For a while I couldn’t get up the strength, courage, or motivation to get out of my bedroom that morning. I’d alternate between standing at the door, my hand on the knob, trembling, the nightmare images crowding across my eyes in a way that no other nightmare has affected me before, and bed, curled under the covers, sometimes too hot, sometimes too cold, the drapes flung wide so that the light would flood inside, coating the walls and the floor, fighting off the memories and monsters both, fighting off the blackness and the dark that gives way so smoothly to dreams. I didn’t want that. I wanted the sleep but I didn’t want my guard down. I’d spent the early morning hours staring into the dark corners, trying to make out fuzzy corner-of-your-eye details with my night vision, music playing on headphones to keep me up, though for the most part the persistence of the nightmare was more than enough.

When I finally bore down and committed to leaving my bedroom, it was past noon and the shadows were preparing to embark across my back window. My hand on the doorknob, it wasn’t enough to get me moving to repeat that it had only been a dream. It was still too real for that. I could repeat it a hundred times, a thousand times, and never believe it. Of course it was impossible. No monster was in my living room, lurking beyond my door, waiting with an expectant stare at its new friend. But it was real to me. So real. Palpable. A delusion – a belief. That if not a monster itself, maybe it would be there just the same, in the way the Stranger lingers, hidden in the details, waiting, but very much tangible, invisible, waiting for a touch or a glance from the corner of my eye that would spark recognition.

I turned the handle and my heart beat raced, the blood pumped through my temples, hard, considering my heart was lodged tight in my throat.

Just push, babe, just push.

I eased the door open, staring at the carpet of the living room. This was normal. Beige. Brown speckles. A piece of dirt. I moved to the side toward the bathroom, each step like being forced from an airplane. I was afraid to touch the wall, afraid of what might meet my grasp. My teeth chattered, I almost made a funny whining sound but stopped myself

What if he heard? What if I’d gone out too slowly and he’d not noticed but this show of self-pity brought it around?

I listened to the voice inside and quieted, my mind settling as I made it into the doorway of the bathroom, slapping at the light as I closed the door behind me, casting a glance at the entry door as I did so, looking behind me, a side effect of my panic, and I let loose a cry from my lips before the door latched and I collapsed against it, breathing heavy, my head aching.

It had been fine.

The foyer looked like normal. The living room and kitchen were the same as I’d left them last night, no shadows or monsters lurking in a corner, all hunched and expectant, keeping view of the place, prowling, waiting.

I reached for the sink, twisting the faucets so that lukewarm water ran across my wrists. I stared at it as it swirled around, sucking down. It was restful. Gradually my heart quieted.

Of course no monster. Of course.

Yes, my belief that it had become only something subtle had solidified. Yes, more likely even. And this justification came over my subconscious as a fear, a phobia, an insect that wouldn’t escape. But it was enough to get me out of the bathroom on my first try, enough to remember that nothing had changed. My day-to-day was the same. The predator of yesterday was the same predator of today.

*

I made it to the bar-b-que Mark and Kyle had asked me to a few hours late. I had to run some errands and they kicked the party off with Ultimate frisbee, which isn’t really my sport.

When I joined the group (awkward, because I’d only barely met two of them), Kyle gave me a long look with a smile nudged up inside the underside of one cheek, a knowing look. Probably commending me for getting out of my house, away from the kind of daily death loneliness was, as he’d decided, and was now proud of me for getting away.

The smirk frustrated me at the time. I felt like a child, a little kid who wasn’t being treated right, being told what she couldn’t do. Playing in the dirt with the boys, my… Well. You get it. But looking back, I realized I’d mislabeled his expression, misunderstood what he’d meant by it. I think now that it was more likely encouraging, a greeting, and that I’d known at the time, despite my first impression, somewhere deep down. I made nice though, considering that one look wasn’t enough to constitute the ruining of what seemed to be an enjoyable afternoon. And I was glad I did. When Kyle wasn’t making the rounds with the friends who were there, he went out of his way to chat with me (though nothing intellectual this time, for the best, just small talk). Even Mark made the effort, though he was obviously the better socializer, friends with all, agreeable and good humored. I liked him. He loosened me up.

