You might think of this as a ghost story, a haunting of sorts, but I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts or the paranormal – that’s a difficult thing for an atheist to do. Ghosts or gods, good or evil, I’ve never seen any reason for faith, any reason to see beyond what is clearly there. Most people find it comforting, a source of solace, to know that there is something after death, to know that they will continue on in one form or another, and when I was younger I was very much the same. Why on earth would anyone want their life to come to an end? No matter how painful life may get, how hopeless and tiring one’s day-to-day existence might become – surely, it’s better than nothing?
The idea of nothingness in itself was incomprehensibly terrifying to me. No more physical existence, no more mental existence, no more spiritual existence. Just – nothing. I used to lay awake at night as a child, praying to God for God to be real, praying that there was something after death, anything. If we could prepare ourselves for the nothingness then it might be easier to accept, but how could we possibly prepare ourselves for something that is simply impossible to experience, impossible to even imagine? Existence is conceivable: it is innately known. Nothingness, on the other hand, is unknown, and it’s the unknown that truly terrifies people, that lets their imaginations run wild, that makes them fear the nothingness, that makes them pray to stay alive, despite their misery. But not myself, not anymore.
* * *
It began on a cold November evening. The rain was pouring down outside, knocking at the bedroom window very much like it is tonight, and I was wrapped up in bed, white satin sheets pulled up to my neck, trying to contain the warmth within. The candle to my left, standing tall on the bedside table, flickered in and out of conciseness as the wax slowly began to fall, and I lay watching it, mesmerised by the flame. Lying silently to my right, facing the other way was Richard, my husband. I could feel him breathing, his ribs rising and falling, still awake, but silent. It’s funny how you pick up on little things like that when you share a bed with someone night after night, the difference between their breathing patterns when asleep and awake, all their movements, all their little noises.
As I lay there watching the red wax trickle down the candle, my eyes wearily closing, my thoughts began to spiral. I lay in that moment right before sleep, when the most bizarre thoughts begin to form, thoughts that you can’t account for, thoughts that feel like they don’t even belong to you – when suddenly, I heard a noise.
Slam! My eyes shot open. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to bring me back to consciousness. A slamming sound, somewhere in our apartment building, quite far off by the sound of it – a door, a window, it could have been anything. There was no reason to take note of it. Then came the next noise. No more than thirty seconds after the slam, and equally far off, came what sounded like the shattering of glass. I remained where I lay, my body stiff, a tingle running down my spine. Okay, I thought, it sounds as though this is coming from the same apartment, perhaps someone came home late, slammed the door, and knocked over a glass, there’s really nothing to be concerned about, we’re not being broken into, we’re safe here, it’s probably nothing. Then came the scream. I darted up in bed, my eyes now wide open, staring in the direction from which it came, nothing but darkness lightly illuminated by the fading embers of the candle. The scream was faint – no doubt it came from the same apartment as the previous two noises – but a scream is not something you ignore.
‘Richard,’ I whispered, turning to him, placing my hand gently on his shoulder. ‘Are you awake?’
He stirred, his speech faint and confused. ‘Hmm? What time is it?’
I stared at his face, trying to find comfort in his features. ‘Richard, I think someone might be in trouble.’
He stirred again. ‘Huh?’ He rolled over to face me, gingerly opening his eyes. ‘What are you talking about?’ I remained sat up, looking into the darkness, nervous at what might come next. ‘Oscar, what’s going on?’ he said with irritation in his voice, annoyed at the disturbance.
‘I don’t know, but someone just screamed and I’m pretty sure it came from our apartment block.’
He rolled back over, the bed creaking as he mumbled, ‘It’s probably just a drunk person or something, go to sleep.’
I lay back down, turning over to see the candle wax slowly falling onto the guard below. Sure, I thought, people scream for different reasons. Sometimes people scream out of excitement, when they’ve just received good news, sometimes they scream out of sheer joy, from the thrill of feeling alive, but sometimes, people scream out of fear. And that’s what this was. Fear.
