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The Thing
My drinking’s got worse since more rats have invaded my house. I haven’t seen one yet, but I reckon I soon will. They sound like they’re everywhere now; scratching, squealing and scurrying beneath the floors, in the walls and in the ceilings. I hate it. I hate it so much, it’s maddening. I can’t stop them going where they please and for all my yelling and stomping, I only get the most minor of respites in their grim activity, before they start up again. I know that what I really need is a professional to come in and deal with it. Tragically, with what little money remains on my phone, I’ve learnt that the council’s pest control service costs twenty quid; may as well be a hundred. I can’t afford that. So, for the last two nights I’ve had them creep into my home completely unhindered at around 8:30 at night. Can’t help but hear them scratching and screeching at each other just feet away from me, hidden from view by only a thin piece of plaster board. I just can’t sleep anymore and for no good reason they get louder around 3am. I can’t stand it.
Asides the damn rats, I’m also desperate to keep the lights on at night because of, it. But my pre-payment electricity meter doesn’t have a lot of money left. At this rate I’m going to be wandering around this place in the dark if I can’t sort it out, soon. No, I’ll have to be smarter and flick the lights on just long enough to go to the bathroom and back again in my duvet, then remember to switch them back off; not a quick task at all with my gout getting increasingly worse for some reason. I just don’t want to walk that landing in the dark. The other night was bad enough. But last night I saw the thing on the landing again. It was in exactly the same place as the first night I saw it. I was in bed at the time, with the light off; even though I might be scared shitless, I have to try and conserve power for when I might actually need it. I knew something was amiss, like I was being watched. It’s how I felt on the landing when I saw the ‘thing’ for the first time. I just laid there, scared and alone. From my angle on the bed, I could see the large landing mirror, and in its gloomy reflection, I could just make out the vague, unnatural silhouette of that thing at the far end of my landing looking straight back at me. It was hard to see at first, but when I stared, and it took a while, I started to make it out. It doesn’t move. Not one bit; it’s just a silhouetted shape that doesn’t quite fit, hidden in all the other reflected shapes common to my landing. But I knew it was there, I could feel its darkness. It’s similar in size to myself, just a little taller, and it just watches me, with no glint or hint of eyes or any features at all, for that matter. But I know it’s watching.
With the few strange things occurring here over the last couple of days, it’s hard to tell to the untrained eye that it’s all connected, but I know it is. It’s doing it. I know my house, very well. There’s a deeply malevolent presence here, and it wants me to know it. Most people, I assume at some point in their lives, have felt ones like ‘it’ before, but mainly at night, when you’re feeling tired and far more susceptible to the fear they induce in their victims. These sadistic entities seem to enjoy tormenting people like me; the overly sensitive. But this particular entity, this thing is very different. It feels somehow worse than the others, somehow darker, more powerful… even dangerous, and I fear it might be capable of causing me serious physical harm at some point if I’m not careful.
It’s 2:47am. I’ve no idea when I drifted off to sleep, but I was abruptly awoken by the disturbing volume of rats screeching and crawling inside the wall behind my headboard. There were so many, that I swear I could feel each tiny vibration of their disgusting, clawed feet as they clambered over one another. I’m going to move into the spare room tomorrow. I’ve had enough of this and with everything else happening it’s just too much, and with that bloody storm endlessly howling – I need some proper sleep, badly.
3:03am. Just got back from the bathroom and turned my bedside lamp on. I’m utterly terrified – like I’m a kid again. The lights cut out while I was in the bathroom, sitting on that icy cold toilet seat. I sat there for a short while listening to the growing ferocity of the snowstorm outside and the hoard of rats inside. It was in that moment of escalating despair that I happened to glance into the bathroom mirror. I wish I hadn’t. As I continued to stare, I saw the blackest shadow grow out from the top corner of the bathroom, behind where I was sitting. I felt paralysed by a drifting chill and more alone than I think I’ve ever felt in my life. The shadow edged ever so slowly towards me. It was almost imperceptible in the dark, and with every glance or unconscious blink, it grew closer. I knew what it was, it was obvious. It was the thing from the landing mirror. I couldn’t see it clearly; like always. I just, felt it. It crept without any discernible sound. I don’t think I even noticed the storm, or the rats the entire time it was happening. It was becoming hard to breathe, I noticed. I felt desperately vulnerable, like a caged animal at the mercy of its sadistic owner. The weight of its evil was so disturbingly oppressive and so physical, it was like having my nose and mouth restricted by a heavy, unseen hand.
