Who's there?

It's worse in a small house. If it was a big house like in the movies, I don't think it would bother me so much, but it's hard feeling the vibrations through my mattress from hollow footsteps in the next room.

I stare at the black wall and hear a book being pulled from my shelf. Someone sits in my chair, opening to the first page. The quiet breathing comes from a few feet away.

When I can't take it any longer, I switch on the desk lamp, get up, and turn on all the other lights. I look through my books, but can't tell if anything is out of place. I pass my hand over the chair. Is it my imagination? Does it feel cooler than the rest of the room? Sometimes, in the morning, things on my desk are not quite the way I remember them. My mind is playing tricks on me.

After a while, I turn off the lights and try to sleep again. Cold air touches my back. I close my eyes, frozen. A moth flutters against my skin and I can't brush it away. A sound comes from the kitchen.

A mouse? The thought of something real gives me courage. I roll over quickly to face the empty darkness.

"Who's there?" I call out as loud as I can.

What would I do if someone answered?

I fill a cup with water and go outside. The darkness has its own sounds. I lean against my car, taking comfort in the stars and the lights on the horizon.

I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep. The things I fear the most are the things I haven't heard, the voices of the dead. I can handle them sitting in the darkness, but I'm afraid of their words. It can't be real. I know I'm not crazy. It doesn't make sense, but still...

The dead have been accumulating almost as long as the living. If they're here, they're all around us, passing through us, passing through each other. Do souls end? Where do they go?

I finish my water and go back inside. The emptiness should be a relief, but I keep thinking of all the things filling the space. Something's got to be there--things I can't see. I choke on the air. It's hard to breathe, when your mind multiplies worms filling up the darkness.

I walk through the dead, putting my cup beside the sink. I turn off the lights one by one. The sheets are damp from my sweat. I push everything away except the pillows. I take deep breaths, trying to drown out the sounds from the darkness. I think about girls who used to put their arms around me. For a moment, it feels nice. Then, my thoughts drift back to the dead.

I stare at the ceiling until I'm swallowed by the darkness. I'm glad I don't remember my dreams. I don't think I'd want to.