By the evening I had a drink or two in me, smiled easier, had met a few nice people who took to me in the way that girls can seek out the new in town and make them feel welcome, and barring any oddities, extend an invite to tag along to events, group get togethers, see if they gel. I think I did a pretty good job addressing my move (over and over again) and staying comfortably away from the catalyst, and anything to do with Valentine’s Day. I even lied my way through talking about anything remotely near without breaking a sweat, or a tear. I think the alcohol helped.

“So you live next door all alone?” A new friend, Claire asked. She was friends with Mark in a way that seemed that she’d known him a while and might even have been interested. I couldn’t get a read on his responses back. He treated her the way he treated everyone, a hand on a back and a beaming smile, but I’m not sure that he didn’t notice her easy flirting and strong gaze. She was pretty enough and dressed to it, blonde hair and big, expressive eyes.

I nodded, hearing the question late, feigning listening to another conversation as distraction.

“I’ve never lived alone, always had a roommate. Be it my younger sister back at home or in the dorms my first two years. What’s it like, being so alone? No one always passing your door and saying hello, no friends to turn to at a moments notice. Someone to catch up with when they’re home from work.”

I’d lived in the dorms my freshman year of college back home and knew what she meant about the amount of people constantly surrounding you. “This semester is the first time I’ve liven on my own, actually.” Called it a semester, as if I was still in school. But oh well, it made me relatable. “It’s been hard. Sometimes you’re so lonely you claw at the walls, and you have to hunt for a friend when you really need one.” Else you go mad alone, grieving, fighting emotion in a one-on-one prizefight for weeks at a time. “But the independence is great. You get to listen to yourself a bit more, concentrate on what makes you happy, get in touch with yourself a lot better. I think if you’re good at that it’s really a good experience.”

“Weird to think about having roommates all through college, then meeting some guy,” she said it dreamily, but I didn’t miss her flicker of a glance toward Mark, “moving in, getting married a few years later. One might never live alone. We’re social animals.”

“We are. We sure thrive off of it.”

“But you make best with what you have, right? If life swings that you’re living on your own, you make the most of it, right?”

She was an optimist, a touch too perky but with enough rational thought that I liked her. Look at me – must spend too much time watching the neighbors from the window, analyzing their every move, getting to judge someone in the briefest of glimpses as they pass from one place to another.

“You do. It’s not always fun.”

She gave me a look not far from one Kyle gave me while we walked about campus as the students made their exodus, that considering look that says to me I’m not doing a good enough job of being relaxed, that all is well and I’m happy. This annoyed me so I grinned bigger and excused myself to get another drink.

It was getting late by then, pushing ten o’clock and I was dragging. The lack of sleep the night before catches up fast by evening and I’d been fighting with it all day. Better to escape back home than to awaken, screaming, in front of so many nice, cheerful people, weirding them out and spreading more rumors about the girl next door.

I said goodbye to Kyle, who wrapped me in an almost-awkward one-armed hug, nodded, and thanked me for coming. “It made me really happy to see you today, Katie. You should feel free to stop by more often.”

“And you,” I replied. But the idea of Kyle in my home scared me, bothered the insect that had for some hours stilled against my back, the deep-rooted fear leftover from this morning. I didn’t want him near that place. What if he should notice the monster? That subtlety I’d overlooked amongst those objects scattered about that I’d come to feel as having a proper place. What if the Stranger had stolen away while I was not looking and in his absence, a greater terror took up in place, hiding in plain sight?

The thought, as ridiculous as it sounds to type, sent shivers down my back that I blamed on the chill spring air.

“Sleep well, okay?”

I nodded, gulping. Right.

