At night, I like to sit by the window and just watch the people outside. I watch them and try to imagine who they are and what they do. What is their purpose? I wish I knew what mine was. Every night when it reaches evening, I can't imagine what it is like to get to tomorrow. Sometimes every minute feels more than impossible, it makes it hard to breathe, but I try.
As I sit and watch the people in the busy street below, I like to make up stories about their lives and where they have come from, or where they live. When they go home, is it warm? Is it to a loving family with big smiles and welcoming arms? That picture always feels like warm sunlight that I can't, quite touch.
I wonder if any of them are scared. Do they go back to homes filled with darkness, where the bad man hides? Does he scare them? Do they know he is even there? I watch the children, and wonder if they fear the sound of their fathers thumping footsteps, the same way I still do, when I see his car pull up outside the building I live in, or when I hear his key in the lock of my door.
How can people not be afraid at night? It must be a peaceful feeling, to not be scared, to not know the monsters in the darkness. How are they not afraid of the bad man? He can come at any time. In the shadows at night, I know he is watching, I can feel him there, if I just listened harder, then I would be able to hear his breathing. When darkness comes, I feel him there all the time.
I like when Will, my son, is here. I like to listen to him instead, when he is asleep. The light breaths he takes with the occasional baby gurgle as he rolls over. I like to listen to the gentle whimpers of his sleep; I try to imagine what he dreams of. Does he dream about me or his mother? His toys? Cartoons, or does he know about the bad man? Does he make him scared?
I sit in his room at night, shut the door tight and push a box in front of it, so no one can get in. I open his window a little and his curtains, so I can smoke my cigarette and the smoke slips outside and not over to Will, but more than that. So if someone does come, we can get out. It’s a jump from this floor up, but I have worked it out. Just out of his window and I can step down onto the porch, which covers the front door, then I can climb down the side of it, with Will in my arms. Sometimes I think about testing it.
I don’t leave Will alone in his room at night. That’s when the bad man comes. I don’t want him to come into Will’s room and do the same things to him, that he did to me. I can't let that happen. If I sleep in another room, then the bad man can get in and maybe I will be asleep and not hear Will scream. My mum didn’t ever hear me. I screamed as loud as I could, but she still didn’t ever come. She said she didn’t know, she didn’t hear me, but I really tried. I screamed and cried, but I couldn’t make her hear me and then the bad man made me go to sleep.
Only my bear kept me safe, Mr. Ted, he was magic when I was little, but not anymore. Now he sits on Will’s shelf, the bad man still can't come when he is there. I don’t tell people about Mr. Ted, they will think I am crazy. I know he is just a teddy bear, I know he isn’t real, but if I get rid of him, then the bad man might come back.
I finish my cigarette and flick the stub out of the window, down onto the empty street below, but I don’t close the window or the curtains, I need them open, just in case. I don’t like how it feels when they are closed. It makes me feel like I am stuck inside. I need to be able to get out fast if the bad man comes.
I leave Will’s small lamp on, so that I can see around the room. No one can sneak up on me, if they get past the door. They can’t hide and jump out when I don’t see. Will’s lamp has a blue shade, it has stars and teddy bears cut into the side. The shade slowly turns around, and the bears dance along his wall. My Nan gave it to him. So that he can have nice dreams.
I prop a cushion on the floor, against the wall in the corner next to the lamp and lean against that. I pull a blanket over my legs and read until my eyes are too tired to stay open, so I fall to sleep.
Sometimes I read all night. I don’t do it on purpose, just sleep never comes, and then the sun rises and Will wants to get up and play.
I listen to all the noises all around. I listen for someone on the stairs outside my flat. No one else lives upstairs, just Will and I. My dad hasn’t finished decorating the rest of them yet. Plastic sheets replace doors and windows, white sheets cover the surfaces he has already installed. The floors are bare, just wooden slats. I listen for anyone stepping on them, I listen for them creaking.
At night, when I have fallen asleep, but some noise in dream or real has woken me up. I look over to the bottom of Will’s door, my heart bangs and my chest grows tight and I hope that tonight, I don’t see feet at the other side.
Waiting.