Careful not to provoke it, I eased myself off my toilet and I tried not to look in the bathroom mirror, or behind me, for fear of making it worse. I’ve never felt anything like it. It wanted me to look. The urge to see this thing was almost overwhelming. I couldn’t bare it. I had to get out of there. My toes were killing me, making my feeble escape more laboured. Gradually though, I crept away, making sure to pick up my duvet as I went, but my gout was so bad I nearly fell over doing so. Steadying myself, I wrapped my duvet around me and continued to shuffle onwards, towards the bathroom door. I wish I knew why this was happening to me. I’m terrified, almost beyond comprehension. I’ve never hurt anyone or done anything to deserve this. I’m a good person; just lonely. So why me? Why me?
The door to the bathroom felt so far away, but when I touched its wooden frame, the evil seemed to leave the room. However, I wish I hadn’t clung to the doorframe as long as I did. But I did. Light from what I believed to be the moon, or a streetlamp was delicately illuminating the landing. The light keeps them at bay, I remember that as a kid. That’s why you leave it on when you’re scared. It takes away their shadows. I’m sure this entity won’t be so easily intimidated. But I tried nonetheless and flicked the light switch on. Nothing happened, then I remembered I hadn’t changed the lightbulb from the other night. My heart sank at my incompetence. Cursing my own stupidity inside my head, I shuffled on. I was slowly edging my way further down the landing, using the wall for support, when I caught my reflection in the landing mirror. It was as it should have been, until I noticed, just for a split second, the silhouetted shape behind me. I felt like I nearly died when I saw it and foolishly, I glanced over my shoulder to see it properly. Of course, it wasn’t there. But while I was staring down the landing, the airing cupboard door near the stairs clicked open, but only ajar. I waited for what felt like forever. Toby came out and without hesitation, he bolted downstairs, presumably straight for the cat flap. I was relieved he’d escaped this nightmare. But before I could feel too relieved, I felt the vile presence behind me. I’d fallen for its little game, because it knew, as well as I, that I had to look back. Every fibre in my body begged me not to. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t quick enough to escape like Toby or able to get outside and survive the cold. Taking a minute, I convinced myself it was all in my head. I didn’t quite buy it, but with a deep breath and the promise of getting really drunk, I turned around and focused my gaze on the floor as I continued along the landing towards my bedroom, and that large, godforsaken mirror.
I couldn’t have been more than four feet away from the mirror when I’d decided to look up. Why I did that, I don’t know. Something from the mirror charged at me down the narrow corridor, it was too dark to make out and I wasn’t for the life of me sure what I was seeing. Petrified just doesn’t cover it. This thing barged passed me with considerable force, knocking me easily into the wall, forcing my gout-ridden toes to move suddenly. I screamed out in agony as I reached down to protect them. The smell that followed the attack was so foul I was nearly sick. In the darkness I reached over to the opposite wall for support. I flinched backwards when I felt something tall with rat-like fur instead, I felt its strong bony forearm, I think. Petrified and almost crippled with pain from my feet, I stumbled as fast as I could into my room and headed at speed to my bed. The storm was howling something wild outside and I remember the rats were screeching and squealing too, as if in competition with it. I dived like a small child onto my bed and buried myself under the duvet. Psychologically it feels like the safest place on Earth to be. But that’s its game. The light flicked on; I didn’t do that! I then felt the weight of a large rat run hastily over the top of me. Then another and another. They were finally in my house.
All night I’ve laid awake shielded within my duvet, crying and screaming until my voice ran horse. I’ve got nothing left, I’m too afraid to look out from under the covers and too afraid of what might happen if I don’t. For the entire night I’ve painstakingly defended myself from their relentless onslaught, as they kept trying to find a way to join me under my duvet, probing with their filthy noses, pulling and touching my hair, my fingers and my vulnerable, painful toes. It’s been nothing short of traumatising. If this ever ends, I’ll never, as long as I live, sleep in this godforsaken room again.