*

The latch of the deadbolt in the lock sounded like the gun at the start of a race, permission granted. She’s here, it said. She’s alone. No one around, secure. Welcome home.

My place was dark. I’d left no lights on before I’d left and now that night had fallen, I found myself barely able to find my way across the living room to my bedroom. Street lamps leaned around the drapes for a better view of what was happening but their light fell short, leaving far, far too many dark nooks, crannies, and passage ways in the dark. Easily room enough for a monster to stand in wait, easy to watch.

Of course I was being ridiculous. I knew that. But after the nightmares I’d been having, those dark spots didn’t feel so secure anymore. And it would have been easy to convince me. A part of me already believed.

I was almost running when I got to my bedroom door, and slamming it felt like shutting out everything that frightened me. In the sound carried my frustration, my hatred at this pitiful fear, my inability to control my emotion. But for a second, the slam still echoing in my head, still moving toward my bed, my hands still shaking, I believed that maybe tonight I’d get a good night’s rest. That maybe I’d be safe enough to avoid the nightmares.

I was wrong.

*

The nightmares fell almost immediately, as soon as I slipped away. I fought against the fear for two hours, laying in bed, the same way I fought with the door handle in my hand, aching to walk into my own home as naturally as anyone else up and down the block, only now I stood in a different doorway with a different kind of knob in my hand, but it was still just as difficult to force it open.

Shortly after eleven thirty I awoke with a start, the same as I had both nights before. My sleep was shallow and light, afraid for it to happen again and, as it did, I was still locked into the dream, still cowering in the corner and afraid to meet the eyes of the hunched beast guarding my way out. Even if I did wake up faster than I otherwise would have, prepared to call it quits the moment things went south, I still met his eyes, I was still forced to confront that fear head on, my five minutes was too long.

The worst part was knowing that I had to go back. Not because I’d have to sleep eventually, but because the moment I woke up, I saw his mouth move, open, not as if to take a bite, but as if to speak, as if to tell me something. Deep down I knew. I knew that I wouldn’t be waiting long to hear what he said.

*

Which brings me to today. Today I woke up nauseous, the disquieting sensation coming to fruition around ten, and I emptied my stomach in the trashcan next to my bed. I wasn’t hung over, just exhausted. Too many sleepless nights and enough fear and stress eating and your belly puts you in an awful state, and it’s the state I’ve been in for hours on end. I used the trashcan because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it out the door had I gambled on it. Turns out though, when I finally trudged to the kitchen around one, that I was too exhausted and more afraid of the monster sharing my brain at night than I was any childish, hidden monster in my own living room.

Maybe that’s why I started to feel better for a bit this afternoon, because I’d for a moment tasted that normalcy. I’d experienced what things used to be like only three days ago, and it felt nice, and for a while my body and mind agreed, normal is safe.

But now it’s raining, thick blue stormclouds above us, a touch of strained yellow sunset over the mountains where the clouds just cover the evening sky. It’s nearing twilight. Nearing the night. I’ve every light on in the house and I’m still afraid, my moments of afternoon peace whittled away by the oncoming night. Sleepless, stressed out, plagued by night terrors, unwilling to face them again, I expect I’ll only get sicker, my body tired, breaking down.

“One more night,” I keep telling myself. “One more night you’ll stay here, see if you get worse or better, and then you’ll have to take it into your own hands. You’ll have to call up Kyle, ask to sleep on his couch, throw your damned pride aside and tell him you’re afraid of the dark now, watch him give you that little smirk that says ‘buck up kiddo, life’s alright!’”

Fine. It’s settled. If I can tell you guys, even with the relative anonymity of the internet, I can tell him. I can reach out. It won’t kill me. It’ll help. I’ll talk to Kyle about it tomorrow then.

Outside the thunder just rumbled above the complex over my music. “That’s encouraging. Thanks Colorado,” I mumble.

It’ll be better tomorrow.