The Night I Woke to Something I Can’t Explain

I woke with a start, my senses prickling as though an alarm had gone off, though the room was still, the silence so thick it pressed against my ears. Something was wrong. The air was heavy, stale in a way that made my stomach twist. My head turned to the side, sluggish and unsure, and that’s when I caught the smell. Metallic, sharp, and sickly sweet. It clung to my nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe.

At first, I thought it was the remnants of some strange dream, a phantom odor lingering as I shook myself awake. But then my eyes adjusted to the dim light streaming in through the gaps in my curtains, and the dream dissolved into something much worse. There, nestled among my sheets, was a thing so grotesque, so wrong, that I felt a scream rising in my throat before I even understood what I was looking at.

A dead rat. Right there in my bed.

Its bloated body was twisted, its fur clumped together with some dark, viscous fluid that glistened in the pale light. The eyes, oh God, the eyes. Glazed over and empty, but somehow staring at me, accusing me, mocking me. I froze, every nerve in my body locked in place as I stared back at it, unable to look away. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, but there was no sense to be made. Just the smell, the sight, the suffocating horror of it all.

The spell broke suddenly, and I scrambled out of bed, my legs tangling in the sheets as I fell to the floor with a thud. My breathing came in short, panicked gasps as I pushed myself backward, away from the bed, as far as I could go until my back hit the wall. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It looked so out of place against the crisp white of my sheets, a grotesque stain on what was supposed to be my safe haven. My sanctuary.

But it wasn’t safe. Not anymore.

The smell seemed to grow stronger, more invasive, as though it were alive, crawling into my nose, my throat, my lungs. I gagged, my stomach heaving, but there was nothing to bring up. Just the acidic burn of fear and revulsion. I pressed my hand to my mouth, tears streaming down my face as my mind replayed the scene over and over. The rat. In my bed. How? Why?

I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling beneath me. I needed to do something, anything, but I didn’t know where to start. My gaze darted to the window. It was closed. Locked. The door too. I’d checked it before I went to sleep, like I always did. So how had it gotten in? My stomach churned again, and this time, it wasn’t just the smell.

Someone had put it there. They had to have. There was no other explanation. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through me, and I stumbled toward the door, my hands fumbling with the lock. I opened it just enough to peer out into the hallway. Empty. Quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels heavy, like it’s hiding something.

I stepped out, every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet setting my nerves on edge. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears, drowning out the silence. I checked the windows again. Locked. The front door. Secure. No signs of a break-in. Nothing to suggest that someone had been here, that they’d crept into my room while I slept, carrying that vile, decaying thing with them. But they must have. They must have.

Back in my room, the rat was still there, unmoving but somehow more menacing. I didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t even want to get close to it. But I couldn’t just leave it there. My fingers shook as I grabbed an old towel from the closet, wrapping it around my hand like some makeshift barrier. I approached the bed slowly, my breaths shallow and uneven, and reached out. The weight of it was heavier than I expected, solid and unyielding. I nearly dropped it as I carried it to the trash bag I’d laid out on the floor, but I forced myself to keep going. One step at a time until it was out of my room, out of my house, dumped into the bin at the far end of the yard.

But it wasn’t gone. Not really. The smell lingered, a ghost of the horror that had invaded my space. And the fear—the fear was worse. It clung to me, whispering in the back of my mind. Who had done this? Why? What were they trying to tell me?

The questions haunted me, filling every quiet moment with unease. I slept with the lights on for the next few nights, the curtains drawn tight. Every noise made me jump, every shadow seemed to move. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me, that they were waiting for something.

Then I found the box.

It was a few days later, tucked away in the attic where I’d gone to look for an old photo album. I almost missed it, a small wooden thing half-buried under a pile of forgotten knickknacks. But something about it caught my eye. The carvings on the lid, intricate and strange, seemed to shimmer in the dim light. My fingers hesitated for a moment before lifting it open.

Inside was a collection of objects, each more unsettling than the last. A dried-up spider, its legs curled in on itself. A tarnished silver locket that wouldn’t open, no matter how hard I tried. And at the very bottom, resting on a piece of faded velvet, was a single rat’s tooth. Yellowed and cracked, it seemed to radiate malice. My stomach turned, and I slammed the lid shut, but it was too late. The realization had already taken root in my mind.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t a prank. This was deliberate. A message.

But from who? And why?

I searched the attic for clues, for anything that could tell me where the box had come from, but there was nothing. Just the box and its horrifying contents, sitting there like a taunt. A threat. I brought it downstairs, placing it on the kitchen table as I paced the room, my mind racing. The rat, the box, the tooth—it all meant something, but I couldn’t piece it together. And that was the worst part. The not knowing. The waiting.

Every night since has been a battle. I’ve tried to act normal, to go about my life as though nothing has changed, but it’s impossible. The shadows feel darker now, the silence heavier. I’ve started locking every door, every window, double and triple-checking them before I go to bed. But even that doesn’t help. Not really. Because no matter how secure I make my home, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s already been breached. That someone, somewhere, is watching. Waiting.

And I have no idea what they’ll do next.