Richard’s breathing had changed, he had returned to his slumber, his chest moving up and down under the weight of the duvet. Of course, I thought, wasn’t it always like this? Richard finding peace, where I found fear. I lay there trying to stifle my thoughts. What could I really do? If someone was actually in danger, how would I know which flat to check? The noises were all very faint, and if I could hear them, then so could others, others that were much closer than me, and I’m sure that those others will check in.
Besides, Richard was probably right: it’s likely that it was just a drunkard, just an accident, a little scare in the night, nothing to worry about.
* * *
Mine and Richard’s relationship was a complicated one. We had only known each other for six months when he proposed to me. I hadn’t even met his family yet. My friends thought I was crazy when I told them and warned me against doing it, but they didn’t know Richard like I did: he was caring, compassionate, honest, and loved me despite all of my flaws. I can see him now, down on one knee, his hands trembling as he opened the box to the engagement ring, tears of joy surfacing in his bright blue eyes. It was the happiest day of my life.
I was single when I moved from Brighton to London. I didn’t know a soul in the city and wanted to gain a sense of community, a friendship group within the local area, so I decided to look online for local groups. I tried a few things out, running clubs, pub quiz nights, paint and sip events, but none of them stuck, they all felt too forced. When walking home one night from the pub quiz, I stumbled across a book shop with an advertisement in its window for a queer book club. I love reading and always have, but have never felt like the kind of person that was able to ‘dissect’ and ‘interpret’ a book in a literate and cohesive way. I just enjoyed the stories. However, this was a new me, and after building up the courage, I decided to head down to the event.
He caught my eye straight away. He wasn’t exactly my usual type, my usual type being women, but there was something about him, a confidence that I found myself lacking. It was the first queer relationship either of us had been in and it felt like we were both experiencing love for the first time. It was intense, but it felt right. We would spend all of our free time together, cooking, reading, laughing, and staring into each other’s eyes. It was perfect. Unfortunately, however, it did not last for long.
After a few months of being married, Richard started to change. At first it started with small things: he began coming home later from work, often intoxicated, resulting in us spending less time together. However, although I saw him less, when I did see him, he was merry, arriving home tipsy and excited to see me. At least we were getting on. He recently started a new job at a law firm in the city and I thought it was important for him to bond with his colleagues, to make connections, but the more this continued, the more it seemed that it wasn’t really about the job at all, the more it seemed that it was about us, about me.
As the weeks went by we started seeing even less of each other. He began staying out much later than before, and returning home much drunker, the alcohol visibly marinating in his pores. But it wasn’t just the drink. When he’d arrive home, he would be different, irritable, almost annoyed at my presence. Instead of staying up, drunkenly recounting his escapades, he would go straight to bed, ignoring my attempts at conversation, and avoiding my touch.
‘What was that about last night?’ he said, as we sat across from each other eating our dinner at the kitchen table. ‘I barely slept a wink after you woke me.’
I finished my mouthful of lentils, undercooked, I thought. ‘I told you, I heard someone scream, I was concerned.’
He stared at me. ‘Mmm, okay, fair enough, but don’t do it again please.’
I paused, my spoon hovering before my mouth. ‘Do what again?’
He looked at me, stupefied. ‘Wake me up when you’re hearing noises in the night.’
I looked him in the eyes. ‘What do you mean hearing noises in the night? Do you think I was just hearing things?’
He mopped up the remaining sauce in his bowl with the last of the bread. ‘What? When did I say that? I’m just saying don’t wake me next time. I had an early start and I need all the sleep I can get right now. Okay?’
I took a breath. ‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ I replied. ‘It won’t happen again.’
He smiled at me. ‘Great.’ We sat in silence for a few seconds, nothing but the hum of the dishwasher. ‘Anyway,’ he said, getting up from his chair, leaving his bowl on the table. ‘I’ve got some work to finish up. It’ll probably take the rest of the night so don’t wait up.’
