Family Ties

4- The Clock Hits Midnight

I was now hyperventilating.
Fully aware of what was going on.
I knew I wasn't alone in this house.
But was I alone in my mind?
My brain was rattled.
Scattering through theories of why this... thing existed.
Attempting to slow my breathing.
Didn't work.
Damn.
Is it in the room yet?
That was all I was thinking...

Bombarded with thoughts of terror and confusion, all I could do was stifle my tears, as, slowly but surely, the sound of my bedroom door- my protection of privacy- creaked open slowly. The hinges screamed in agony as they compressed against the wall. Then, with no hesitation, the disconcerting sound of hard, metallic footsteps pressed onto the creaky floorboards. It was in my room. It was here.

Kept trying to slow my breathing.
I didn't want it to know I was in here.
Guttural noises kept emanating from my stomach and mouth.
My head pounded with it overflowing with pain, fear and so, so many questions.
Could this even be a nightmare anymore?
Or was it real?

Apparently, I didn't do well enough to succeed in my subtlety, as, seconds later, I practically felt a frozen breeze squeeze through the cracks of my hiding place. Hairs on my neck and arms stood to attention, as I cowered, slumping lower and lower in my own entrapment.

It... was right outside.

That is when I heard it: the voice that I heard two years prior while sprinting through that decaying city. Before, it was a low, grumbling tone that somehow still represented a screech. Words could only just string into a sentence as I was stuck to make sense of them as I ran.

However, this time it was different. Below the familiar tune of terrifying noises, I managed to hear the calm and composed voice of a teenager. A boy, perhaps, although it was hard to tell. His voice was polite and he spoke in an articulate manner. Manners were the last thing I had expected from this demon of my mind, but it didn't shock me enough to continue to try and make sense of it all. Zoning in on this faint voice, I heard clearer than before, recognising the accent as one of Southern England but with odd mannerisms in his voice. His tone was one of suppressed disappointment and dissatisfaction. For the first time in almost 3 years of this dreaded curse, I felt like I was involved with another person; not a demon.

Despite my fear still pulling me down, I just managed to clamber to my feet from my sunken state, to press my ear against the door of the wardrobe, waiting patiently to hear a full sentence be spoken between the mumbling.

My patience was rewarded.

All other noises were now drowned out: the harsh wind blowing outside, the distant sound of a dog barking, the many bottles clinking together on the floor. All became a series of nothingness as I focused on the unique.

All sound stopped, as I heard this teenage voice utter a few simple words for only me to hear.

"Fine. I'll come next year. 18 it is."

The world began to crash down on me. Reality began to penetrate my eyesight before suddenly, I was greeted by the warmth of my covers and the view of my ceiling.