Endless sleep, endless beating.
The rain hit my window slowly and steadily, almost rhythmic to my shallow breathing. When the sun tried to creep through my blinds, the darkness of my lonely room swallowed it; the light had no chance. Even through my endless sleep, I remembered the soft noise beating within me, in tune with the weather beating my house down. I wished my breathing would stop, I wished once the rain cleared that our thumps would end together. But mine would always last. This serene sleep I had been so used to each day would be undeniably interrupted by pain followed by deafening shrieks escaping my mouth. My lifeless body would snap up, while painful prickles raced across my skin. In shock I’d sit there, for a few minutes completely still. I was afraid that moving would bring back the images of the people, the crying, and the screaming, and the warm blood on my hands. So I’d sit and wait for the time to pass until I felt safe again to crawl under the covers. When this time came, I would slam my eyes shut, feeling my veins everywhere pulsing harder and harder. And the beating continued.

The nights were even worse than the days.
I found myself staring at the ceiling; eyes wide open for hours on end. I wouldn’t sleep, I couldn’t. I was cold and restless, but I couldn’t move. The bed looked like it was swallowing me whole, but I wouldn’t know, for I couldn’t see myself in the slashed mirrors distorting my reflection. Before they were destroyed, these nights were endless. The mirror had grown eyes and was constantly watching me, judging me. I tossed and turned all night, grasping for any sense of sleep, and when I looked to the left I saw death staring right at me, shocking sleep right out of my system. One day I got the confidence to get out of my bed, and I smash it. As the jagged pieces hit the floor, the glass shattered my skin. The shards of glass felt cold, followed by a rush of heat dancing around me. This was deaths’ one last attempt to kill me, before he lay lifeless and broken as before. But he didn’t hurt me, I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t feel anything anymore. After that day, I thought the killer couldn’t haunt me anymore. But I was wrong.


I never believed in ghosts before that night.
The usual dull warmth of my blanket was taken away very fast by a cool breeze. My window wasn’t open; I knew that for a fact, it was never allowed to be open in January. I shut my eyes and tucked myself under my covers, trying to get warm again, it was the only comfort I had felt in a while. The silence of my life was slowly killing me, and I was trapped all alone, the only one in this world. Yet again the struggle for sleep continued, then a hushed sound came in with the breeze as the wind picked up. I felt the cold air on every inch of my body; prickles of ice came now, dancing under my pale skin. The whimpers of the wind turned into whispers, whispers of words flowing into my ears. The killer is here, the killer is still here. I shook my head in horror, trying to shake those words from my head. As soon as I stopped, a gust of wind opened my window, sending more and more words and wind into my room. Those soft whispers turned into howling, shrieks, and screams, all which were aimed at me.

The killer is here!



Shhhh, that’s a secret.



She knows it’s the truth though…
It’s like they were talking to me. I called out to them, spoke back. “What truth?” Silence.

3:33 AM
It was the hour of the devil, and the clock read exactly 3:33 AM; that was the very last image I remember seeing before everything blurred into the night. When I woke up it was 7:43 PM, the sun had gone down before I even saw it go up. I wasn’t ready for another night of complete darkness. 10:24 PM, I lay there just staring at the ceiling, still wide-awake. I’m trapped in my own thoughts, afraid to move, the mirrors were gone but the voices from before still filled my head. The rain from before had stopped; replaced by a calm night that had just begun. The light of the moon shined through the clouds, bouncing off the window and hitting me directly in the face. It burned, light burned me. The noise, the light, it all turned into the fire I felt inside, and it all hurt the same. I looked back at the clock; it was 1:36 AM now. How many more hours until I slept again? I seemed to drift off into a daze, not moving, hoping for a deep sleep to return. As I felt sleep inch closer and closer, a face appeared in my mind. A little boy with bright eyes was staring at me, he was tearing; he looked sad and scared and so lonely. He looked at me as if I could help him, as if I was the only one who could. I turned to my side; the image faded away. The clock read 3:13 AM now, and I waited until it changed to 3:33 AM, curious of what would happen next. I heard the whispers first, then the tick of the clock to erase all suspicions. The killer is here, again.