And this was how it went for the rest of the week, our relationship souring by the second, fading into obscurity. An undeniably fat elephant was lodging in our small studio apartment, with Richard always ‘having work to finish’ in the evening, and me keeping myself to myself, at home, scrolling through social media feeds that I had no interest in. This wasn’t the life I dreamed of when we married, I thought, it felt like we’d never been further from ourselves. But I told myself it would be okay, we were going through a rough patch, all relationships do, it will sort itself out. And then the noises returned.
* * *
It was late at night, the room was cold, and the rain was again falling as it had been before, that soothing pitter patter the only voice in the room. Richard was out, and I lay in bed reading the final pages of this week’s novel for the book club, a slow read, when all of a sudden – slam!
The book fell from my grasp, landing on the duvet below and my ears stood to attention. It was louder than last time, much louder. My heart began pounding, very aware that I was alone in the apartment. It’s okay, I told myself, it’s just another slam in the night, nothing to worry abou – a shattering interrupted my affirmation. I screamed, loud and sharp, my own voice startling me further. There was no mistaking it: these noises were coming from next door.
I got out of bed, hurried over to the light switch and turned it on. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I wondered, standing there in my underwear, skin dotted with goose bumps. We had never met our neighbours before. I had suggested inviting them over for dinner when we first moved in but Richard was against it. ‘We don’t need any more friends.’ I picked my clothes up off of the chair in the corner of the room, gave them a shake, and put them on. We may not need more friends, I thought, but I’m not going to get any sleep tonight unless I know that whoever lives next door is okay. Quietly closing the door behind me, I left our apartment and walked towards the neighbours.
A navy-blue door lay before my eyes, the same as every other apartment in our block, but there was no noise. I waited for a few seconds, wondering what to do, then put my ear to the door just to be sure. Nothing. No noise, no movement from within. The apartment doors in our building were thick, and if someone was behind them, then I might not have been able to hear them, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the flat was empty, that there was no life inside. But if the flat was empty, then what did that mean? There is no mistaking that the noise had come from next door. It was the only other apartment on our floor, so if there was no one inside, then wha – Then came the scream. A primal sting pierced the air, echoing all around me, thunderous and shrill. I fell backwards, tumbling to the floor.
I couldn’t possibly describe the fear I felt at that moment, lying there in shock, my right ear ringing from the sheer volume of the wail behind the door, the sheer intensity of it. What the hell do I do now? I thought, panicking, my heart beating faster than ever before. What the hell do I do now??
I paused. I listened. Nothing. No reactions to the scream, no aftermath. I got back up from the floor, my legs weak with fear, and began pounding on the door in front of me. ‘Hello?!’ I shouted frantically. ‘Are you okay?!’ It was no use. No one answered.
‘What the fuck do I do?’ I mumbled under my breath, pacing up and down the corridor. If I can’t get in there then I’m useless, but someone has to do something. I ran back into my apartment, head spinning, desperately searching for my phone, and began to dial. ‘999 what is your emergency?’
* * *
Time passed. I sat on the end of the bed, my knees anxiously bobbing up and down, waiting, praying for the sound of sirens. It’s okay, I reasoned, the police will be here soon and then all of this, whatever this is, will be over. The doorbell rang. ‘Hello, we’ve had a call from this apartment about a noise disturbance,’ the man stated nonchalantly.
‘Yes, please come up.’
After a couple of minutes, two policemen arrived. They strode down the hallway, taking their time, looking me up and down as I explained to them what happened, clearly not believing a word I said. ‘Mmm, okay,’ one of them replied.
They knocked at the door ‘Hello, police. Open up.’ No answer. They looked at one another, the older of the two sighing. ‘Police! Open up!’ Still no answer. ‘Okay,’ he said, looking back at his colleague. ‘Let’s get this over with.’ The younger of the two turned around, bending down to pick up their enforcer, hands tight on its handles, swung it backwards, and brought the full weight of it down on the door. No movement. ‘And again!’ he shouted. The door shook, but still no give. ‘Come on,’ he muttered, irritated.
