The Sleepless Night

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The house was a fortress under siege. Its wooden frame was begging for reprieve with its creaking and groaning, as if in protest against these invisible forces that pressed in upon it from outside. Outside, the cacophony of strange noises painted a terrifying portrait of a world gone mad. My mom and dad slumped around the house, haunted and sleep-deprived. Their eyes, once lit by warmth and love, held a chilling emptiness. I sat at the top of the stairs, sentinel, with all senses on high alert. The house could have been a labyrinth of shadows; each creak of a board, each whisper of air, sent shivers down my spine. Then it came: a thunderous pounding at the front door, followed by a guttural scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. The sound of breaking glass shattered the tense silence.

Morning painted the colours of terror in the house. The furniture was upside down, but there was a battlefield everywhere. The surroundings so familiar now turned into grotesque tableaux of destruction. There were no parents; their disappearance was silent and was followed by an oppressive silence interrupted by the mournful wail of wind.

Days became indistinguishable within a whirlpool of fear and isolation. Sleep had been outlawed as an indulgence, a dangerous temptation lurking in the shadows of my mind. Hallucinations turned into my constant companions—grotesque figures dancing at the periphery of vision. A house that had been my safe haven suddenly became a prison, with its walls closing in on me.

Then, the smothering silence was dented by a whisper soft as a moth's wing. I walked down the stairs, my heart caught in this tug-of-war between my fear and my hope. There, at the kitchen table, in the dim, ethereal light, she was sitting with her skin pale and translucent, her eyes hollow and dark.

A sense of relief washed over me, but it was brief. Her eyes, once so full of love and concern, now gleamed with cold, predatory intentions as I drew closer. A low growl issued from her lips, a sound somehow human, yet far from it.

Terror gripped me as I recoiled backward. Shadows flung themselves out to the edges of my vision, elongating into sinister shapes. No longer a prison, the house had transformed into a hunting ground.

The days that followed were undistinguishable from one another—a blur of terror and isolation. I wandered around the house, a ghost in my own home, tuned into every possible sound, though my mind raced. There was an overwhelming sense of quiet, occasionally punctuated by the creaking of the floorboards or, farther away, the howling of the wind. I slept fitfully, invaded in my dreams by images of grotesque creatures, the infected.

One night I lay awake in the darkness and suddenly heard a sound—gentle scratching at the door. My heart was pounding in my chest as I crept closer; my hand was shaking as it reached for the door handle. I turned slowly, straining my eyes in the poor light.

Standing there, in the corridor, was a figure whose face couldn't be distinguished because it was buried in the darkness. It began to move closer to me with silent steps. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light. I screamed my voice hoarse in the whispered echo of the night. It flew at me, and I stumbled backward with my heart pounding in my chest.

I jolted awake, my body soaking wet with sweat. It was only a dream, I kept telling myself as I lay there, trying to catch my breath and slow my racing heart. That gnawing fear, though—it was real. Whatever was out there, I knew it was just a matter of time before it found me.

Weeks went by, and the fear didn't fade. I turned into a shadow of my former self, a hollow shell of a person. The house was no longer just some roof over my head; it had become a tomb, a prison in which the vermin of my mind picked relentlessly.

One night, lying awake in the dark, I heard something, the scratching at the door. My heart was racing as I had crept closer and reached out a shaking hand for the doorknob. Slowly, I turned open the door and strained my eyes into the dark.

He stood there, further down the hall, a figure with a face obscured by darkness. It took a step towards me; its footsteps were silent, and its eyes glowed with an unnatural light. I screamed. My voice was hoarse and hardly whispered into the night. The figure lunged at me, and I stumbled back with a pounding heart.

I woke up with a jerk; my body was covered in sweat. It was just a dream, I told myself, trying to calm my racing heart. But the fear that gnawed at me was real. I knew that whatever was out there, it would only be a matter of time before it found me.