Hands

Growing up with cats and dogs meant you were used to hearing scratching at night. However, now that you live alone it's a little more disconcerting. You'd asked the landlord about whether there were rats, but he'd said they'd gotten a rat-catcher in just last week, and there wasn't a trace of anything. You'd even set mouse traps and rat poison all around the apartment, but they were never touched by anyone - or anything - but yourself.

It'd been weeks now, and nothing you tried worked. A full nights sleep was a distant memory. At this point, you were running on borrowed energy, fueled by caffeine and willpower alone.

Last night was the worst. You had gotten home from work at about 6 pm, already exhausted. The homework didn't help that.

'Why are professors like this?'  You thought with an unnecessarily dramatic sigh.

Eventually, you had just done it, knowing you'd hate yourself if you didn't. After that, dinner consisted of cup noodles with a fried egg on top - because you're fancy like that. By then it was late, so you had gone to bed.

The scratching started as soon as you turned the lights out. At first, it was just quiet and occasional. This was what you were used to, and it almost comforted you. But at midnight it really began. Long, drawn-out tears at the bedroom door, frantic clawing at the walls, deliberate scrapes from inside the closet. There was even a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard coming from beneath the bed. The whole apartment was alive with the noises and it terrified you. This had never happened before, not like this.

You huddled beneath the blankets, clutching onto them as if your life depended on it. The bed felt like the only safe place in the apartment, if you could call it 'safe'. You had pressed your eyes shut as tight as they would go, not managing to hold in the tears welling up in them. You could feel a scream welling up inside of you. Just before it could escape, everything stopped. No scratching, no noise. Nothing.

The silence had never been more welcome. You had leapt out of bed, grabbing a coat from its hook as you sprinted out of the door. Already halfway down the hall, you began to dial a number. After what seemed like an eternity, he had answered.

"Babe, do you know what time it is?" The voice on the other end of the line was gruff with sleep.

"It's 2:26 in the morning, Isaac" You had said, hyper-aware of everything around you.

"Well, damn, guess you do," he huffed, "what do you need?"

"Can I stay at your place? I can't sleep."

"Of course, love. Is everything alright?"

"I... don't know. It's the scratching, it's gotten worse."

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay. I don't know what I'd do without the world's best boyfriend." You could hear the shit-eating-grin in Isaac's voice. It was comforting to hear something so normal.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too." You rolled your eyes, hoping he could sense it through the phone.

By then you had opened your car door and were getting into the driver's seat. You hung up the phone, pulling out of the carpark and out into the night. The further you got away from your apartment, the more at ease you had become. It felt as if something was loosening its grip on you, slowly releasing your heart from its cold hands. By the time you reached Isaac's place, the feeling had completely left you. You couldn't have been more grateful. You had raced up the steps and through the halls until you reached his apartment. The second the front door was open, you had collapsed into his arms, eternally thankful for the warmth and safety.

"Hey, honey, you alright?" Isaac looked down at your significantly shorter frame with concern.

'Humph." was all you could manage, suddenly exhausted from the lack of sleep.