This Thing in the night
It finally came with burning eyes to steal me away. It was part of me and part of my dreams. I was only three. I was so young when it spoke to me. I was shocked but too innocent to feel the truth of that emotion. It had not been painted. It was not what my mother had described while pointing at the wall. It was not an invisible thing that secretly lived in the closet.
Its voice began to drum in my ear like a heartbeat.
Then, the smell.
It came like something sweet and putrefied. It was not what it told you it was. It was abhorrent and careful. It touched me and was like an old green carpet with a face. The smell!
It spoke. It spoke to me in cartoons and nightmares, teaching me these words it eventually wanted me to say.
I remember that night and choke on the awful message inside me. It was a secret I tried to hide.
I still feel like I’m there. I feel like I’m burning. I can smell it everywhere. The secret lives inside of me and itches. It has legs. I can’t sleep.
This thing is burning in the night.