Nothing could be worse than being so high when walking your dog, that then the dark apartment parking lot becomes an intense liminal space, then the dog whips their head in one direction and just starts doing a light growl. All over the overture of a dying smoke detector echoing from a distance.
Something is running outside. It doesn’t sound natural. There’s too many limbs. The way it slaps the pavement sends chills up my spine. Can it get through the window?
The balcony door is still open. You get the feeling that if you look out, you will make eye contact. Every fiber of your being is focused on unplugging the lights so you can fully shut the door and lock it. Movement out of the corner of your eye makes your heart hammer in your chest. No sudden movements, but you start to move faster. It could reach out at any second. If it does it’ll get in. You won’t be able to stop it. You have to open the door to put the cord out. You throw it out fast and it hits the ground. Too loud. Hurry! The door!
Either my smoke alarms going off or it’s in here. Under the bed probably. Mimicking it. Waiting for me to be annoyed enough to get out of bed and put my feet on the floor. It waits just a little to long sometimes. Between the beeps. It feels wrong. I’m staying under the blankets.
