Fear creates the believer.

It was late. Really late. Probably about 3 in the morning. I silently groaned and thought of the tiring day I was going to surely have after sleeping at 3am. I always do this to myself. I don’t understand why sleeping at night is so hard. The fan was directed right at me, buzzing a soothing white noise. It was hot, and the blanket was lying as decoration along the length of my body. Blankets are essential in warding of the creepy. There is a decided feeling of vulnerability at not having a splayed out blanket. Its powers aren’t unleashed unless it was splayed out. No folded blanket can vanquish night-spooks.

I turned to my side. Still no sign of the sleepy coming. I refrained from grabbing my phone to see what time it was. Probably near 4am. Great. I pushed my head deep into the pillow. Perhaps remnants of last night’s sleep would come out from the pillow and then I would feel sleepy. I tried to calm myself. Soothing, steady breaths, I told myself. Relax those eyes. Listen to the repetitive drone of the fan. I tried to achieve a state of calm. But there was a noise. Where was it coming from?

I tried not to frown in my “calming” position as my ears strained for the sound. It was a scratching. The moment the realization hit me, the hairs of my arms swept in a flurry of static. Suddenly I couldn’t move. My eyes clenched shut. I tried to ignore the scratching. It wasn’t rough or constant. It was a soft scratching. The nails weren’t gripping properly onto something. Oh God, what was trying to grip what? I tried to move my toe. It refused to obey. Suddenly a sense of heaviness pushed down on my body, I was unable to move.

I consciously reminded myself to keep breathing. Luckily that part of me still obeyed. I tried to brush away the two sentence horror stories I had read..

 

I got used to the scratching noises in my apartment. Until one day I realized they were coming from the mirror; not the window.

 

A chill went up my spine. My senses were super vigilant. The occasional scratches kept coming. My body was tied to the bed. Somehow, I couldn’t move. I was in a state of neither awake nor asleep. It was like the anesthesia was only given to relax my muscles, but not my consciousness. My touch senses were numb, or at least it felt like it. I was suddenly aware of something horrifying:

 

The scratcher was moving.

 

I could barely hear the sound as it was getting further and further away. But it was still under me somehow. But there was no room for anything to be under my bed. There was a storage box underneath. It ran along the length of the bed. But the movement was real. It was clawing its way painfully, slowly, and surely, towards the end of my bed. I tried to pull my feet up. They refused to obey. I was frozen.

 

It felt like hours, and I kept pushing my head deeper into the pillow to hear its whereabouts. By now I had accepted my fate. That I was not alone in my single bedroom. Whatever it was, it was coming for me. I could feel it. I could feel the slight change in vibrations as it tracked its way the end of the bed.

It is at these moments that you find yourself believing in a power greater than you. When you are left with no choice but to at least hope that there is a higher power looking out after you. Suddenly, you are a pious prayer.

My fate was sealed. Not only could I feel it reach the end of the bed, I could also feel it tug gently at the end of my bedsheet. It was coming for me. Ready or not, it was coming. And I was surely not ready. It had claws; whatever it was. That much I had gathered. But it was having trouble gripping with those claws. Or perhaps, it was prolonging my torture. Perhaps the scratching might have been a figment of my imagination, but the tugging was real. I still couldn’t open my eyes no matter what prayers I chanted. Suddenly Sunday classes don’t feel so bothersome anymore. I racked my mind for what to do, what to say, what defenses I had. But it was too late. I felt it catch a grip on the sheets. It was on its way. To me.

By the powers invested in me…..wait, that’s for weddings.

BY the powers of….sh*t, I really don’t know this.

 

I felt the hairs of my leg stand on end. The worst part wasn’t the feeling of fear that froze me beyond movement; it was the thought that it knew. It knew I felt its presence. I could feel each hair on my leg. It felt thicker, somehow. More tickles than usual. I hoped I wouldn’t pee in my bed out of fright. By now even the hair of my arms were standing on end; and they started to feel thicker than usual. Ticklier, if that’s a word.

My breathing was no longer regular. My mouth slightly ajar in a silent scream. Then I felt it. It was right next to my head. I clenched my eyes tight. Maybe if I ignored it, it would move on. Is this how I die? How would the coroners explain it? Did I pay my insurance? Will my family get compensation over my untimely inexplicable demise?

Then I felt it. There was no denying it. A breath in my ear.

“In the name of He who holds the power over you, I command you to BEGONE!!!!!”

 

The breath was still constant and rapid over my ear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suddenly there was a nose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A tiny, moist nose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Triangle, I think.

 

 

Then I felt short, soft whiskers.

 

 

 

 

I turned my body; suddenly I was able to move. I opened my eyes.

 

 

 

 

It was a kitten.

 

 

 

 

Helllllll you four-legged feline, where you come from? I say, where you come from?

 

I DO NOT have a kitten. Neither do any of the occupants of my household. I tried questioning it, but it didn’t answer. I’m pretty glad it didn’t. Imagine holding the thing in your hands and suddenly it starts speaking to you in fluent English. THAT’d be creepy.

 

Poor thing was pretty terrified. I gave it some milk and put it outside. It’s pretty warm out, so I guess it’ll be fine.

 

But that, folks, was one hell of a night.

Moral value: Check under your bed regularly. Who knows WHAT may be down there *cue creepy X-Files music*