She said they were night terrors.

Claws sliding along the shelf, a hollow foot at the bottom of the door. Mottled black teeth skirting up the cotton sheets, two round things under the bed that blinked.

I was young, foolish and sleep deprived, a startlingly vivid imagination was not unheard of.

Ten years later, when friendships and long summers and paper exams had long ago blurred the rippling shadows which gripped my heels, I was struck with a humming, movement in the corner of my eye, a dark spot flickering behind my reflection in the little handheld mirror I got for my birthday. When I stayed up late and was the last to retreat upstairs, I could've sworn the all-consuming darkness I was watching––was watching back.

Then––an afterthought, really, just the sudden knowing printed on the soft, fleshy part of my brain:

"If you don't make it up the stairs in 7 seconds, you'll––"

Then, nothing.

I paused mid-step.

Well not nothing, the thought just sort-of faded away. If you don't, you'll––an open-ended question, or threat, if you will. Like a parent when time-out and being grounded simply didn't do the trick anymore.

I switched off the stairlight, and hurried up without looking back.

Least to say, these voices continued.

"If you don't get your feet under the blanket in 6 seconds, you'll––" or maybe, "If you don't shut and lock the door in 5 seconds, you'll––"

There was something for certain happening here, because the time limits were decreasing. 7, 6, 5, 4, 3...

On the day of 2 seconds, when my mind, now moldable and utterly happy to comply with any demand––sick or twisted––was on the verge of hysteria (YOU'LL...WHAT? WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ME?), I felt...things.

A brush of fingers on my neck when less than half of a second was left. A light breathing, just outside the blanket I trembled beneath. That's when it all went downhill...down, down, down with the Shadowman.

Now the commands had a voice, a feel to them. They were urgent, and hysterical, as if I could see what they saw I would never want to close my eyes again.

30 seconds, a minute to be sure, every piece of visible skin hidden. Don't move, don't even breathe.

They will know.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, chest palpitating thunderously, hands hugging knees as close as possible. Sometimes, I thought I heard––although I could've just imagined it––shoes, shuffling along the wood of my floor. Schhh. Schhh. Schhhh.

3,

2,

1––

gasping for breath, cold air soothing my electrified nerves.

...There was something terribly wrong with me.