‘Third time lucky,’ replied his colleague. And third time lucky it was. Bang. The door swung open.
Within the blink of an eye the police officers were inside the apartment, searching all the rooms. ‘Police!’ I heard them shout as they stormed the vicinity, their boots pounding on the wooden floorboards. I stood outside looking in, on edge, nervous at what they might find.
They moved from room to room, trading looks with one another, muttering, puzzled expressions on their faces, and then, from the distance ‘It’s clear!’ The older of the two walked towards the front door, looking at me sternly. ‘There’s nobody in there,’ he said to me without hesitation. ‘The place looks like it’s unlived in.’ His colleague traipsed out of the kitchen and joined us in the corridor.
‘Heard a scream, did you?’ he asked, sarcastically. ‘Maybe next time call the psychiatrist’ he laughed, nudging his colleague, a smirk surfacing on the other’s face.
‘What?!’ I replied. ‘Are you being serious? You can’t have looked very hard because the screaming came from this apartment.’
The older of the two officers turned to the other. ‘Oh you hear that, Tommy? DIY Detective over here thinks we’re not doing our job properly.’ He turned back to face me. ‘You just watch your mouth, alright, there’s nobody in that apartment, and we’ve just wasted our time because of you.’ He turned back to his partner. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
They closed the apartment door and began walking down the corridor, when suddenly I noticed footsteps coming towards us. ‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ It was Richard, clearly drunk, his tie loosened around his neck, his shirt untucked, a beer stain visible around his chest.
The police walked towards him. ‘False alarm,’ they said sternly. ‘Do you live on this floor?’
Richard stared at them suspiciously. ‘Maybe, what’s it to you?’ they could smell the beer on his breath, turning their faces away.
‘Yes,’ I called out from the other end of the corridor. ‘He lives with me.’
They looked slowly back and forth between us. ‘Of course,’ one of them replied. ‘Well, keep an eye on that one,’ they chuckled as they continued on walking past him.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Richard said, as he marched passed me and into our flat. ‘Why are you talking to the police?’
I followed him inside, lingering in his shadow. ‘Because I heard someone screaming next door, the same screaming that I heard last week, but it was right next door, someone could have been getting killed.’
He stopped in his tracks, looking at me dumbfounded ‘What?’ he scrunched his face in disbelief. ‘Are you serious? The same screams you heard last week? Jesus Christ, Oscar,’ he shook his head. ‘I am not in the mood for this.’ He took off his tie and threw it into the corner of the room. ‘You sound insane, and now you’re wasting police time as well as mine.’ I stood there, cold and alone, not knowing what to say. ‘Honestly, I don’t even know what to do with you,’ he looked at me, shaking his head. ‘I can’t deal with this shit. I’m going outside for a smoke.’ He grabbed his coat, barged passed me, and closed the door behind him.
Everything was happening too quickly, with too little sense. A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind, bad thoughts, horrible thoughts. I poured a glass of water and lingered by the sink for a minute, staring blankly at the faucet, a few lingering droplets of water hitting the steel surface below. Now what? I thought. Where do I go from here, where do we go from here? I got back into bed. The sheets were cold and sent a chill through my body. I pulled them over my head like I would when I was a child, fearing any sign of the boogie man, and began to cry.
At some point in the night Richard also got into bed; I felt his presence next to me, facing the other way, silent, motionless, neither of us asleep. The scream replayed in my mind, over and over. It was all I could hear. But unlike the first times, for reasons I couldn’t explain, it became a comfort, a companion, like a warm tight hug after years of loneliness.
Perhaps this wasn’t a scream to fear, something to run away from, perhaps this was a scream to welcome.
* * *
Three noises, two locations, exactly a week a part. Slam, shatter, scream. What could it mean? As far as I could see there were three options. Firstly, and probably the most rational of the three, was that it was just a simple coincidence. We lived in an apartment building with sixty-four separate residences, it’s not hard to believe that I might have just heard two separate incidences completely unrelated to one another. But if that was the case, then why did I hear a scream coming from a location where there was no one present?