The morning has brought little comfort, except for being able to at last leave my bedroom. It’s still fairly dark. The storm still blows cold and fierce, and offers no sign of abating; how can this be? Will it never end?
I think all the lights in the house have been turned on, I can’t be sure about downstairs, but I’m guessing every single one. My God, how much is this costing me? There’s barely any money left in the meter! Presumably they came on when it turned the light on in my room. Wait… it’s here. I feel its evil presence watching me again. Before I had a chance to turn all the lights off there is that familiar, vile smell and the lights all blink out at once. I’m scared again. But at least the light of day has arrived, a small mercy considering the relentless snowstorm. I’m so tired of these mind games; I haven’t stop shaking since I left my piss-soaked bed. Damn! I’ve left about half a bottle of vodka in that room. Leave it. No way am I going back in there – no way.
The lights won’t come back on, so I’m guessing the money on my prepayment meter must have finally run out. What am I going to do tonight when it inevitably comes around? The storm’s much worse now than earlier; I can’t see anything outside, except for the white of the snow. What am I going to do? And as for the God damn rats, they’re nowhere to be seen. From the door to my bedroom, I can’t see any scratches on the floor, or the bed frame. No bite marks anywhere on my duvet. Not even a single dropping. Absolutely no sign they’ve been here at all. But they were. I know they were. I didn’t dream any of it – I know the difference.
Downstairs now. It took me a while; Christ, my feet hurt. God damn rats! I don’t know how or when they did it, but maybe I did manage to fall asleep for a moment when they weren’t attacking me, or maybe, there were just far more of them than I’d thought. In any case, they have absolutely trashed my kitchen, successfully raiding all my food cupboards, helped themselves to what little I had left to get me through the week. There’s nothing left – nothing. It’s like a tornado was in here. Jars smashed, tin’s dented and split; everything, gone! What am I supposed to do now?
Toby has come sheepishly in through the cat flap. Strange, his ears are right back, like he’s terrified. He must have heard me loudly cursing my existence from outside and thought it safe to come back in. The little shit has somehow hidden out there all night. God knows where, though. I don’t blame him, either – honestly, I envy him; wish I could escape through that tiny cat flap. His coat is still a little damp from the snow. He’s cold too, probably freezing.
The burgundy tiles of my kitchen floor are icy cold. I’ve been here curled up for a while now… feels like a panic attack; I’ve got plenty to be panicking about. It’s hard to breathe. I’ve not been this upset in years.
Calming down now, I think. I can clearly make out the misty plumes of condensation as they escape my trembling mouth. At least I’ve got my Toby back. He’s currently trying to cheer me up as I lay here by rubbing against my hands and feet, purring intensely. It’s nice, and it is making me feel marginally better… marginally. My God, what am I going to do? ‘What the bloody Hell am I going to do?” That phrase, I suppose, has probably been the mantra of the dammed for thousands of years. Outside, the storm seems to have got a whole lot worse.
Cut Off
Used the last and vital ten percent of battery life on my phone, waiting in a long, automated queue. I wanted to speak to someone at my energy company so I could literally beg them to turn my power back on. Damn phone ran out before anyone answered.
I’m scared. I need the light. Whether it does or it doesn’t keep me safe, it doesn’t matter – the light makes me feel safe from the thing that’s trespassed into my home; this ominous, stalking Hell. It’s going to try and kill me, I know it. I want to run and get away – get help. But it’s taken care of that, I can’t find the keys to the doors and windows anywhere; they must be here somewhere. Nothing of substance just disappears – it’s hidden them and I just have to figure out where. But until I find them, wherever it’s put them, I’ve effectively been trapped here in my own home, and with no power either, that means no charging my phone again, so no calling for help. Help? What would I actually say to anyone who’d listen, anyway? No one would believe me, and even if they did, what could anyone really do? Nothing is what; this thing would probably enjoy tormenting them too, given half the chance – it’s untouchable, and accountable to no one, an apex bully.
