I can feel them downstairs…

I can feel them downstairs.

I know they are rifling through the papers on the end table, planting listening devices in the phone and drugging the milk. They are there every night and every night its the same, I pretend I can’t feel them and hear them whispering. The whispers are the worst I can almost make out what their saying and it makes my skin crawl when I get so close to interpreting the words but then realize it’s gobbledygook.

I think the cat knows they’re there too, sometimes she’ll glance sharply over at the stair case, eyes wide sparkling her dangerous green. I wonder if they’ve been here long enough for her to be used to them, perhaps they’ve even pet her when I’m asleep – I know they do other things, but can the cat tolerate them – whatever they are? I hope she’ll be like an early warning system for me, if she jumps off the bed and heads to a hole I may have a chance to defend myself, I might even have a chance to run – if they let me.

Sometimes I awaken from a deep sleep and know one of them is standing over me. I lay perfectly still  – if they know I know they are there they would be more likely to hurt me or something – its the something that is the most frightening, trying to figure out what they want with me. After a while when I can hear their heartbeat, almost feel their breath on my face I cannot stand it anymore, sometimes I moan or yawn and very slowly roll over on my side  and as much as I want to I don’t breathe a heavy sigh of relief, I just freeze like that. One of two things usually happens, if I’m lucky I just pass out from exhaustion if I’m not I can lie there all night wondering when they’ll leave me alone or if this is the night they take me.

I somehow know they want to take me, I can feel it in my soul a deep need for them to take me with them wherever it is that they go and I know that would be a bad thing for me, the worst thing I’m fairly certain.

I can feel one behind me as I write this. I can’t see his reflection in the screen but I can feel him standing in the doorway and I know he can read all of this. That frightens part of me and relieves the other part – perhaps the fear can end it’s the anticipation and not knowing that are the worst for me. Not knowing what they’re looking for, when they will take me and especially how much it will hurt.

Tonight when I turn off the light and pull the sheet over me I know I’ll hear them again downstairs – a scritch scratch of papers moving here and there, a creak in the floor board and like I heard the other night a foot step or two on the stair.

I can feel them downstairs…

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