That then brings me to the second possibility: that I’m not well. There was absolutely zero doubt in my mind that in both cases, I have been very much awake and of sound mind, not intoxicated or under the influence of any substance. So, how was it that I could hear a noise so clearly coming from a specific location, with no corresponding presence. Sleep deprivation? Stress? They can do unusual things to the mind, but an auditory hallucination this specific? Repeated at the exact same time, just a week a part? Possible, but unlikely.
Finally, the last and the most outlandish possibility of them all, was that I was experiencing a residual haunting. The morning after the events I just described, I began surfing the web, hoping to find something that may shed some light on my experiences. Richard had the day off work and spent most of his day in front of the TV, scrolling on his phone, and I was conscious of his presence. After the last time I decided not to mention the noises to him again, and not wanting him to see what I was looking into, I remained in bed for most of the day, a warm cup of tea by my side, the steam rising into the cold air.
It was a while before I found anything. I wasn’t exactly sure what to search for, most roads leading me to help lines for people with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. And then I found it, a Reddit page titled ‘Hallucination or haunting?’ The post went as follows:
"Hello everyone,
I wonder if you can help me? I recently moved into a new house in the countryside with my partner, and have started experiencing strange noises that we cannot account for. The odd thing about these noises is that they repeat, as if on a loop. Every couple of weeks we hear the same thing. First come footsteps from the landing outside our bedroom, light but unmistakable, then the room gets cold, we both notice the change, and finally a knock on the bedroom door. Each time it happens we go to the door and open it but there is never anyone there, we check the entire house and never find anyone. There are never any signs of breaking and entering, and the knock at the door is so distinctly a knock that it cannot possibly be just the cracks and creaks of an old house.
I would have simply ruled it out as an overactive imagination if it wasn’t for the fact that we were both hearing and experiencing these interactions, so I looked into it a little further and stumbled upon the term residual haunting. What’s that? Well, a residual haunting is supposedly a paranormal phenomenon where energy from a past, often emotionally intense event, replays like a recording, creating ghostly scenes, sounds or apparitions that repeat the actions without awareness or interactions with the living. I am not one to engage in the ‘paranormal’, but I couldn’t help notice the overwhelming resemblance. I know this sounds insane, but at the same time, I really have no other way of explaining what’s happening to us, logical or not.
If anyone out there is experiencing something similar, please do let me know.
Percy
I lay there staring at my phone. Just as Percy couldn’t help but draw parallels to his case and the given definition of a residual haunting, I too was struck at the similarities. It’s true that we were experiencing different kinds of events; however, the cyclical nature was undeniable. Did I truly believe I was experiencing something paranormal? No, not fully, but if it wasn’t just a coincidence, then the only other option was that I was losing my mind, and that wasn’t fun to think about.
The noises wouldn’t be the first time in which me and Richard had disagreed on whether something had or hadn’t happened. It was mostly little things, for example, conversations we had in the past that I had no memory of, but they all added up. I was constantly full of self-doubt, constantly second guessing every action, every single thought and memory. I remember, for instance, a few weeks after our wedding, we had a dispute about the design of our apartment.
‘What’s this?’ Richard asked as he came in through the front door, looking at the paint bucket beside me. ‘Why’re you using green paint? We agreed on blue.’ We did not agree on blue. I knew that we agreed on green, because I wanted the room to look like my childhood bedroom, it was comforting to me. Yet, there was always room for doubt, even when certain.
‘Oh,’ I replied, ‘I’m sure we agreed on green, Richard, we spoke about it last week.’
He raised his eyebrow. ‘Babe, I think I would know, we definitely said blue. But it’s too late now, isn’t it, let’s just go with green.’ Like I said, little things. This, however, was a big thing, this was different.
