The Psychic Next Door

I left the shop without purpose. My need for food disappeared, overshadowed by my disappointment. Bulbs were unnecessary in this state. Everything lost its urgency; it could all just wait. I felt like all my excitement and joy from my recent accomplishments were sapped form me, and now I just wanted to wallow in yet another disappointment. My gorgeous neighbour had turned out to be a jerk. And on top of that, he was apparently a psychic jerk, who said I wasn't going to be loved by anyone for a while.

I could've screamed.

Instead I just silently creeped the few feet back to my own side of the building and through my door. I flicked the lights on, the single bulb feebly lighting the room. Even my new apartment, which moments ago seem lovely and welcoming, now felt cold and hostile, just like him. An overflow of my bad luck, I decided. Maybe it would wear off in the morning I thought, as I slunk off to my bedroom.

I slid into bed, still wearing my moving clothes, and curled up beneath the covers. Before I could stop myself, I was sobbing deeply into my pillows. I thought I had moved on, rid myself of all the pain left in the wake of my failed relationship, but it was apparently just hiding, pushed away deep down. It came rushing to the surface now. I felt alone again, horribly alone.

I don't know how long I cried for, because I cried myself asleep. I woke up suddenly, my face still pressed into the damp of my tear-soaked pillow. It was still dark out. I couldn't place what had woken me up so suddenly, because I didn't remember having a terrible dream or hearing a loud noise. I was just awake; really awake. It was like my body clock had suddenly gone awry and decided that now was the ideal time to wake up.

I rolled over my bed, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness. What time was it? My hands grappled in the dark, reaching out to find my cellphone on my beside table, where I usually left it. I wanted to know what the time was. My hands reached out, unseen in the pitch black of the night. I felt the edge of my night stand, and ran my hand over the top, seeking the sleek form of my fancy cellphone.

Just as my fingers found it, I felt a breeze, a warm breath on my hand. Still clutching my cellphone, I retracted my hand, gasping. I held my hand close to my chest, protecting it. What was that?

I figured I was just imagining things because I was depressed, awake in the middle of the night and in a new apartment. It must have been a heat vent, right? But it had distinctly felt like breath on the wrist. And it had come from below my hand, almost from under my bed, while the vents in my basement suite were all on the ceiling...

My hand shook violently as I opened my cellphone, seeking the comfort of some kind of light, even if it was the dim blue from the screen of my cellphone. I felt like a child again, seeking the comfort of the beside lamp after a nightmare. The cellphone cast a ghostly glow around my room, barely improving the darkness. I held it up and scanned my room with it, using it as a weak flashlight.

Something flashed by, darting past in the shadows. Every muscle in me tensed, and I dropped my cellphone into the folds of my blanket, plunging the room back into darkness. I fought against my fear, willing myself to move, to think rationally. I lunged for my beside table, for the lamp to scare away the monsters in the shadows. I gripped the neck of it with both hands, strangling it, and fumbled for the switch. I panicked, it seemed like the darkness was moving closer, swallowing me.

I found the nub on its neck, and pushed it in. It sprang to life, flooding the room in the comforting yellow light. There was nothing there. My bedroom door was still closed, as was my closet. I toyed with the idea of peering under my bed, but then remembered that there was no way in hell anything could fit under there -- every inch of that space had been stuffed with boxes and suitcases. If there was a monster under there, it would have to be a very, very small one.

I uncovered my cellphone and checked the time: it was three in the morning. I sighed deeply, I needed to get back to sleep for work tomorrow, otherwise I would be completely useless.

I breathed deeply, deliberately, to calm myself down. Breath in, breath out. Concentrate on that, not the products of your overactive imagination. In the warm light, my fears seemed foolish, childish. I chastised myself for acting so silly, telling myself to get a grip and grow up.