I couldn’t decide if I was awake or asleep, alive or dead. My room where I lay was hazy and dark, but I felt very aware of my senses. It was storming again tonight, and I shivered as the lightning slipped between my closed shades, intruding into the dark wonderland of my room. It created haunting patterns on the ceiling that I tried to avoid staring at. The thunder shook my bed and rattled the room. The resonance of the thunder crackling was earsplitting, and it sounded like somebody was knocking—no, aggressively thumping—on my apartment door, trying to get in. Ah, storms make my imagination run wild like fire. But was this really my imagination?

“Hello, Spencer,” he hissed like the wind. I didn’t scream or cry out, but my heart pounded inside of my chest. His mere voice, the way he whispered my name, made my back arch in agony. I remained paralyzed, staring at the ceiling, this time suddenly interested in the lighting art.

“It’s rude not to welcome a guest,” his voice pierced through my head, and my neck twitched in anguish when he articulated. I clenched my eyes shut.

“Leave me alone,” I whined in a hasty breath, shaking my head, as if doing so would make this nightmare end.

“I’m not here to hurt you, dear,” his voice adapted a certain crispness, clarity, control; yet it remained chilling.

“What do you want?” I moaned into the darkness. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t move from my tense position, gripping the sheets around me, only allowing quick and sharp breaths to escape my lungs.

“I wanted to congratulate you,” he crooned. An odd chill swept over me, as if he had swept his hand across my body… to touch me. I contained a shriek, but I could feel a bloodcurdling scream building up in my chest.

“You did right, today, lovely,” he spoke again, and the chill swept over me again. I shook violently in my bed.

“You did what you were supposed to do. And I thank you for finally obeying,” he said, his voice screeching quietly like a stopping train. His words sent thunder through my brain, like the storm was inside of my head, now, and not outside.

“This is what you want? My misery?” I was able to bring myself to speak.

“Precisely. That’s what you deserve, and you know what you did,” he whispered, now a violent tone lingering in the cold air.

“I don’t,” I shook my head. “I don’t know what I did! Why do you do this to me?” I cried, oh, hell, I cried. “I don’t deserve this, you demon! Let me be!” I cried, somehow building up the courage to speak up, to fight back with my words.

I felt a tightness form in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. My eyes shot open as I gasped for air, and he hovered over me, his satanic eyes penetrating my soul. Drew Sanders, my worst nightmare, my worst reality, my enemy, my horrific follower…

“S-stop,” I choked. Stop! Stop hurting me, stop torturing me!

“Misery is an old friend of mine; she holds a special place in my heart, similar to the way you do,” he growled, his face inches from mine. “Can’t you feel the flames, my dear?”

“The—flames,” I repeated in between gasps. The flames. I could practically feel the burning of my skin, I could practically taste the smoke that was infecting my lungs…

I was seven years old. Seven years old when my family—my foster family—died in a house fire. I was the only survivor. They were my favorite foster family. I never loved another family again.

“No! Not them! They are mine!” I cried, stumbling down the stairs as the home caved in around me. Yes, home. This was not a foster house, this was a foster home. I loved these people like they were my own.
I sobbed as I stumbled around aimlessly, looking for a way out, but, more importantly, looking for a way to save them. He appeared silently, still and un-phased by the roaring heat around us. “I love them! Please don’t take them away!” I pleaded.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he hissed like the searing fire around us. “But you are incapable of feeling those feelings. You don’t know love, you only know misery.”

“No! Don’t make them die! I will do anything, don’t kill them!” I cried into my charred hands.

“It’s too late for that, dear. Do you hear the screams? Do you hear the coughing?” The only sound I heard was the hissing of the flames. The cracking of the infrastructure. “They are gone, dear, and there is nothing you can do,” he scowled.

“No!” I screeched.

“And it’s all your fault,” he taunted, dragging me to the nearest exit, as I collapsed on the ground from exhaustion and misery.


I shook my head aggressively. This time, I released a scream, a scream so violent and morbid that I felt like I was still there, still in that burning house.

“What is your gain in this? Why can’t you leave me alone?” I screamed, my eyes rolling into the back of my head with the passion in my shout.

“Misery, my dear, you are miserable, you are misery, you are her…” his words slowly faded away, his physical self slowly backed off, but his memory remained, tainting the night.



I was sweating when I woke up. I shook violently when I sat up. Light peered through my window, but this time it was daylight. Daylight. I was safe in the daylight. I turned my head to the left unconsciously, and I let out a bloodcurdling scream.

“Safe in the daylight, eh?” Drew Sanders, dressing in black like the night, sat straight and formally on a chair at my bedside. I clenched my eyes shut, aggressively ripping at my hair with my shaking hands, trying to get his image out of my head… his threatening, creepy image of being in my apartment, sitting there, watching me…

After a moment of silence I opened my eyes again, peering to the left. Nobody was there. Nothing was there. No Drew Sanders. No chair. No Drew Sanders. I sighed; nightmares made me delusional. The nighttime made me delusional. He wasn’t really there. He never was really there.

I slowly got out of bed, checking the time. Great: only thirty minutes to get to work. I threw on a comfortable pair of shorts along with my work t-shirt, stuffed my hair into a cap, and brushed my teeth. Before I left, I carefully examined my apartment for signs of intrusion. Nothing. Drew Sanders was never here. It was just a nightmare. I sighed heavily, unsure as to whether I was relieved or more frightened at this thought.


Dragging myself out of my apartment today was torture, but I knew that staying home would be even more agonizing. I was scared. Scared to be alone, but scared to be with people who liked me (if that was possible). Even from the past two days, I could feel myself deteriorating. Happy in the daytime, terrorized at night. Maybe it was easier to be lonely. It definitely was safer.

Notes

Hi! Thanks for the reads, suscriptions, and comments to far! :)
I'm not going to lie, this was a difficult chapter to write. I've never really written anything "scary" before, so I hope it was successful! :)