As the week went by I began researching more and more, looking for answers, for things that could be done. Most of my days were spent in bed, half dressed, going down endless internet rabbit holes, trying to prepare myself for the next occurrence. I learnt that unlike regular hauntings, residual hauntings were not the type that you reached out to. Communication wasn’t an option due to the historic nature of the events. All that I could really do was observe, and that was fine by me. The more I thought about the noises, the less I feared them. At points I even looked forward to them, wishing the days would go by quicker so I could experience them just once more.
* * *
Richard wasn’t doing well. He had gotten into a physical altercation at the pub in front of his work colleagues and received a disciplinary from his director. ‘The fucking bitch had the nerve to give me an official warning over a little dispute at the pub, can you believe that?’ I could believe it, but said otherwise. ‘Why’re you agreeing with me?’ he barked, looking at me as if I’d just spat in his face. ‘You obviously don’t mean it.’
I protested, my innocence on trial, my integrity meaningless. ‘I’m sorry,’ I replied gingerly, head bowed. ‘I do mean it though,’ – anything for the conversation to end.
That night, I dreamed.
It was cold, I was alone in the bedroom, the moon was shining through the window, when suddenly I heard footsteps. ‘Hello?’ I tried calling, but nothing came out. The room remained still. And then. Knock, knock, knock. Someone was at the door. I awoke.
Days passed by in a jumbled haze, nothing to differentiate them but my brief encounters with Richard. One afternoon he returned home from work earlier than usual. ‘Well, that’s it!’ he said, stumbling his way to the fridge, searching for a beer. ‘I quit!’ It turned out Richard had been fired; he’d taken a swing at his director after an argument and had been escorted out of the building by security. ‘No need for work anyway. I’m sure you’ll finance our lifestyle by doing nothing at home all day, hey, love.’
That night, I dreamed.
Knock, knock, knock. I got out of bed, my bare feet meeting the ice-cold floor beneath me, my feet tender to the touch. I opened the door. I awoke.
It had been six days since the last ‘haunting’. Tomorrow was the day, I thought. I spent most of my time trying to keep out of Richard’s way. Now that he was no longer at work he spent most of his time at home on the sofa, usually drunk – if not drunk, hungover. I resided in the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet with the lid closed, breathing quietly, waiting.
That night, I dreamed.
I took a deep breath, and opened the door. I stared in disbelief at the person on the other side. It was me. I stood looking at the person, barely recognising them. I looked different. I looked strange. I looked happy. I awoke.
* * *
The sun was shining outside for the first time in weeks, the birds were singing and I could hear children playing outside, not a care in the world. It was a calm day, but I was nervous. Exactly why I had been looking forward to this ‘haunting’, I couldn’t say. Doesn’t everyone want to experience something impossible? Something that could confirm that there is more to life than the accepted truth? But now, there was only fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the nothingness. The day passed swiftly. Richard went out in the morning; where to, I don’t know. ‘I’m going out,’ he groaned, getting out of bed.
‘Okay,’ I replied.
I spent most of the day reading, a cup of tea by my side, trying to distract myself, trying to occupy my anxiety. It’s coming, I thought, I can feel it, and this time, it will be louder, this time it will be close – I froze. My eyes widened. I realised something, something that I missed before. A sinking feeling emerging in my stomach. I got my phone out, went back to the Reddit page, and re-read Percy’s initial post to make sure, but I was correct. I realised our experiences were not as similar as I initially thought. Not once did Percy mention the noises at his house getting louder, and not once did he mention them getting closer. But if it wasn’t a haunting from the past, then what was it?
* * *
The night came. Richard was still out and I was glad for it, not a single distraction. I watched the flame from the candle beside me as I lay there, my body stiff. I’ll observe them, I thought, I’ll understand them. The clock ticked by as the moonlight began to creep in through the window, its soft glow shimmering on the floorboards. All was still. All was silent. Until, a noise.
