The Night the Fear Won
In the middle of the night, I wake up. I turn to the right. Try to go back to sleep. The side presses uncomfortably on my shoulder. I turn to the left. This is better. I take a deep breath, my muscles relax, and the soft blanket warms me. It doesn’t help. I can’t fall back asleep. As I lie there awake in bed, I hear a sound in the silence. It was brief, so brief that I wasn’t sure if it had really been there. I stare into the darkness and listen to see if I’ll hear anything again. There’s no one else in the apartment besides me. My girlfriend is visiting her parents and took our dog with her. He always got so excited to go for walks in the nearby forests that I couldn’t say no. I would have gone too, but my vacation was canceled at short notice. It remains quiet. Maybe it was just the cutlery or a plate slipping. They’re already piled up in the sink, impatiently waiting to be washed. Slowly, I turn over in bed again and try to go back to sleep, but by now I’m too awake. The night is surely still young. A frustrating feeling spreads through me, the feeling of having already slept enough. Still, I enjoy the peace of the night. Admittedly, it’s quite nice to have the bed to myself and to stretch out as much as I want. Triggered by my awake mind and the lack of stimuli, my attention slowly shifts to the shapes I can make out in the room. My chair, where I throw my clothes when I go to bed. The TV on the dresser reflects enough light from a distant passing car to be recognizable. A red light assures me that it’s the TV. I usually try to banish unnecessary lights from the bedroom. It’s supposed to help you sleep better. I haven’t been able to part with the TV yet. My girlfriend likes to tease me about this inconsistency, but at least I bought a radio alarm clock that only shows the time when you press a button. The dresser itself is too dull to be seen by the headlights skimming the ceiling. Silently, the light flies through the room, the street too far away to be heard. A magic of the night. With every headlight that illuminates the room, I recognize more details. I see the light switch on the wall, the door handle, the key that always casts a shadow along the door, a hand placing itself on the door handle. My heart seems to skip a beat, my body frozen as if in plaster. The light is gone again, and it’s dark. Silent. My eyes fixed on the spot where I just saw something that couldn’t be there. As soon as it gets light, I have to see it in time. Don’t blink. Don’t move. Breathe carefully. No car is coming. Time feels as if it has been swallowed by darkness. In the blackness of the room, I begin to see lines. Lines that turn into shapes. Shapes that I recognize as limbs. This can’t be, it’s way too dark, it’s just my imagination. I should just reach for the lamp, quickly press the switch, but I’m already too stiff. I can’t bring myself to do it. Reaching for the lamp is too far, too much opportunity to be grabbed and dragged away. I can’t risk it. I think of the TV. It’s always on when I go to bed. The remote is somewhere in the bed, I just have to find it. It’s still quiet, there’s nothing there. But I’m scared, I’ve worked myself up. Just don’t move, then it won’t see you. I try to feel my body, where is the blanket? If I’m completely covered, I can carefully search for the remote. Then light. First behind me, it slowly moves across the room. My heart beats faster. It reaches the door. There’s only the door. For a moment, I’m relieved. Of course, there was nothing there. Since I was a child, I couldn’t lie awake in a dark room without imagining things. That’s why I always slept with the light on. Because I can’t bring myself to turn it on when I’m lying there scared. The only thing that helped was if the light was already on when I opened my eyes. These logical thoughts stopped the moment the car passed and my surroundings were no longer illuminated. Whatever had been there didn’t have to stay there, it could have moved further into the room. It couldn’t have left the room, the door was closed and you can’t open it silently. I always kept it closed, even when I was alone. The sight of an open door in the dark unsettles me too much to even think about sleep. Damn, I should have used the moment of clarity to turn on the light. But now it’s gone. Aimlessly, I look around the room, I can’t search for anything because I can’t see anything. So I listen, but it’s quiet. Then something clicks. My heartbeat speeds up again, and I hold my breath. Where did it come from? It was far away, right? It was too brief, I couldn’t pinpoint it. Maybe it’s the dishes in the sink after all. No, too muffled. Probably just the wood of the cabinet or the bed. Again, there’s light. I brace myself, wait until it illuminates the room once. It’s my lighthouse, guiding me out of my fear. This time, the light is quick, and so am I. I grab for the cable of the bedside lamp but miss the switch. Damn, damn, damn. I feel along the cable, where’s the switch! I reach the lamp and startle at the touch. I almost drop the cable and become even more frantic. In my panic, I sit up and grab the cable with both hands. This time, I find the switch immediately and press it. Warm light floods the room. I look around and search the room. No one is there. I breathe slowly, calming myself as I continue to examine the room. Everything is as usual, and there are no corners where something could hide. Everything is