I know there’s something at the foot of my bed. Each night I know it’s there. I can’t see it, I don’t need to see it. I can feel it. I can feel the corner of the bed pushed down by it’s weight. It’s just there. All night. Lingering in the dark. Watching me. I have my head buried in my blankets. It’s so hot, I can hardly breathe, I’m so sick of the smell of my own breath, I just want fresh air. I don’t want to see it. Every night it sits there. And every night I burrow into my bed wishing I could sink lower. Down into the mattress and away from it…the thing that sits on the corner of my bed. Every. Single. Night.
On more than one occasion did myself and my brother see a man, dressed in very old clothing, run down the stairs into the basement and disappear. He never cast a shadow, never made a sound, and had no reflection in the window above the staircase. We never saw him anywhere but running down those steps into the basement.
They walk into the movie theater. He is so excited to go out for once with her, usually she is such a homebody. She prefers to stay at home, something he just doesn’t understand. She turns heads. All attention is on her when she enters a room. It doesn’t surprise him, she is so beautiful. He smiles proudly as they buy their popcorn and take their seats. She is so statuesque. He wonders how she can always look so perfect and poised. The movie ends and he helps her into the car like the gentleman he is. The people at the theater are left to wonder about the man with the doll that he calls his wife.
The old woman smiled that sweet, warm smile. The one that made me feel warm and safe.
She said “I’d catch a little mouse and one by one I would cut off it’s tiny toes with my dull pocket knife. When it’s screaming started to irritate me…I’d snap it’s furry neck with just a quick flick.” She chuckled softly.
“Now a days they’d lock you up for doing things like that.” she whispered.