Footsteps. Not a slam. Footsteps. I checked the clock to make sure it was the usual time, squinting to see in the dimly lit room. Eleven thirty, the same as always. So where was the slam? I thought anxiously, afraid it wouldn’t come, afraid it had abandoned me. And where are the footsteps coming from? I paused. They were getting closer. They were coming from outside the front door, coming down the hallway towards me, and they were coming fast. Knock, knock, knock. My body jerked, my heart began pounding, trying to escape its cage. I went to call out, but couldn’t. Silence reigned. Knock knock knock, louder, quicker. ‘Oscar, it’s me, open the door!’ It was Richard. No! I thought, not now, he’ll scare it away. I remained silent, pretending to be asleep. ‘Oscar! I lost my key. Open the damn door!’ His words loud and slurred.
I have no other choice, I thought. I had to let him in. ‘One second.’ I got out of bed and walked over to the door, looked through the peep hole to make sure it was him, and opened it.
He stood there before me, drenched to the bone from the rain outside, his clothes clinging to his body. ‘What the fuck took you so long?’ he remained where he was, looking at me, his eyes half empty. ‘Hey!? Have you gone deaf??’ he swayed side to side, a bottle in hand, stinking of beer.
‘Sorry, I was asleep,’ I said, turning around to get back into bed.
I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. ‘No, you weren’t,’ he said. ‘Why’re you lying to me?’ I gently removed his hand from my shoulder and continued walking towards the bed. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Where do you think you’re going!?’ He followed me into the apartment, slamming the door as he entered. I jumped out of surprise, turning around to see him now only two feet away, towering above me, taller than ever before. ‘Hey!’ he pointed at me, the bottle in his hand frothing at the mouth. ‘Answer me! Why. Are. You. Lying. To. Me.’
I sat back down on the bed, avoiding his gaze as I replied. ‘I was asleep,’ I lied. At a certain point, lying is all you can do to survive.
‘You fucking prick!’ he lifted the bottle into the air with bloodlust in his eyes, and threw it against the wall behind me. It shattered above the bed. I froze in shock as the glass fell all around me like rain, tiny fragments cutting into my skin as they landed, making their mark.
The room around me began to close in, the walls swaying to and fro, everything a haze. And it was then that I saw it. The nothingness. Before me like an angel it appeared above the bed. The nothingness that I had feared for so long. It was dark, it was vast, it was unknown. But I wasn’t scared anymore. It began to widen, encompassing the entire ceiling above, pulsing, oozing, darker than the night itself. But I was happy. Sometimes, the nothingness is better than the known.
Richard too had frozen where he stood, his eyes widening in the realization at what he had just done. ‘Oh shit,’ he mumbled. ‘Oh fuck I didn’t mean to do that baby, I’m sorry.’ I remained seated in bed, looking above and not moving. ‘Hey, I won’t do that again, honestly, I’m sorry Oscar,’ he whimpered as he sat down on the bed with me. I remained speechless, motionless, looking into the nothingness. ‘Hey! I said I’m sorry.’ He put his hand on my chin, pulling it down to meet his face. ‘Why aren’t you fucking replying?’
I smiled.
He recoiled, disgusted. ‘What the fuck is your problem?’ he shouted “Why the fuck are you smiling!?’ He lifted his fist into the air, ready to bring it down upon my face, preparing to punish me. ‘You fucking cun–’ he stopped, his hand inches away from my eyes, and looked down. A piece of glass was buried in his chest, and my hand was on the other end.
He looked up at me, unable to speak, a helpless plea in his eyes. I pushed further. He squirmed, the blood beginning to cover my hand, staining my skin. It was warm. The smile remained on my face as Richard fell over onto his side, curling up into a ball, like a baby, his blood canvassing the bed sheets. You’re right Richard, I thought, you won’t do that again.
I looked around me. The nothingness had grown, it clung to every inch of the bedroom walls, alive. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered.
As the life in Richard’s eyes began to fade, and the room began to darken, a solitary tear fell down my cheek. It’s over now, I thought, it’s all over. I was happy, I was free.
I screamed.
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