I remember when I was five; I remember it very clearly. I was being put in bed. Mom was distracted by something; she had turned to look at my door, head cocked to the side as if hearing a noise. I looked outside my window and screamed.
A pale, bloody face was right outside my window, with blank, glowing white eyes and a cruel smile. It was clearly a man, with messy, short brown hair and ragged clothes that were so torn that they looked like he was wearing rags.
Mom turned around, but the face was already gone. I was just staring out my window, out at the stars and the trees.
"Kelly!" Mom cried. "What is it?" She hugged me, pulling me close. I buried my head in her chest.
"There was a scary man outside the window."
She stopped hugging me to look outside. "I don't see anyone, sweetie," she said, looking outside the window now. "Are you alright?"
The man was gone.
"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"
"Okay, Kelly. But just know that it probably wasn't real. It was probably just from a dream."
"It didn't look like it was from a dream," I mused.
"Shhh, Kelly," said Mom. She picked me up bridal style and carried me to her bed. I slept fitfully that night, my dreams full of bloodied faces looking through my window....
In the morning, she took me to a therapist. It took me three years to finally decide that it really was a dream. I was young and small, and my mind had just dreamt up a horrible thing.
The eyes. The blank, white, glowing eyes.
I wrench myself out of my bed, my shirt drenched in cold sweat. My hair is sticking to my face, and I'm panting. I'm twisted around in my covers; I must have been thrashing. I'm thirteen now, but I just can't get that image out of my mind from eight years ago: the image of the face looking through my window. It's been haunting my dreams more than usual lately. I look at my clock and moan in despair; it reads 2:56. Knowing fully well that I won't be able to sleep like this, I get up out of bed and go to my closet. I get out of my warm pajamas and put on a loose T-shirt and sweats. I drink from my bedside water bottle. Then I look out of my window to reassure myself that nothing is there.
Finally satisfied, I climb back into bed, looking nervously around, waiting for the face to appear. When it doesn't, I bury myself under my covers and, eventually, fall back into a fitful sleep.
My dream goes like this.
I'm walking on a dark street. There is a flickering lantern in my hand that I'm holding in front of my face. Then, out of the darkness, I see the form of a person, walking towards me, shuffling aimlessly like a zombie. When it sees me, though, it shuffles with purpose. I stifle a shriek and back up, still holding out the lantern.
It looks up and I see a bloodied face and wide, blank, glowing white eyes.
For the second time, I wrench myself out of bed. My feet are drifting off of the side, and my head is up against the wall. I am able to sit up into a sitting position.
I look at the clock. It still reads 2:56. I was asleep for less than a minute? Impossible. And how could I have moved so much?
I stare at the clock for five more minutes. It stays at 2:56. Finally, it blinks out.
I scream.
I hear someone come running. Then I hear the flick of my light, but it doesn't turn on.
"Kelly, it's fine," I hear Mom's voice say. "The power just went out." She throws her arms around me. Then she exclaims, surprised, "Kelly, you're shaking! What happened?"
"The face, Mom," I say. "It came back."
"That face? You mean, when you were five? But it couldn't have been that bad!"
"Mom, it's a pale face with blood on it and blank, glowing white eyes. How--"
"Dear Lord!" Mom cries. "It sounds bad. Why didn't you tell me--?"
"I did, Mom. You didn't listen!"
"Well, maybe we can arrange to meet up with Miss Stacy--"
"I don't need a therapist, Mom!" I say hotly. "That face...."
"Well, I'm going to need to leave at seven."
I sigh. "I know." I bury my head in my hands. "What time is it?"
"Six, sweetie."
"Why'd my clock say 2:56?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it said 2:56 when the power went out, so--"
"I'll have your father have a look at it this afternoon," promises Mom. "Do you want me to stay?"
"I'm fine, Mom."
"Are you sure?"
I sigh again. "Yes."
She kisses me on the forehead before leaving the room. For a second, I sit there. Then, suddenly, my bed lists sideways. From upstairs, I hear Dad yell--a yell that is not timed with the house, that is a fraction of a second early.
"Dad!" I shriek, just as the side of the house hits the ground.
All of my stuff goes flying to the side; thankfully, though, I'm able to get out of the way. Everything I've ever known....
Mom comes running and hugs me tightly. I can barely see her in the dark, but I can feel her; she's shaking violently.
"Come with me to check on your father," she tells me.
"Mom," I say, my eyes widening, "I think...."
"He's fine," she tells me, sounding more like she's trying to convince herself than she's convincing me.
A light flickers. It takes me a second to figure out that it's a flashlight beam, held by Mom. She grabs my hand in hers and we creep upstairs. When we get to the top, we slowly make our way to Mom and Dad's bedroom. Finally, we reach it.
Dad's gone.
I break down in sobs. He's just not there. He was probably taken by the pale man who has been haunting my dreams for the past eight years.
Mom's paralyzed. Then she faints.
"Mom!" I scream, shaking her. She doesn't wake up. "Mom!"
Suddenly, a hand grabs my shoulder. I shriek and swivel around. A face is three feet away from mine: A pale, bloody face with blank white eyes and a cruel, cold smile.
I kick him backwards, and he falls to the floor. I get up and look down at my mom.
"I love you," I whisper. Then I charge the man.
He grabs me around the waist, lifts me up, and throws me into the ceiling...or, rather, the wall, considering the house has tilted sideways.
"You killed my dad!" I scream at him as I fall to the floor, getting up immediately and balling my fists. "You killed my mom!" I know that she's dead. She's just not going to get up. It's over. "But you're not," I continue, "going to kill me."
He hurls something at me. A dagger. I drop to the floor and it goes whizzing over my head and sticks out of the doorway, sideways now. I yank it out and point it at him. He runs forward, his blank white eyes boring into mine. I hurl the dagger. It sticks out of his heart. For a second, he stares at me, shocked; and then he charges forward, yanking the dagger out of his heart and piercing it into my own.
Everything goes dark.
