something else


there is something else living inside of my house.

it fills the empty rooms after sunset, peeks through the windows when i turn around, watches me getting dressed. it is formless and shapeless and terrifying, silent but for the tapping of doors against nothing. silent but for whatever falls over in the other room.

there is something else living inside of my house.

it has been here as long as i have, and so it has been here for my forever. it is responsible for the fingernail scrape of branches across walls. it is so soft, so subtle, but louder to my trained ears than an unexpected infomercial, than my 6:30 a.m. alarm. i can hear it when no one else can, because it only wants me. when i am with others, it hides because it knows that if they find it, something bad will happen to it. if i find it, something bad will happen to me. we are two sides of the same coin

and there is something else living inside of my house.

it is a shapeshifter. i can never quite pinpoint what it looks like. it has a strong aura, though, colored like dread, colored like increased heart rate, like it is a poisonous frog with the courtesy to warn you that if you get too close, you’ll be done for. it has telepathy. it can hold me back with its mind. i think it is trying to protect me. i think it is trying to keep me safe.

there is something else living inside of my house

and maybe it is sparing me. by keeping me cautious, maybe it is teaching me to always check twice before turning a corner. maybe it is teaching me that i was right. that i should be scared of the dark and everything,

there is this thing that lives inside of my mind.

i know it is there. i have known it is there for a very long time, and yet, and yet, and yet i still listen to the things that go bump in the night, when it is just me.

it has always just been me.

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