The Monster (a short story)

In the darkest corner it waits. Placidly waiting to torture me for the wrongs I have done. Pretending to sleep, not to move, nor breathe, yet through an opening of my cave of pillows covering my head, keeping my eyes indirectly fixed at the ink black end of the room, where it placidly waits. Wrapping myself a little bit more under the blanket, but still, not enough to not feel exposed. It knows that I’m awake, knows that I hear the wind knocking at my window and feel the cold shadows of moonlit trees dancing across the bed. It is in these cold, never-ending nights in particular, where it appears and deprives me from sleep, patiently, silently waiting, just standing there in that corner between the unlit. But tonight is different, this time I dare to take a longer glimpse across the darkness, I won’t wait for the old sun to save me. It already knows that I’m looking right at him and stares back, something familiar the way it does. My heart is pounding, but still determined to be exposed and to get out of my cave.

“What are you?! I know I’m not asleep, but are you a product of my mind?”

Placidly staring, then at once moving towards the window to escape. But I get up the bed, grab it at its back, pulling it down to the floor, to see its face…

A seemingly never-ending night. The wind knocking at my window. Between the cold shadows of moonlit trees it is now plain to see. After all this time, the monster, it was me.