By Novid Shaid
When mummy and daddy go to sleep, I am still awake. Awake and alone in my bed. I haven’t got a brother or sister; I’m an only child, but I’m not sad about that. My parents love me lots and lots. I know I’m lucky to have such wonderful parents, and I do get to play with friends at school and outside in my area.
So I’m not lonely, and I’m not bitter about things. I’m happy about most things in my life. But there’s just this one thing. Night time. When mummy and daddy go to sleep and shut the lights off, leaving me in my bed, surrounded by the dark. That’s when things change. Things move. Things get closer and closer.
Never when mummy or daddy are in the room, reading me a story or pushing me up to bed; never then. Or even if my mum suddenly comes into the room if I have let out a scream or shouted for help. Things suddenly disappear. They are very clever. They know how to avoid grown-ups. Should I ever tell mummy or daddy what I hear, what I see or what I feel when they go to sleep, they would probably think I was going crazy or having bad dreams, and order me to stop watching movies or blame it on my computer games. I enjoy all those things, and I don’t want my parents to think I’m crazy or a little baby, so I don’t say a word about the things I see and hear when mummy and daddy go to sleep. And the things find it very amusing that I have to challenge them, alone.
Let me describe to you in detail what happens. In fact, mummy doesn’t know this, but I have sneaked a torch into my bed and I am describing to you here and now what is going to happen, so that you can really get a clear idea of what I’m blabbering on about.
Mum has just left the room, after blowing me a kiss and leaving the room, with that lovely smile that makes me feel special before I go to sleep. I’ve heard her shut the door and go into her bedroom, and she has shut the lights and got into bed.
My room is now, slowly but surely, being flooded with darkness. It seems to fill the room, until I can’t see anything, until all I can hear are the trees shivering outside, or some wailing cats, or sometimes the neighbours next door, or even my heart thumping away like there’s no other sound in the whole world.
After I’ve picked up every single, minute sound, when the room is nothing but darkness, I gradually start to recognise things again, as the darkness slowly seeps out of the room, until I can make out my desk and computer, my wardrobe, the door and most other things. But wait for it. In a few moments, things will start to change.
I am waiting. My clock radio shows the time is 11pm. I am alone in my bed, just watching, waiting and listening. My room is perfectly still, as if it’s frozen in time, or as if everything in room has gone to sleep and is not capable of performing any use to me. Everything is still. I don’t like the waiting. These things have a habit of playing around with my fear and anticipation, never appearing when I anticipate, but always popping out when I least think about them. What a waste of time if they don’t decide to appear tonight.
It’s now 11:30pm. They’ve kept me waiting for what seems like months. Perhaps they’re not coming out tonight, perhaps they’ve had enough. I am beginning to get frustrated and I am presently thinking of tearing this bit of paper to shreds that I am writing on, when suddenly something is moving and I hear a tiny and cheeky little giggle, loud enough for me, but never audible to my parents. Something is hiding behind my school bag because I see it moving ever so slowly, and I can just about make out something standing behind it.
They’re here. This is how it always starts. A couple hiding and giggling, playing cat and mouse, then, later, the rest, hundreds, but not hiding and not giggling, but creeping up to me ever so carefully. It’s difficult for me to write while keeping an eye on these things, I feel like I am open to attack or that one of them may jump onto my bed, although they’ve never done that yet, for they seem to shrink back when I look at them, but when I stop noticing and start drifting off to sleep, that’s when they start creeping nearer and nearer…
Suddenly something scurries across the room in a split second and lets out a vicious little cackle as it realises it hasn’t been caught out. I just about make out two gleaming eyes, a round face, and a miniature body, staring at me for a moment before darting away. I have remained in my bed because I feel this is the safest place to be, because they’d rather I get out and look for them and leave the security of my bed. The bed is like my haven, my little island, and the room is the ocean which is full of creatures, lying in wait, just in case I accidentally fall into the ocean.
Another one sprints across. This time disappearing into my wardrobe. Oh how exasperating this is! They’ll just continue doing this until we all get bored, and they finally decide the hell with this, and all come out into the open. That’s when I really am afraid, even though I’ve been through this, what seems like hundreds of times. This time, I am determined to record this nightly event as a live event, describing what I see on the page. Even the very last thing. The charge, the surge. Though they don’t really charge, they just all move closer, ever so slowly, ever so cautiously.
Now it’s still again. Nothing moves. You’d be forgiven for thinking nothing has occurred, but don’t bet on that. What’s coming next is the worst part, the surge. When they all appear, when they all move towards me. Swish! Several suddenly dash across the room and now crouch in each corner. As I scan around I now see many heads, popping out behind every single object in my room, under the desk, inside the bin, out of my closet, from every corner. Slowly patches of them form a creeping mass of tiny little bodies, gleaming eyes, malevolent smiles, wiry hands, all shuffling closer and closer to my bed. Normally, at this time, I retreat into my bed, and I wrap more of the duvet around my body, until all I can see is a few eyes from my little peep hole, under my duvet. But this time, I see these hundreds of little things, within arm’s reach, staring straight into my eyes, hanging back a little, wishing with every limb in their nasty little bodies that I fall out of the bed, in fear and desperation. Suddenly the light goes on outside, my mother is walking up to the door, in a flash she opens my door and is greeted to a dark, empty room except for me shivering in my bed.
Phew! She came in, just to check on me and surprise, surprise! The devious little cretins all disappeared in the blink of an eye. But this has happened before many times, and mum didn’t notice the torch or my writing pad in my bed because I successfully hid them, so here I am, writing again, in the here and now. It’s midnight and I lie in my bed, face forward, writing these notes, waiting for the next surge of my nocturnal companions, or should I say enemies. I’m looking around the room but can’t see any of them, not under the desk, by the closet, beside the bin, they’ve gone. Sometimes they do that, after my mum or dad has disrupted one of their attacks; they just go away and I don’t see them for a couple of days. Maybe this is the case this time, I might as well just stop writing now and go back to sleep, I w no
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Evidence Item 1
Last document attributed to 12 year old, Percy Fonte, recovered and presented to detective John Hardies by the boy’s parents, Dominic and Diane Demetrus. Date received, July 15th, 2009, 12:01.
Item found by father, according to him, in the child’s bed, under the duvet, after he extensively searched for Percy around the house.
Fingerprints were analysed at Aylesbury Police station and confirmed that they were Percy’s finger prints.
One print in the bottom left corner, discovered but yet to be identified. Print characterised as also an adolescent’s but not Percy’s.
Aylesbury Police Station
(July, 2009)