𝐒𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 || 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

Early Morning Apparition

He had no idea when he fell asleep, but when Atem woke up, he found himself sprawled out on his living room leather couch. It was rather dark inside, the only source of light being the shine of the moon. It surprised Atem because it meant he had somehow slept through the day. Though it wasn't out of character for him to do that, it was uncommon for him to do so on a Sunday — knowing a work day followed. He shrugged it off, figuring he must've been tired, and searched for his phone in the dark.

Atem patted his hands over the couch, squinting his eyes in an attempt to see, and found his phone sandwiched between the cushions. He clicked it on and was immediately assaulted by the screen's brightness, but he blinked through it and checked the time.

2:57 AM.

A quick and brief sense of recognition swept through him — not a good one.

It was almost the witching hour.

Atem shook his head just as the screen timed out and the light went out. There was no point in indulging this stupid thought, he deliberated. Not because he was afraid something could happen, but because he thought it ridiculous to even consider. And why was he even thinking about this anyway?

Atem stood up from the couch, feeling his body ache as he did. Even though he was relatively young and fit, his body just decided that some activities were not for him anymore, and sleeping on the couch was one of them. Atem groaned and rubbed his lower back as he walked toward his bedroom. He wasn't particularly sleepy nor tired, but if he didn't at least try to sleep, he knew he'd regret it later.

But as the silence of the house fully settled over him, his eyebrows came together in a furrow because it wasn't entirely silent. Not the way it should've been, and for a moment — as he stood completely still — he realized that maybe the time he woke up wasn't entirely a coincidence as he had assumed.

Somebody was talking. Somebody was talking, and it seemed like the voice was coming from outside the house. Right outside his home, perhaps even out on his driveway.

That was not normal.

Because for one, it was now three in the morning, and two, who in the fuck would be outside talking at three in the morning?

Atem wasn't entirely sure what to do; he didn't even think he could move. There was one thing he was confident about, though; he needed to check it out. He knew that, but he couldn't, didn't want to. He thought whoever it was would go away eventually, fear already eating at his common sense — but the continuous mumble of a voice made him doubt that. So, he grounded and willed himself to check.

Atem crept back to his living room as if he'd be spotted from inside if he wasn't careful, which was probably true. To his luck, the windows were closed and covered by curtains. All he had to do was peek through at whoever was outside and assess the situation, and that's what he did. Atem pulled aside one of the curtains just enough to see out, and his soul nearly left his body at what he saw.

Nobody.

There was no one outside, or even anywhere near, his house. So that meant he was either delusional, or something else was going on. As the seconds ticked by, he was quickly careening toward delusional because he could still hear this voice.

This weirdly sweet yet masculine voice.

Atem scanned the entire area, his heart pounding unnaturally against his chest. But no matter where he looked, he found no one anywhere. So then, where the hell was this voice coming from, he frantically wondered.

And then there it was.

A figure in transparent milky yellow silk fabric spawned in the middle of the street in front of his window. It walked a few steps forward and then turned to walk back as if it were lost or confused about where it needed to go.

Atem watched, stunned in shock, dread, and disbelief — unable to comprehend what he was seeing. The figure examined itself, looking from its ghostly legs to his hands. It seemed sentient, too much to be what Atem thought it was, but he had no words to describe it other than as a spirit.

At no point did Atem look away, so when he saw the figure slowly turn its head to look at him, he felt physically ill, and suddenly his house didn't feel like protection enough.

A blend of arctic blue and light periwinkle pair of eyes met his bold deep crimson. Atem thought it would rush at him, that it would try to get to him, but he didn't expect it to run away. It shocked him just as much as it put the fear of a god into him because it ran, not float or glide through the air, ran.

Atem was so baffled by what he had just witnessed that he failed to notice the figure's solidity as it fled. It even cast a shadow under the moonlight. In Atem's head, what he saw was not real in any sense of the word, but he knew that it wasn't unreal.

He stood at the window, unconcerned with concealing himself, trying to piece it all together. Until he decided enough was enough and that he needed to get to bed before he saw anything more he did not want to see.

Atem booked it to his room and made it inside within seconds. He slammed the door shut and even locked it just in case. "What the actual fuck." He cautiously sat on his bed — talking to himself — as if sudden movements would trigger something. Atem slowly crawled under his sheets and leaned over his bedside to turn on the lamp on his night table, his mind flashing many thoughts to him. Of those being: What the fuck did he just see? And should he even go to sleep?

Atem had trouble closing his eyes that night, bewitched by the vivid memory of the hauntingly beautiful mix he saw in those orbs of pretty colors.