Nocturnal Emissions

When I'm sitting in bed, usually when my wife and kids are away and I'm on my own in the house, I get little snippets of stories. Little scenarios that set my skin crawling and spark my insomnia. The little stories *really* don't help me sleep, but writing them down does. I have been sticking them on Facebook, but I've decided I'll transfer them across to the blog. Share the pain and all that.

Edit - 31st July, 2016: Added #4
Edit - 9th of August, 2016: Added #5
Edit - 19th of June, 2017: Added #6

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1
It's time to sleep.

Noticing the iPad is on 18% power, I reach down to where I instinctively know the power cable lies. Plugging it in, a last Facebook post catches my attention. After a moment, I lean over to rummage under the edge of the bed where the plugs are.

Just as I do, there's a click from below me and my iPad softly chimes.

I sit watching the screen.

18%

19%

20%

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2

Finally, I get to bed, turning out the light and settling down with a sigh of relief. It's been a long day, and the kids were playing up at bed time. I got a blissfully peaceful half hour to read before I gave up, too tired to concentrate.

I close my eyes, slipping down under the duvet that bit more, feeling sleep edging in.

My wife sits down on the edge of the bed. I know it's not one of the kids. My wife just sits there for a while. I keep my eyes closed, chasing oblivion. After a while, my wife puts her hand on my shoulder. She is gentle. I find no peace in it.

After another little while, my wife pats my shoulder with a thin hand, stands and walks away.

My wife.

Sleep has abandoned me.

It was my wife.

I keep telling myself that, though I know she is in a city far away.

It was my wife.

My eyes are closed. A pitiful deceit, and no defence at all.

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3

I can't sleep.

Turning on the iPad darkens the room around me, until the world shrinks down to the shadows of my fingers tapping on the bright screen.

The dog, perhaps sensing that I'm distracted, sneaks up onto the bed, his bony weight settling on my one outstretched leg. The other, bent up, provides the stand for my iPad.

I play meaningless match three games for half an hour. The dog shifts. It's irritatingly bony limbs seem everywhere at once. My outstretched leg is going numb, so I decide to stop playing.

I tip the screen, searching for the off button.

The light casts a leering, pale face into high relief, as she leans abruptly forward to grin at me from where she sits on my leg.

The off button plunges the room into darkness.

The headboard behind me is unyielding.

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4

I hate going to the bathroom at night.

Half asleep, conscious thought filters in as I become aware of the door. It's dark. I'm sitting, enthroned, in the dark. I put no lights on. Why not? Why didn't I put the lights on?

The open door to the hall is a slab of darkness, looming in the grey of the room. 

I can't help but stare at it. 

My focus is drawn to the right side of the frame, halfway up.

I wait. 

I watch.

Will I see fingers curl around the door frame?

Will there be a face?

I wait. Longer.

When I take it, the walk to the door takes no time at all, no matter how hard I try.

I know the shape of the hall, the space the darkness occupies. I picture it. 

I step into it, moving quickly, aware of the space behind me, the occupied darkness. I close the bedroom door behind me, not turning, not wanting to face that darkness for even a moment. 

I'll be safe in bed. 

Ridiculous, isn't it?

True, though. That's the rule.

The door opening behind me tells me that the rules don't matter to everyone.

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5

Tiredness washes over you. The bed time routine kicks in.

Every socket in the kitchen off, moving around the room starting from the kettle.

Finish at the back door, locking that. Check by rattling the handle, double-check by pulling on it.

Into the lounge, clicking off the socket powering the tv and the console.

Last look around the empty room.

Light off, watch the red light on the tv fade as the last trickle of power is used up.

Into the hall, not bothering with the light. The bedroom light is on, pushing back the darkness.

The light in the bedroom switches off.

The door was open, the door is still open, but no one went past.

Of course no one went past. There's just you here. 

But no one went past. 

The hall is only six paces long. You're three paces in, standing by the bathroom.

Forward?

Or back?

Forward. 

You can't turn your back on the bedroom. You know that.

Forward!

Now, if whoever is standing in the bathroom would just let go of your hand...

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6
(Tweets this time, as I ditched my Facebook feed.)

When I close the loft hatch, the face I see at the last second doesn't always scare me. Wish it stayed in the loft at night tho. #itwanders

It is really not very good with cutlery. Sadly, there's not much you can do about it, as it is very, very good with knots. #itwanders

After looking at my iPad in bed in the dark, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust enough to see what is right beside me. #itwanders