Night Terror

'The New Beast Under Your Bed' by Azzurayelos at DeviantArt

I woke up in my bed, cocooned in warmth and comfort.  I was in the perfect position – the one you can spend most of the night looking for in bed and loath to leave in the morning in the morning, certain that you’ll never be able to find it again.  Your entire body is limp and relaxed, the comforter over you is snug, but not constricting, you’re lying right on the mattress’s sweet spot, free of lumps and dips, and the temperature is toasty warm.

Even before looking at the glowing red numbers on the clock radio beside my bed, I knew it was still well before daybreak, seeing as the room was pitch black, impossible to see a hand in front of my face.  I was about to go back to sleep when a realization hit me – something had woke me up.  I have no idea what, some sort of out of place sound made its way through the deep layers of sleep to my unconscious, rousing me.

Without moving, I strained my senses trying to comprehend what it had been.  Seconds and eventually minutes ticked by.  There was the faint sound of wind from outside, the occasional and familiar low creek and groaning of the house settling, and finally my own rhythmic breathing.  I was just about to give up and surrender back to sleep when I heard it.  It was only for a moment, at the very edge of my hearing, and then I lost it – breathing at a rhythm different than my own.

All of a sudden sleep was the farthest thing from my mind.  Fear focused and sped up my thoughts along with my heart rate.

The only other people that were supposed to be in the house were my parents, most likely sleeping down the hall from me.  There was no reason for them to be in my room, in the dark, at this time of night.

Did someone break in?  If it was a thief, the safest thing was to probably fake being asleep until he at least left the room.  But what if he was something else?  An escaped convict, a psychopathic murderer…

That is the problem with being in the dark – when the mind doesn’t have enough information to work with, it fills in the blanks.  The human imagination can be infinitely more frightening than reality.

I made a conscious effort to calm myself, at least a little.  Panicking would only keep me from thinking and acting smartly.  I sort of succeeded.  I strained my senses once more wanting some sort of confirmation that I wasn’t alone – maybe I simply imagined the breathing.

But I didn’t.  Over several minutes I heard light breathing various times.  It always seemed to come from my right, at the opposite wall of the door.  All right, there was a stranger in my room, but at least I knew where he was.  But what do I do…

Unexpectedly, I heard a new sound, louder than the breathing.  It took me a few moments to place it – the sound of claws on hardwood floors.  I didn’t own a pet.

It wasn’t a person… It was something.  How the hell did an animal get inside my home!  Surprisingly, the idea of facing an unknown and potentially dangerous animal generates a completely different, more primal type of fear than the thought of facing a human.  I never realized that there existed such a numerous and diverse selection of flavors of fear.

I heard the breathing again.  This time it was from a different spot.  It was moving… coming closer.

I bit my tongue till I tasted blood, trying to control my breathing and keep myself quiet.  My heartbeat boomed in my ears with a rising beat I was sure whatever it was out there could hear.  I started to feel myself tremble, be it from fear or adrenaline, I didn’t know.  It was hard keeping my body from curling up into the fetus position.

An idea speared through my mind – what if it could smell my fear.  That catapulted me into near panic.  My immediate plan was to simply play possum – the idea that whatever it was could tell I was awake and afraid was terrifying.

I needed light.  It boarded on a physical need.  If I was going to act, I needed to turn the lights on.  My bedside lamp was within arm’s length, but what then?  Fight or flight?  I couldn’t run outright – getting out of bed, making my way over to the door and opening it would most likely take too long.  I would have to fight it off as I ran for help.

I had a pocket knife in a drawer at the other side of the room, but there was no way I could reach it in time, let alone find it in the dark.  My wooden baseball bat was in the corner, about four feet away – that I could reach pretty quickly.  All right, I had a plan.  Throw off the covers and jump out of bed.  On my way, slap the bedside lamp on.  Grab my bat for protection, then head for the door, get out of the room and call out for my parents.  Pray whatever it is isn’t faster than me.

I braced myself both mentally and physically to act.  In 3… 2…

I never made it to one.

I heard the sound of rapidly moving claws on a hard surface, but hardly before I could process it, something landed heavily on my midsection, knocking the wind from me.  The seconds seemed to passed like hours as I struggled to regain my breath with the intruding and alien weight on me.

When I finally did sit up and scream, it was no longer dark.  Through blinking eyes, I took in my surroundings.  I was daytime, early morning by my clock.  There was nothing on top of me, and looking around my room showed me it was empty.  Both my window and door seemed well shut and secure.

Even as I felt my breathing and heart rate calm, I heard my mother calling to me from downstairs, along with the sound of my father’s racing footfalls up the stairs.

It must have been a dream.  Just a dream.

Only hours later, after I was well into the days routine, would I find the deeply etched and mysterious claw marks in the wood of my bedroom floor.