Do you ever get the feeling you're being watched? Like some kind of faceless entity is peering through your window, watching you doing things that should never leave your bedroom, listening to you talking to yourself as you're spilling your guts just to have it out in the open. These are the same thoughts that linger through my mind every day I find myself alone.
Not a single moment has passed by in my life where I have ever felt truly alone. At times I would make jokes to myself in hopes to appease whatever was watching me. I'd sometimes vent to it, as I hadn't many others to turn to in order to unleash my inner thoughts upon. Somehow speaking to myself, and the thing, comforted me in a strange way. Some days I'd imagine it would hear how devastating my life had been thus far and it deciding to reach out and comfort me.
My parents, nor even my few friends, would ever comfort me when things got rough in my life. It may have been because I wasn't as intimate with the details as I was when I spoke to myself. Was it crazy to take comfort in being watched?
I'll never forget the day I actually heard a noise from outside my window, an inhuman shriek of some kind. It sounded like the scream of an owl, which sounds absolutely terrifying by the way, but I knew that's not what the sound was. It sounded more like a cry of pain. Something outside had been injured, but what?
I threw my window open and looked outside to investigate. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Though it was night, the outside of our house was dimly lit because of the Christmas lights we had set up the week prior. I saw nothing outside but grass and the tall wooden fence that surrounded our yard. I didn't know what had made that noise, but my first instinct after closing my bedroom window was to stand up and walk around as I talked to myself about it, narrating the event. But in doing this, I'd felt something rather odd. For the first time in my life, I felt as though I was only speaking to myself. For the first time, I felt as though there wasn't a single soul listening to me.
The next morning I went downstairs to grab some breakfast. Something didn't feel right. Nobody else was walking around. I have never been the first person awake here. I checked the clock, it was nearly eleven o'clock. I looked out the kitchen window and saw my parents cars still parked in the driveway. I walked to the living room, maybe they were watching television.
I made my way into the living room and nearly fainted at the sight I was bearing witness to. My parents were dead, hanging from the slow spinning ceiling fan, dripping blood. On the wall behind them was a message written in what I could only assume to be my parents blood, "I'M SORRY I LEFT YOU"
Not a single moment has passed by in my life where I have ever felt truly alone. At times I would make jokes to myself in hopes to appease whatever was watching me. I'd sometimes vent to it, as I hadn't many others to turn to in order to unleash my inner thoughts upon. Somehow speaking to myself, and the thing, comforted me in a strange way. Some days I'd imagine it would hear how devastating my life had been thus far and it deciding to reach out and comfort me.
My parents, nor even my few friends, would ever comfort me when things got rough in my life. It may have been because I wasn't as intimate with the details as I was when I spoke to myself. Was it crazy to take comfort in being watched?
I'll never forget the day I actually heard a noise from outside my window, an inhuman shriek of some kind. It sounded like the scream of an owl, which sounds absolutely terrifying by the way, but I knew that's not what the sound was. It sounded more like a cry of pain. Something outside had been injured, but what?
I threw my window open and looked outside to investigate. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Though it was night, the outside of our house was dimly lit because of the Christmas lights we had set up the week prior. I saw nothing outside but grass and the tall wooden fence that surrounded our yard. I didn't know what had made that noise, but my first instinct after closing my bedroom window was to stand up and walk around as I talked to myself about it, narrating the event. But in doing this, I'd felt something rather odd. For the first time in my life, I felt as though I was only speaking to myself. For the first time, I felt as though there wasn't a single soul listening to me.
The next morning I went downstairs to grab some breakfast. Something didn't feel right. Nobody else was walking around. I have never been the first person awake here. I checked the clock, it was nearly eleven o'clock. I looked out the kitchen window and saw my parents cars still parked in the driveway. I walked to the living room, maybe they were watching television.
I made my way into the living room and nearly fainted at the sight I was bearing witness to. My parents were dead, hanging from the slow spinning ceiling fan, dripping blood. On the wall behind them was a message written in what I could only assume to be my parents blood, "I'M SORRY I LEFT YOU"
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