I walk around my gloomy house feeling the shiver of a cold spirit following my every turn. The floor boards creek under my every step, followed by the echo of my haunting shadow whom I never see. As I enter the hallway to my room, I quicken my steps in order to hopefully lose the ghost I seem to have present, or in my mind.
As I reach my door, I can hear it approaching; taking its time as it seems to be struggling to follow me. As I enter my room, I shut the door and lock it; the steps are now on the other side, unable to cross the barrier I've put up.
I sit on my bed, hearing it pace from one side of the hall to the other, wondering just what it wants from me.
"Who are you?" and as the words leave my mouth, the steps are making their way to the stairs, and soon I no longer hear them again. At least for now.
My room, my sanctuary; it is my safe haven. I escape from everything, my reality, my dreams and everything else around me. The house I live in was built in the 1850s. In that time, it was beautiful. The stairs were shinning, a silver finish along the banister. But now, when I make my way down the stairs, the banister cracks along the delicate touch of my finger, and I have to remember not to slide my hand otherwise I will be covered in blistering slivers.
The sun is beginning to set rather quickly, and as it meets the end of the horizon, I come to terms with the passing feeling that soon I will be face to face with the unknown of the continuation of my breath.
The footsteps are coming back, quickly. I've come to realise that as the nights seem to come and go, the spirit of my unknown becomes stronger. I set myself down in my bed, hiding myself under the covers, with my face creeping out. The moon sheds light into the window in the hall, and I hear it still pacing back and fourth, but no shadow being cast on the floor.
"What do you want from me!" and the steps now come to an abrupt stop. The handle of my door fidgets; "Go away! I don't want you here."
My face now fixated on the handle, still being tempered with, haunts me. My eyes want to shut, as they burn; but I can't yet shut them, for my dreams become part of my reality.
I fail to do so, and my eyes close on their own.
I had a dream that night, it was a lovely dream. The stars lit up the sky, and the moon was wickedly bright. As much as I loved looking into the stars from the empty field, I felt a sense of fear come over me instantly. I was experiencing an episode of paralysis, it seems, and suddenly I wished I wasn't. There it was, or rather, there HE was. The ever ruin to my peaceful mind, the haunting of my days.
He stood over me, his skin melting, covered in blood and boils. His eyes screamed for help, but his expression forever tells me he was at peace. He stood there, watching me scream for help. And the louder I yelled, my throat began to struggle, my voice began to fade. And as it did, he reached down with his hand to touch my face.
And there I was, in bed. Muted by the screams in my dreams, my thoughts are taken over by my own echoes. I look at the clock, it had only been a few hours since I fell asleep, and the only thing keeping me at peace is the realisation, it was just a dream.