The snowstorm’s picking up too, has been for a while. There’s no going anywhere for at least a couple more days. It’s deep now, two foot – two and a half? Never seen anything like it – feels never ending. It’ll be climate change, I bet. Fine fucking timing!
If I wasn’t so afraid to, I’d smash a window and go out there into the blizzard to end it all by freezing to death. But I won’t, no matter how much I daydream about it. Guess that makes me weak or a coward, or something. I wish I knew why this was happening to me on top of everything else in my miserable life. Maybe I should get out there and end it all. I’m feeling pretty close to death as it is, I’m certainly not doing much living in this place – surviving maybe. But, definitely not living. I can’t even make it to my local food bank because of this pissing snow; couldn’t even heat the food if I had it. Couldn’t even walk there if I wanted to, my fucking feet are so bad. The pain is torturous, now; I’m shuffling around more and more and absolutely dread walking, even for short distances around the house. I never used to whine this much before. God, I feel so… pathetic. I swear this thing’s responsible for the gout in my toes flaring up so much, I’m sure of it. The last twenty-four hours has been really bad – worse my gout’s ever been. I’m sure I’m starting to get it creeping into my ankles now. But my damn toes, they’re so swollen and angry, it’s nigh-on unbearable – agony. It’s like the taught flesh around them is on fire or something, with the skin being painful to the touch. The swelling itself is so awful now, they look almost fake because they’ve got this almost unnatural, mannequin-like sheen to them. I genuinely think they’d explode like a split bag of mince if I put too much weight on them. No…no matter how I look at it, this thing has me stranded here for the long haul, using my gout to hobble me to this place like a broken old horse confined to a derelict field. I just wish I knew why.
That stench again. It follows the creeping horror around my home like a heavy, regal cloak dragging along a palace floor. I can smell it; I swear I can. It was subtle at first, at least when this all started. I remember it from when I was sitting on that bench in town, holding that dying little bird and again when I’d got home that day. Naturally, I thought the smell was outside, like I’d left a window open. I hadn’t, of course. I tried to find the cause, practically tore my hair out trying to find where it was coming from. When I realised it was indoors, I’d assumed it was the sewage pipe. The smell of raw shit is so acute sometimes I can’t help but gag; the smell just follows me, growing stronger at night. It makes sense now of course, like this demon, or whatever it is, occasionally wants me to know where it is, or, at least, where it’s been. That thick, immovable stench of faeces, or rancid meat inhabits the whole house top to bottom now and turns my stomach; I can never seem to get used to it. Drinking helps, or it used to. It must like how dark I get when I’m drunk. Maybe I give off an aura and that’s why it singled me out of everyone around here? Who knows. Maybe it was for no good reason at all, like being jumped at a park after dark. What I do know is, I’ve somehow caught this things attention and it doesn’t seem interested in leaving any time soon.
I sense it near me all the time now, though, like fear, it’s a little weaker during the day. I know it hides in the dark. It likes it there. I’ve seen it – only glimpses mind, in amongst the shadows of my old cottage. I stay away from them when I suspect it’s nearby. Especially when it’s dark.
2:59am. I don’t know why I’m awake; still drunk, though – good. Something must have disturbed my sleep. Toby? No, I can hear him lightly breathing halfway down my bed. He’s just out of reach, but I can just about touch the tips of his fur. A rat maybe? They don’t sound so bad now I’m in the spare room with the door locked. Goddamn it, I need the bathroom. Fuck that, it can wait ‘til morning. Drifting off to sleep, again.
3am. I’m on my back, as still as the dead, looking at my windup alarm clock with the glow-in-the-dark hands. Something unnerving has happened. From where I’m lying, I can see the landing. On the opposite side to my room is the airing cupboard, and the light inside is on; the dim orangey glow is clearly bleeding out from the cracks in the rim of the doorframe. That in itself should be scary enough. But I’ve been cut off. There’s no power in the whole house. However, that’s not the scariest part; I shouldn’t be able to see the airing cupboard. But I can. The door to my room, contrary to a minute ago, is now wide open. It was locked shut before; I’d made sure of it before getting into bed earlier; I’m sure I did.
