An Idea

I had an idea last night.

It was a terrible, dark idea. I woke in darkness and mumbled it to myself as a question before I had processed the actual words. Once said out loud, it had a presence, it was part of reality. It was in the room with me.

I had felt it bubbling at the edge of my mind for months, as though I were perpetually on the verge of some horrible realisation. It made my coworkers stop talking to me and it was the reason my bed was empty last night. I was thankful for that as I stumbled into the hallway, closing the door behind me.

I sat in the dark hallway, pressed against my door. I could feel something pressing back on the other side, seeking a way out into the world.

I must have fallen asleep, because it was morning when I finally opened the door to my empty bedroom. I had left my window cracked open and apparently that was all it had needed to escape.

I stare outside and think about how fast an idea can spread.

Three Sentence Stories (Part 2)

I sit perfectly still on my bed, cradling my infant son. It’s just me and him in this house, since his mother passed. From the baby monitor on my night-stand I hear a familiar woman’s voice, weeping and calling for her son, and I hear the floorboards creak in the hallway outside my door.

Everyone stopped talking three days ago. One morning I awoke from a dream of horribly twisted creatures hissing truths and, half dazed as I walked outside, I could see in my neighbours’ eyes that he had seen the same. It is a terrible secret we all bear now, and no one is willing to be the first to break the silence, to acknowledge it and to live in the world where we know that God has no love for us.

The walls in my house are moving in my sleep. Every time I wake up it takes me a little longer to figure out how to leave, and every time I fall asleep I awake in my bed again, wherever it has been put. It’s been days now, and I am tired beyond belief but I am sure I’ll find the front door soon, before the walls close in.