Even in the quiet corridor the fridge breathed like a slow steam train. The air was cool for November. There was no heating or fire or fan. The cat was away. No fox could be heard. I hate foxes but I would not wear one. The people upstairs walked about slowly and quietly. A chair was dragged across the floor. Heavy feat stomped. My thoughts were turning to food and perhaps a brief sonorous chant before bedtime. I dreaded sleeping again after a night of coughing and spluttering. My hernia was evident again at so much upheaval. Muscles were tired. My every move was careful. I thought of the previous night as I heard the neighbours lock their door. But whoever was interested in invading their space unless it was me had to pass through 2 doors. I pondered this for one second only.
I have these monstrous terrors sometimes. They are difficult to describe. Like a paranoid recurring rite of passage. Only they are not dreams or mares they are like projections visible and aural. It can be people seemingly trying to get into my flat via the garden door or the front door and I will double lock the door but only when the sensation happens. My skin crawls. A scratching and a murmuring in my half asleep half awake state. Rough outlines of someone in the corner, once I remember she looked just like an old ex girlfriend. It was Julie Anne. Masses of hair, shafts of red, wildly flowing in the gloom with lips parted to show the pearly teeth. I was turned on. I had always wished that we had gone further than we had.
Scratching at the worlds and behind the walls. What the fuck. I slowly peeled back the wall paper in my room. I was transported back to the Welsh hills. An owl regurgitated a mouse on a wall outside my window. That night I kicked out spectacularly and put my foot through the plastered wall in the darkness. I surprised myself. I had slain the monster again with my foot this time. Now I could sleep for a couple of hours until the next visitation.
The Monster by Eminem and Rihanna
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