Sanctuary

The footsteps stop outside the door, their looming shadows swallowing the lights seeping underneath the doorframe. I have already taken the usual steps when this happens. First, get on your knees and crawl under the bed. Two, stay quiet. Three, pretend you don’t exist.

The door cracks open. A small pair of feet stands unmoving on the threshold as if waiting for a sign, silently watching the room. The figure enters the room, followed by a larger set of feet. They pause when they reach the foot of my bed. I quickly cover my mouth out of instinct. As they sit on the bed, the mattress sinks slightly underneath their weight.

They’re talking now, but their voices sound filtered through my ear; like the compressed echoes of sounds heard in the depths of the ocean.

Sushi appears in the doorframe, barking relentlessly at the spot beneath the bed, at me!

Go away! They’re not supposed to know I’m here.

The smaller pair of feet ushers Sushi out of the room and firmly shuts the door.

“You think he knows?” a female voice asks.

“Sushi?” the man says, “ He must’ve sensed it by now.”

They settle at the foot of the bed. For three weeks, their nocturnal ritual of coming and going from my room every single night has caused me to seek sanctuary under the bed. Every night for three weeks now, I’ve had to endure their horrid cries. It pains me. Sleep has forsaken me completely, for there is no sleep for the dead. There’s no way to clasp my ears from their anguish sobs and their whispers. Their cries tear my heart but I don’t want to leave them yet.

It breaks my heart less when I don’t see them.