I see things in the dark. I know they're there, even before I turn the lights off. Watching me, waiting for when those lights do turn off and they can take the opportunity to attack.
So I try to keep the lights on. But I'm not allowed to; nobody believes me when I tell them about the things in the dark. They tell me to grow up, I'm too old to be scared of the dark anymore. I tried to take a nightlight from my little sister so that it didn't get quite so dark; it was taken away from me and I was scolded again.
I'm not scared of the dark, I'm scared of what lingers in it. They come every night; they start in the corner of my room by the window, where there is just enough light that I can see them. So I know they're coming. So I can see the creepy grin and dead eyes as they move towards me.
I try to hide under the covers, or close my eyes and tell myself 'it's not real'. Then I look again and they are still there, ever moving closer, grinning at me.
As they reach the end of my bed, their hands reach out at me; clawed, gnarly hands as if belonging to some deranged old hag. Their head tilts to the side at an uncanny angle, those dead eyes staring right at me and their mouth parts to let out a laugh, lips still curled into a grin.
I try to move, to do something to ward them away, but it's like I'm frozen; I don't want them to know I'm here. I know if I can just turn on my lamp, they will leave and hide back in the dark like they always do. But I can't move to do it.
So they continue closer; I don't see if they go around my bed or crawl onto it, but the outstretched hands and creepy smiling face end up right over my chest. And then they stop, the head tilting even further sideways and their grin widening.
"Pre...tty," the quietest voice comes out, harsh and gravely. I'm frozen, I can't move. I'm holding my breath as if that could help them go away, terrified to breathe and move my chest. But I'm trembling, I can't control it.
They reach towards my face as if to grab me, but then my door slams open and my mother rushes in. Like that, then the light from the hall floods the room, they are gone back into the shadows by the window. Once they left it felt like a weight was lifted off of my chest and I could move and breathe again. My mother embraced me, telling me it was alright and asking what was wrong. I was screaming? But I couldn't move? I didn't make a sound! In her embrace I cried, terrified beyond belief. I didn't want to tell her what was wrong; she never believed me when I told her before. I don't need to hear 'you're too old to be scared of the dark, grow up!' again. So I didn't tell her.
She stayed with me for a little bit while I cried, not answering her questions. Eventually I calmed down, and she told me to get some sleep and left the room again, shutting the door.
It was quiet for a minute; I almost could fall asleep. They never appeared by the window like they always do, maybe they were done for the night.
I closed my eyes. Then I felt a hand grab my wrist, a harsh voice saying "mi..ne" before I was dragged under the bed, into the darkness.