The Crazies

 It was the third Friday of October, about a week out from Halloween. The day seemed to drag on, so hopping into bed at night was a relief. As I slowly rested my head into my pillow and I drifted into a deep sleep, the world around me turned and everything was dark. Hours later, I rolled around and read the clock; 3:17 AM. My mouth gaped open to yawn making me realize how dry it was. I tiptoed down the stairs feeling my bare feet hit the cold wooden floor before arriving in the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door and feeling that bright light hit my face my eyes flinched a bit before adjusting. When I went to grab the pitcher, I felt a presence watching me but as I turned around to confront it, only the back of a shadow ran towards the living room. I quickly closed the refrigerator door, opened a drawer, grabbed the biggest piece of cutlery I could find, and ran straight to my room. Frantically, I yanked my phone off the base dialing 9-1-1. I silently waited for the ring to start all I could hear was a straight buzz, signaling to me that my lines had been cut.

I sat in my room awaiting the sun to finally rise or this intruder to go away. What felt like hours had only been 30 minutes, hearing only a few quiet noises every once in a while. After a full hour had passed, I mustered up the courage to take on this task myself and walked silently through my upstairs hall to the gun safe. I needed to get this person out of my house.

Turning the corner, I walked down the stairs, skipping the ones I knew would creek. After hearing a loud crash, again all I could see was the back of a black figure running in the opposite direction. I yelled to the figure, warning them that I had a gun and I was not afraid to use it. It was now completely silent. Nothing more happened; no creek, no whisper, no sound. Except for the crashing of a door opening and closing. They had finally left. That criminal was no longer rummaging through my house. I ran the rest of the way downstairs, locked my front door, and ran back upstairs to my bed feeling much safer. Again, I laid my head into my pillow and slowly watched the world around me turn as I fell asleep. 

I sheepishly woke up to what I assumed to be the early morning, stretched my arms, and turned to look at my alarm clock; 3:17 AM. “This can’t be,” I repeated in my head. Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe I should try falling asleep again. I flopped over onto my side and squeezed my eyes shut, wishing and praying it would be 7 in the morning. But to my dismay, it was still that same wretched time of 3:17 AM. 

As I laid in bed, I heard crashing from downstairs. And when I went to check on it, I saw that same shadow. The night seemed to be repeating itself and it was making me crazy. I went to the same routine of trying to call for help, grabbing the gun, and waiting to hear the door creek open and close, finally laying my head down after all of it, only to wake up to 3:17 AM. What seemed to be the sixth time I repeated this routine, I decided to change something. I went downstairs with the gun, sat in my living room, and waited. Once I saw that figure go past, I followed it. I was so engulfed in this shadow walking from room to room trying to find it. Feeling a tap on my shoulder, assuming it was the shadow, I closed my eyes and fired my gun. I opened my eyes only to find my best friend, laying on my wooden floor, dead. Just as I sat there in disbelief right next to her body, here I now sit in this psych ward always contemplating what had happened that night.

~S. Weenie