Storm clouds moved in this afternoon, those kind of rolling dark gray masses that come in fast and thick, spreading across, reaching for the horizon as if it were their own, the light from the glimpse of sky beyond turning the light to a sickly yellow color that settles into your bones as much as it does the city around me.

I was running errands when the clouds moved in. They brought with them a heaviness that I felt extra aware of, the watched sensation lessening as I fled the house for the relative safety of the outdoors (the shadows weren’t bothering me today, thank god), only to be replaced by the ominous feeling of something coming.

I had to get out of the house. It wasn’t a choice. My grief and restlessness from being cooped up finally brimming to a point of existential paranoia that seems to pervade even the most inane points of life, those odd happenstance that will happen occasionally are suddenly blown out of proportion. It’s especially worse when it comes in the late of night, when I’m most worried, broken down, no light, grieving, battling insomnia to sleep, and then when successful, skirting nightmares.

Last night for instance, scared me good at the time, but now in the daylight it seems childish – almost too childish to post on the blog for the world to read, but to omit such oddities would negate everything I’ve tried to do here.

I slept on the couch again – sleep, lay awake, rest to music, whatever you want to call it. Again, it wasn’t until two or three in the morning that I finally passed into sleep (lately it has gone as late as four some mornings, dawn if I’m unlucky). Come an hour after finally dozing off, I was drawn awake by something strange. Call it a sensation, a presence, something off. The Stranger has been quiet for a while, and I felt at one with my house, him becoming my friend, but the instant that I awoke, it felt as if I had upset him, as if perhaps he’d awoken with me and, still groggy, unsure of where he was and equally who I was, had shouted, yelled at me in shock and surprise.

My headphones were still humming in my ears, my iPod on the sill – Michael Buble or someone of the sort. His voice wasn’t soothing that night. I wanted all of my wits and senses about me. Something was off and I had to know what.

The apartment was quiet. The refrigerator was buzzing, but in between cycles, quiet. A cricket chirped somewhere outside the window, which was once again closed. My heart sped up but as if in response my brain quieted it, dragging fuzzy memories as fleeting as dreams.

You closed it, my mind said. You remember. Fuzzy, half asleep. You didn’t care for the funny sounds out the window, likely just the neighborhood hoodlums being immature, or even something as silly as a stray cat. And you just pushed it closed. You remember.

And I did think I remembered. I’d never testify in court – my dream about the Monster was more vivid than this likely fabricated memory, but it was enough to calm my nerves.

Well – calm the nerves until what happened next. My attention, first focused on the window, was quickly called the door when I heard a click and a funny gust along the building.

The wind.

With a pop, the door opened. Two inches, maybe three. The early morning cold crept inside and chilled me to the bone. I couldn’t hardly hear anymore, my heart pounding so loud in my temples.

“The wind. The damn wind.” I didn’t realize I’d meant to speak out loud until the words broke the silence. The voice for a moment scared me even more than the door opening had. It took a split second for my mind to realize that it was my own, but in that second my blood ran cold, my stomach sank low and a shiver ran up my back. My brain was flooded with images of the monster, the cloak shuffling along the carpeted living room, my hand on the cold doorknob, willing myself to turn it, to not look back, to not meet his eyes.

The door opened a bit more.

Forcing myself from the couch was like forcing myself to open the bedroom door, to step out of the shadow; I was not safe staying where I was, the door was open and it needed to be closed, but no way did I want to go near that.

“There is no mom and dad here to save you Katie-girl.”

This time it wasn’t the sound of my voice that surprised me, but the words that came from it.

Katie-girl. That was what my father had called me since as early as I remember. Even mentioning my parents in speech was a shock –

But my brain, perhaps the only part of me bent on my best interest, fought for rationalization, and agreed with me. Yes, I am alone. I am the only one in this house, and I can wallow in it or I can get off my ass and do something.

I tried to take a full breath, couldn’t, then sprang off the sofa, sprinting at the door, slamming into it with my shoulder and shutting it tight against the night.

My skin crawled, cold worming its way across me like the unwanted touch of a barroom pervert.

Back to the couch again, the warm embrace of the blanket.

The cold still lingers. The feeling of being watched felt even more physical than the cold, were that even possible. Though the door was the source of the strangeness, the back corner of the living room was where I felt its gaze.

Were there a monster in my home, that’s where he would be standing.

Now of course this was all a four o’clock sleepy endeavor. My latch doesn’t catch; the only way to keep the door securely closed is to secure the deadbolt, which I’d neglected to do the evening before. Likely a gust of wind had caught the entryway right, swirled, caught the jamb and sprung it. Sure, there wasn’t any severe weather in the area and this had never happened in the month I’ve lived here, there’s first times for random happenings. That’s not so strange.

It was enough to set my mind at ease and get me to sleep again. The feeling of being watched however, was what kept me awake for another hour, until the sun touched the horizon with a cool teal in a cloudless sky out the back window.