In the dark
When people used to say they’re afraid of the dark, afraid of the monster in their closet, afraid to close their eyes because they’re scared someone will come and kill them in their sleep, I used to laugh and call them stupid. That’s until I met her. I still remember the night she first came. She was just standing over my bed, watching me sleep. “What a handsome boy,” she had said, stroking my sweaty cheek. I just stared at her. All of a sudden she had started laughing hysterically, then she brought out a knife coated in blood. Pressing it against my throat, she whispered into my ear, “Goodnight, sweet boy.” And she was gone. I was so scared, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I thought it was a dream, a scary dream, but she visited every night, each time, saying the exact same things. I became drunk on fear, and everywhere I went, I could sense her presence. And then one night I decided it was enough. Grabbing my knife, I later in bed. Soon enough she came, with a sickly sweet smile that would’ve made me swoon in different circumstances. She came close to me, with the same bloody knife, and pressed it against my throat. Before she could say anything, I plunged the knife into her stomach. She stopped, and stared at me, confused. And then she fell. I should’ve let her go, but I didn’t. I jumped on top of her and plunged the knife into her repeatedly. She was screaming, begging me to stop. And then the light went on, and I saw the horrified faces of ny parents as they stared at the bloody mess that used to be my brother.