fine. There was never anything there. As I sit there, I feel stupid but also relieved. Everything is fine. I don’t need to be afraid. It’s my imagination that conjures up these images and projects them into my head as if they were real. It doesn’t tire either, even now that the light is on and my concerns have vanished, I still think there might be something outside waiting behind the door. But I’m no longer panicking. So I get up and lock the door. Now nothing can get in without difficulty. I can distract myself a bit. Back in bed, I search for the remote. It was right next to my pillow. How stupid. Whatever, I grab it and turn on the TV. A half-naked woman appears on the screen, moaning a phone number. An ad for a sex hotline. I change the channel, a documentary about a painter, I change again, sex hotline, again, program end notice, again, chess game, again, infomercial. Nothing interesting is on at night, but even infomercials are enough to get my mind on other things so I can try to sleep again later. A kitchen gadget is being advertised that chops all kinds of vegetables into small cubes by hammering on it a few times. I can turn off the light now. The room remains sufficiently illuminated by the TV, and I don’t want to become too awake. I press my alarm clock, and it tells me it’s three in the morning and I should get some more sleep if I don’t want to struggle through the next day. As the screen flickers, I can’t help but continue to listen for sounds from the rest of the apartment. But there’s nothing, and I’m calm. The program is boring, but that’s good. There’s always a water bottle next to my bed. I take it and have a sip. I almost choke on the sparkling water. I cough briefly, then take another sip. It feels invigorating and brings me back to reality. The glass bottle lies heavy and cool in my lap. I keep watching the TV. By now, another product is being advertised. A phone with a contract for two SIM cards, and you get a PC with it. I know these kinds of offers. But I don’t understand how they make sense. If you actually use the phone contract, you get the performance you need and at the same time a free expensive PC or a video game console. There must be something wrong with it. As appealing as these offers seem, I wouldn’t dare to accept them. There are probably hidden costs, and by then it’s too late. My bladder calls, I need to go to the bathroom. But I stay seated and keep watching TV, trying to ignore the pressure building in my lower abdomen. Just go to the bathroom, man. I play through the thoughts to calm myself. It’s no big deal. Just get up, walk through the hallway to the bathroom, and come back. I do this multiple times a day, why not now. I change the channel, I need better distraction to forget the urge to pee. A movie is on.  Seems to be one of those found footage films, shot as if the footage was discovered later. Looks like an episode of Cops, a camera team follows two investigators. A bee man is mentioned who attacked someone. One of the paramedics is shocked by what he sees and asks the investigators what’s going on. They’re vague, so the paramedics imagination runs wild. He thinks there’s a malaria outbreak and they’re trying to cover it up. Suddenly, his nose starts bleeding, and he really has malaria symptoms. I don’t really understand what’s going on, but it seems to be some kind of horror movie. I really don’t need that right now, I change the channel. Bob Ross is painting a picture.  What if I get up and something has been lurking under my bed the whole time? It’s just been waiting to see my feet and then grab me. I change the channel. Sex hotline. Again, the chess game. Again. Cartoons. That always surprises me. How come cartoons are shown so late at night? It can’t be for kids, they should be asleep by now. Although I remember how, at just four years old, I woke up very early in the morning and sneaked into the living room to watch cartoons on TV. But no child gets up that early. It’s about a cow and a rooster who are siblings and go to the same school together. Maybe that’s why they don’t want to show it in the afternoon. You can’t show kids something so ridiculous when they absorb knowledge like a sponge. My bladder won’t leave me alone. The distraction has worked, so I get up, but not without jumping away from the bed. For a moment, I stand with my back to the door and look at my bed. There’s nothing there. I go to the door and step on something that stabs my foot. A shock runs through me, and I can’t suppress a cry of pain. A shattered bone. I get annoyed. Not only does it look really creepy, but my girlfriend and me also argued often enough about not leaving chewed dog treats lying around everywhere. I reach for the door handle but hesitate. Earlier, I locked the door because I was afraid of what might be behind it. Don’t think, just don’t think. I turn the key and open the door. The hallway is dark, the room at the other end black. My bladder is unmistakably pressing. I gather my courage and run, like a scared child, from the bedroom to the bathroom. Light on, door closed and locked. Relief. I stand there for a long time, letting the stream run, as if my body wants to release as much urine as possible, seemingly upset that I denied it relief for so long. I’m done and wash my hands, then go to the door. I hesitate again. Without the pressure of my bladder, it’s suddenly not so easy to overcome myself. I stand in front of the door and