I tremble when I feel him climb onto the bed to whisper his goodnight. It’s been a year since he passed.
Friday the 13th, on an October no less and two sentences of sheer terror. Boo.
When we got our first colour television, my parents let me have a sleepover with my friends. A scream from the television woke us up at 3am but the woman on the screen kept us awake.
My brother, mother and father all saw the woman in the bathroom mirror yet none of us believed each other. I was the last one to see her terrified eyes, as the glass broke in four.
The next night the mirror fell from the bathroom wall. Each shard showed a pair of desperate wide-eyes, the same colour and shape as my own.
The glow from the monitor woke me up at 3am and the figures from the webcam have kept me awake. I don’t know if I can run or lock the door because although the camera still sees them – I don’t.
Every year on my deceased daughters birthday, I would hear ten light footsteps on the stairs and no more. She reminds me every year of the place I dropped her.
As a child they told me, ‘You’re worth more than them’ – but back then I only slit the throats of animals. When they told me I was worth more than my family, I questioned it for a second before we plunged the knife.
The old saying tells us ‘home is where the heart is’. My love for her tells me my home is six feet under.
She still plays games if I forget to bring her flowers, like hiding my pens or switching the lights off when I enter a room. It’s hard though – I’ve lost my job and her grave is at the other side of town.
Eyes stared from every shadow of the room while invisible hands pinned me to the bed. I fell asleep in tears of terror and silent screams that night.