Under the Covers
By Madison Kelly
The Girl’s movements were slow as she entered the room. Each move taking great effort, her eyes fighting gravity, as they longed to slip into slumber. The promise of peaceful sleep the only aspect pushing her forward.
The Girl moved drowsily around her room, going through the familiar motions of preparing for bed. Stepping over piles of abandoned clothes. Rummaging through sadly organized drawers. Changing into cotton pajamas. Combing her hair. Fluffing the pillows with their mismatching pillow cases.
Her gaze lingering on the mattress and her covers, as if they called for her to rest. She pulls herself away, leaving the room. Her shuffling steps grew distant as she wandered down the hall. The sound of pipes groaning to life fill the house. Their cries of protest as they are wrenched from rest. The faucet begins to run in the bathroom down the hall. Brushing her teeth.
The far-off clangor lasted for several more minutes, then the shuffling began again as she made her way towards the safety of her sheets. But before she could reach her objective her footsteps stopped just outside the bedroom door, and quiet conversation could be made out. Whispers in the silent night, as if trying not to disturb tranquil waters.
Trying to keep the peace, or maybe to avoid waking what lies beneath the surface in hidden depths.
The Mother. That's who The Girl converses with. Their low voices drift through the house like shadow. Quick mutteres of “Good night,” and “I love you,” and “See you in the morning.'' How quaint. How adorable.
The hinges of the door moan as The Girl slips inside. The elderly home's stairs creak and squeal as The Mother heads to her own room to slip under her covers. The sounds of The Mother fade away, until only the watchful eyes of silence remain.
The Girl finally pulled back the covers, and slipped inside their protection. Flicking out the feeble light of her lamp, swatching the room in a sheet of darkness. The only light, the slivers of pale moonlight sneaking through the closed blinds. Finally protected from the strife of the world outside her down feather comforter, The Girl looks like the picture of comfort. Finally ready to rest her heavy mind and accept the embrace of sleep.
But she will find no rest tonight.
As she tries to drift off, to fade from reality, in the back of her mind she feels the presence. The familiar sensations of being watched. Observed. Hunted.
She does what most would do. She ignores it. She waves off the warning signs, refusing to give in to the paranoia seeping into her bones.
But when the jarring sound of her closet door creaking open assaults her ears, The Girl must face true reality. She is not alone. Her eyes still remain shut tightly, but she has gone still. No more shuffling or stretching out in the bed. She is waiting. Listening.
She doesn't see the shadows grow like wild vines, untamed and unruly. She didn’t see the moonlight retreat from the room, seeking asylum from the darkness stirring. The bedroom shrouded in obscure twilight.
When The Girl hears the first knock, she jumps like she had just grabbed a live wire. Then the color drains from her face, leaving her already pale complexion ghostly.
Knock . . . Knock . . . Knock . . .
She freezes. Denying reality. Trying to wake up from the nightmare. Clinging to her covers for safety.
Knock Knock Knock . . .
By now, silent tears begin to leak from The Girl's eyes.
KNOCK KNOCK.
The bang of her doors cause The Girl to cower further into her bed. Looking for some scrap of imagined protection.
But finally The Girls' eyes flickered open.
She saw, she had finally looked.
She saw the monster in her closet, watching, waiting.
A scream bubbled in her throat, but her tiny frozen body couldn't release the noise.
Truly frozen in fear. Unable to tear her eyes away from the abomination peeking out of her closet. The sound of her racing heartbeat filled the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing in her own ears. The Girl began to shake and her silent tears turned to horrific sobs. Her voice breaking.
Her eyes locked with soulless ones, clouded and bulging. Unblinking eyes staring back. A cheshire smile stretching from ear to ear. Teeth rotting, decaying, chipped and stained black. Skin dead and gray, without life. The long spindly arms with knuckles brushing the floor. The hunchback and tight skin over exposed ribs. Its shallow and gasping breaths ringing in the small bedroom.
It just stood in the closet peeking from around the half open door. Watching. Waiting. Its smile never fading, eyes never blinking.
