Good night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Monsters do not live under beds or inside the wardrobe, they walk freely as you and me. They can even kiss you good night.

Submitted: October 02, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 02, 2017



I know you're there.

I don't need any light to see you.

I can feel your presence involving myself, wrapping my breath and letting me drown with the mere thought of your existence.  I stare at the ceiling, I know you're here. The characteristic noise of the floor complaining: I can see you steeping on that broken piece of wood, next to the kitchen door. The growling of the house in the middle of the night is a warning, as a beast getting ready to attack. The surreptitious rustle of your shoes cuts the air in my room, tightening my soul, already prepared for the next step.

I don't move from my bed, I don't want to make any noise.

The only thing I do is to keep my eyelids as close as possible and to pucker my lips. The dullness of the momentarily silence fills my ears as if it was a persistent whistle. A long time ago, I found a cold comfort when thinking that the house was not completely empty, as your soul. But now I know better. It is useless. It doesn't matter how much I shout, nobody will come to save me. It's you against me. A mortal duel. We already know the winner is going to be.

I hear a little "click", the door is opening, I stare at the ceiling, I feel you're here, I want to stop breathing so I can be completely quiet, but then you'll know I'm awake. I wish I could disappear, be a blow of air. I close my hands to fists. I wish I wasn't here when you arrive. The light from the corridor is a mere glimpse, gone in a second. It seems to be unreal. But I know how real it is.

You're in.

The echo of a roaring laughter finds me, like a bad joke. The worst part is not knowing when are you going to attack. Will you touch my face? Will you gently caress my hair? Smoothly, you pull out the blank sheet, a chill arises from my backbone. I feel a lump in my throat.

“Calm down, sunshine”, you whisper in my ear.

Your breath, sticky, wet, slimy... I open my eyes, I lose the control and my breath gets deeper, my heart is about to explode. In the ceiling, I feel you're here. I don't dare to look at your face, I won't be able to see you anyways. I look to another side as a tear goes down my cheek. The darkness seems to form an indefinite monster next to me.

My fists are tense and my nails bite my skin.

I feel how nude I am.

The agony invades me, goes along my body and suffocates my soul. I keep being still. Quiet. I can remember when I used to try to resist. When your hands, your fast hands covered by darkness, whip me. I remember when you bite me, yoke me as an animal. Perhaps I was an animal before, now I am just a well-taught piece of meat. I feel filthy. I stare at the ceiling, so white, so clean. I can feel you here.

She is not coming.


I feel your body on me, your brutality and my subservience, your violence and my frustration and even my skin as yours. I can feel your grubby hands going through their possessions. I can feel my hair, spread on the pillow. I can feel the pain.

As horrible waves, licking and moving the tiny sand grains, I feel your terrible sway. I wish the sway was a prelude to the death but is just another mark on the calendar. It hurts. You always make it hurts. Your breath is heavy, floating against my ear. You're not fit anymore, old fogey.

As violently as when you hit me to punish me for being who I am, I feel your soul. A soul which might crawl and tweak because of its own darkness and dirt. A soul without any soul. You yell as the pig you're.

I keep being still, waiting for you to get tired of me. At one point you'll be decent enough to take me out.

Don't let me live because I don't want to.

I just want to fly.

You've finished and I breathe again quietly. I stare at the ceiling, you're here. Your mouth bites my neck and the most painful moment, your fingers caress my hair.

“Good night” you whisper, as a farewell sign.

I feel so cold I can die. The loneliness. I can't move, I keep still, staring at the ceiling. You never really go, I still feel all of you in me. You're in my room, in my bed, in the mirror reflection, in front of my desk, on my floor, below my ceiling... In the emptiness that has become my all and that is just a miserable piece of the universe for you, perfect to be stepped upon it.

The glimpse of the light lets me know I can call it a day.

I don't want to be myself, neither anybody else.

I just want to fly.

I stare at the ceiling, knowing you're there.

I don't need any light to see you.

And, as always, when you leave, just for me and my loneliness I whisper:

“Good night, daddy.”

© Copyright 2018 Aiida. All rights reserved.

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