The Girl in the Doorway

Elias woke up drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as though he had just

run for miles. The darkness of his room pressed in on him, heavy and

suffocating. He reached for the lamp on the bedside table, his fingers

fumbling against the cold metal base. When the light flickered on, it did

little to chase away the shadows clinging to the corners of the room.

The remnants of the dream still clung to him, vivid and raw. He couldn’t

remember the details, but the feelings remained: fear, guilt, and the

gnawing sense of something lost. He swung his legs over the side of the

bed and sat there, trembling, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress

as if to ground himself in reality.

This was the third night this week, the third time he had been jolted awake

by the invisible weight of his past. He couldn’t name it, couldn’t explain it,

but it was always there, lurking just behind his eyelids. Every time he

closed his eyes, it threatened to pull him under.

Elias ran a hand through his damp hair, his fingers tangling in the curls.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 3:12 a.m. The world outside his

window was silent, the kind of silence that felt eerie rather than peaceful.

He hated this hour, when everything felt too still, too exposed. It was when

the memories were loudest, screaming in the void left by the absence of

sound.

He pushed himself to his feet, his movements sluggish and deliberate. The

wooden floorboards creaked under his weight as he made his way to the

bathroom. The harsh fluorescent light buzzed to life as he flicked the

switch, illuminating his reflection in the mirror. Dark circles framed his

hollow eyes, and his face was pale, almost ghostly. He barely recognized

himself anymore.

Elias splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it momentarily snapping

him out of his haze. But when he looked up again, he froze. There, in the

mirror, was a shadow that didn’t belong. It lingered behind him, shapeless

but suffused with malice. His breath caught in his throat, and he spun

around, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Nothing. The bathroom was empty, just as it had always been. But the

shadow—or whatever it was—had felt real. Too real. He leaned against the

sink, his hands gripping the porcelain so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The hallucinations were getting worse. He had been seeing them more

frequently, creeping into the edges of his vision, haunting his every waking

moment. And he couldn’t tell anyone. He couldn’t risk being seen as

broken.

He thought about calling Dr. Mills, the therapist he’d seen briefly after…

well, after everything. But the thought of opening up again, of laying bare

the pieces of himself he’d worked so hard to keep hidden, was unbearable.

No one could understand. No one could fix this.

Elias left the bathroom, turning off the light and plunging himself back into

the dimness of his apartment. He paced the small living room, his bare feet

brushing against the worn rug. Outside, the wind rattled the windows, a

low, mournful sound that matched the rhythm of his thoughts.

The hallucinations always came at night, when he was alone with his

thoughts and the ghosts of his past. He’d see fleeting images—a flash of a

face, a figure in the distance, shadows moving where they shouldn’t. And

then there were the whispers, soft and unintelligible, but unmistakably

there. He’d tried to convince himself it was just his mind playing tricks on

him, a cruel side effect of his trauma. But deep down, he wasn’t so sure.

As the hours dragged on, Elias found himself staring out the window at the

empty street below. The faint glow of a streetlamp illuminated the

pavement, casting long shadows that danced with the swaying of the trees.

He wondered if anyone else was awake, if anyone else felt the crushing

weight of existence in the dead of night.

When the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Elias finally

sank onto the couch, exhausted but unable to sleep. He closed his eyes,

just for a moment, and that’s when he heard it—a laugh, light and melodic,

like the chiming of bells. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up, scanning

the room. It was empty, just as it had always been.

But then he saw her. A girl, no older than ten, standing in the doorway to

the kitchen. Her hair was long and tangled, her dress faded and torn. She

looked at him with wide, curious eyes, her head tilted slightly to the side.

Elias’s heart leapt into his throat, and he froze, unable to speak, unable to

move.

“Who are you?” he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper. The girl

didn’t answer. She simply smiled, a soft, almost sad expression that tugged

at something deep inside him. And then, as quickly as she had appeared,

she was gone, leaving nothing but the faintest trace of warmth in the air.

Elias sat there, staring at the empty doorway, his mind racing. He didn’t

know who she was or why she had appeared, but something about her

presence felt different. She wasn’t like the shadows or the whispers. She

wasn’t like the other hallucinations that plagued him. She felt… real.

For the first time in months, Elias felt a flicker of something he couldn’t

quite name. It wasn’t peace, and it wasn’t happiness, but it was something.

A tiny spark in the darkness, a reminder that he wasn’t entirely lost.

As the morning light filled the room, chasing away the shadows, Elias made

a silent promise to himself. He would keep going. He would face the

darkness, one day at a time. And maybe, just maybe, he would find his way

back to the light.