The Girl stared at The Thing, too afraid to let her gaze roam for even a moment. She stared for hours. A standoff. The Girl just needed to keep looking. But sleep crept up on The Girl. Her eyes being pulled shut against her will. Her mind growing duller. The Things smile going impossibly wider.
Her eyes are so heavy. They slip closed for just a moment. A moment of reprieve for The Girl. A moment of safety under the covers.
As quickly as it came the reprieve was shattered. By the sound of creaking floorboards.
Her eyes spring open, and once her eyes have once again focused in the twilight her tears begin anew.
Because The Thing is gone. The unknown fostering more fear into her. Her closet door left open, still creaking as it slowly rocks back and forth.
Shooting up in the bed The Girl looks frantically around the space. Eyes appraising every shadow and corner and crevice.
Her heart now racing so fiercely it was a wonder she didn’t just kneel over and die from terror. But that wouldn’t be any fun.
The Girl continued to search in vain, until she stopped. Halting at a sound.
The sound of shallow and gasping breaths.
Coming from above.
She had no more tears left to cry, not as her fate began to seal itself.
First she looked at the door. Wondering if she could make it, clinging to hope like it could save her. It couldn’t. She knew it too.
She shifted her gaze, staring unseeing at her covers. The Girl steeling herself to face the end.
Then she looked up.
The Mother mourned. Grief stricken and forlorn. Living day to day like a ghost haunting her own home. Drifting from room to room, as if she could find purpose in one of them. An understandable state to be in after the incident.
For months the decrepit radio in the kitchen blared the news. The only real story was The Girl. Search volunteers poured in by the hundreds, all collaborating in desperate and fleeting hope that they would find The Girl. It really brought the community together, which is quite nice. But of course they didn’t find a thing. It's not like they could find anything. There isn't anything left to be found.
They didn’t know that.
So they searched in vain. Until the volunteers gave up hope one by one. Gave up, and went back home to rest under the safety of their covers.
The Mother kept searching, until she had to face the unthinkable truth. Yet, even as she now wanders the house that no longer feels like a home, she still holds on to that small ember of hope in her heart.
As stated. Desperate. Fleeting.
She didn’t know that The Girl was gone. Gone as if she had never existed in the first place. Not just dead. But well and truly gone.
The Girl was just a part of me now.
The Mother didn’t know a lot of things.
For example, she didn’t know that today was her last living day.
She didn’t know that tonight, in just a few measly hours, she would be having a visitor.
She didn’t know that while she lay restless in the safety of sheets, that I would be watching.
Watching as she tossed and turned. Listening to her quiet cries and the insignificant beat of her heart.
I will be watching. I will be waiting.
Waiting for her to notice the shadow creeping from the bottomless darkness. To see the unblinking eyes devoid of soul. To see my lovely smile.
Waiting to see The Mother’s fear. The panic.
Waiting to see that little ember snuffed out when face to face with death.
I wonder if she will scream. If she will beg for mercy like most do. Will she try to fight? To have a humorous last stand! Even the thought of it makes me giggle.
Or will she freeze like The Girl.
Like mother like daughter.
Will she freeze when faced with her demise. Will she watch silently from under her covers as I finally step forward. As I creep closer, one foot at a time. As my smile widens, but my eyes remain unblinking. As I slowly drag myself from the darkness … closer and closer …
Will she start crying? Will she try to make a break for the door?
As I get closer … and closer …
Closer, and closer … Until I’m leaning over her.
Until she feels my breath caress her face.
Until she can see only my lovely eyes, and lovely smile.
They will be the last thing she ever sees.
Will she cling to the covers, cling to her fasle and feeble safety.
Will she say a meaningless prayer to a meaningless god?
She didn’t know there was no god that could save her. There had been no god for The Girl.
I wonder what her face will look like …
I do hope she screams…
Madison Kelly
Grade 12
Writing has always been a way for me to be creative and express myself. I like challenging myself, and trying new ways of writing. For me, writing will always be something I love, and I hope I will be able to continue writing!