl Grimes/The Walking Dead]

Something's Wrong

I was in the midst of an absolutely perfect dream.

The Mandarin was having a free all-you-can-eat buffet, which my entire school and family were attending, as well as deadmau5 and Skrillex who were providing the music and performing a pretty kickass duet song. Then, right before the drop, approximately seven unicorns with spaghetti for hair danced through the windows, dropping piñatas and spaghetti sauce from their behinds. And what was in the piñatas? Pixar characters.

It's when I have dreams like this that I question my overall sanity and all there-ness. Or perhaps everyone dreams fucked-up euphorias like that. It's something I'll never know I guess.

I'm woken by scratching noises at my door.

I look over at my clock, which reads 3:37 am. I groan and roll over. Isn't it a bit early, guys? Exactly every morning at roughly 6:00 am (they're very punctual), my two young siblings insist on being my wakeup call, whether it's a school day, my birthday or a weekend.

Any other person (usually an only child) would call the display Cute and Precious and They Really Love You and Look Up To You because You're Their Role Model, but after waking up every singe god damn motherfucking morning (even when their sick!) to a squeaky doorknob and running footsteps, you develop the kind of anxiety usually developed by army soldiers or a teenager in a low-budget horror film.

Those footsteps drive me insane.

Sometimes I'm lucky and can manage to fall asleep after my parents have woozily coaxed them from my door, but it seems I've fallen into the unfortunate habit of Permanently Staying Awake Once Woken. When this occurs I just take out my notebook and continue what might be my greatest adventure.

Not that I can tell you. I mean, that would ruin it because I'm not done.

Just stop scratching...

This scratching goes on for about four minutes before I realize I don't actually hear them, just scratching. Which is odd, since they're usually squalling that it's midnight and I slept through an entire whole day(!) and better get up for school. But no, this time all I hear is scratching. And a weird groaning, almost like they're heaving but are too tired to make it to the bathroom. Then, almost like they overhears my thoughts, the noises silence.

Something's wrong. I slowly lower my foot to my shag rug, waiting for a response. There is none. More confidently, I place both feet firmly on the rug and stand up, my eyes on the door. The floor squeaks. Still nothing.

Straightening the too-long sleeves on my shirt, I take a daring deer-leap that takes me right to the door. (It would have made less noise if I had just walked, but jumping to the designated area is something I've been doing since I was a kid. Lava floor, remember that game?)

My back pressed against my dresser, I peer around and glance at the door. Now that I'm much closer, I can hear some very strange sounds. What on earth could I call them?

Gnawing?

It definitely sounds like a dog chewing a bone, or a ravenous person digging into ribs. It doesn't sound like a six and eight-year-old waking up their 18-year-old sister at 3:30 am. Something is definitely amiss.

Alright, no use waiting for something terrible to happen, if it hasn't already, I reason with myself. Open. The. Door. Be a man--er, woman.

I slowly take the chain latch in my hand, and without a second's hesitation, I whip it off. Once again, the noises have stopped. I don't give myself time to wonder what in hell's name is going on before the door has swung open and my eyes have met a truly horrible sight.