wait. Listen for sounds behind it. Very faintly, I can hear the TV. I go back to the toilet, put the lid down, and sit on it. Oh man… why am I like this? No, it can’t be. I stand up again, go to the door, grab the handle. Damn. Now I’ve worked myself up again. I go back, sit down. Think, try to rationalise my thoughts. I just walked through the hallway, and there was nothing there. What I suspected in my bedroom wasn’t there, and if something ghostly had been there, it could have eaten me long ago. It’s playing with me, waiting until I feel safe to grab me. Come on. This is silly. Suddenly, I hear something outside the door. Footsteps? No, too quiet. It’s getting closer. A crackling? Quietly, I go to the door. The sound doesn’t get louder, or it just stopped. No, maybe worse, it’s standing in front of the door, waiting. Staring in my direction, the only thing separating us a two-centimetre-thick piece of wood. Did I lock it? Oh no, the door isn’t locked at all. I take a step back, my eyes wide open. Wait. Don’t move.  Minutes pass, I think. Nothing happens. I keep waiting, locking my eyes on the door handle. It mustn’t move, please don’t move. Then I realise I’m only looking forward, what’s behind me? I think. The toilet, the bathtub, the window. Oh no, the window. What if it’s not in front of the door but looking through the window and has been able to see me the whole time? I want to turn around and look. But also keep an eye on the door. Panic sets in. In my imagination, a white, expressionless face, shrouded in darkness, floats outside the window, staring at me. I hear something gurgling. Oh God, what is that. It’s been quiet the whole time, and now something is gurgling. Where is it coming from? Without turning my head, I scan the room with my eyes, trying to locate the sound. The drain, it must be the drain, but it’s coming from behind. The sink is next to me. No. It could also be the bathtub. But I didn’t use that faucet running there. Maybe from the neighbours? But in the middle of the night? Toilet flush. It could be a toilet flush, the toilet is behind me. I can’t wait for it to get me. I quickly turn around, look out the window, and see the blue sky. Dawn has long since arrived, and I didn’t even notice. Oh man… I go to the window and look out. I’m on the third floor. If something had been at the window, it would have to be really creepy to climb up the flat wall. I smile and feel relieved. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the clouds are already lit up. If I want to get some more sleep, I should go back to bed now. If it’s only around five, I can still get two hours of sleep or at least rest in bed before I have to get up. When I try to open the bathroom door, it doesn’t move. Of course, I locked it. I never forget to lock the door. I turn the key and walk through the door. The hallway is now bright too and no longer threatening. Before I go back to the bedroom, I want to stop by the kitchen. I have water by the bed, but I suspect the sparkling water won’t be good for my stomach after I’ve ruined the night with my unnecessary panic. I take a glass from the cupboard and fill it at the kitchen sink. As I do, I see that one of the plates has cracked in half. Must have happened when I put it in the sink, I should really be more careful. My girlfriend won’t be happy about it. I drink the water and lean against the kitchen counter. In the dim morning light, I look down the hallway toward the living room. Usually, my girlfriend is already up and has the kitchen radio on. But today it’s quiet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something white flash. I look, but there’s nothing there. No one is here. I’m really tired. The glass is empty, and I put it with the others in the sink. Now back to bed. As I walk through the hallway, I notice I can’t hear the TV. When I open the bedroom door, the screen is dark. Apparently, I was in the bathroom longer than I thought, and it turned off by itself. Whatever. I’ll lie down now, check the alarm clock, and turn the TV back on. I’ll probably need the noise to fall asleep. I walk through the room, stop in front of the bed, and reach for my alarm clock. Suddenly, icy hands grab my legs. I have no reaction, no understanding of what’s happening. They emerge from under my bed and pull at me. I bend forward and manage to grab my mattress. The arms pulling me are extremely strong. My shins slam painfully against the bed, and I try to pull my feet away, but the hands won’t let go. The pressure becomes more and more extreme, my shins bending. I start to scream. I claw tighter at the mattress. Something cracks. I don’t know if it’s wood or bone. The pain is indescribable, like a diffuse explosion radiating through my entire body. Suddenly, thousands of sharp needles pierce my toes. Over and over, they bore into my toes like a relentless sewing machine. My vision goes into a blur. I fall backward. In the brief moment I remain upright, I feel my shattered shins collapsing. Falling. Hitting the back of my head on the floor. I don’t even feel the impact. I see the ceiling. Drunk by pain I lift my head and look down at my feed. A pale face stares back, teeth like toothpicks. It doesn’t move. Like I caught it doing something naughty. How is this happening? Monsters aren’t real. Still there it is. Just like I imagined it. Then I’m pulled under the bed. Credit: S. Obelisk Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.