The People Who Watch Us Sleep at Night

When you turn the lights out at night, and crawl between cool, comfortable sheets, you are not alone. It is dark but for the street lights or moon peaking through the windows, but it is more than enough for Them to see. The People Who Watch Us Sleep at night do not watch with human eyes.

As you drift off to sleep, They stare at you through air conditioner vents, and under door cracks. They listen to you breathe and snore and sleepily murmur through snoozing clock radios and turned-off TVs. You might wake, totally sure someone else is in the room with you, but you can't see Them through the shadows. And you can't hear Them over your own heart beat. The only sense that detects Them is your knowing. So you roll over, and try to forget that you know.

Once you are deep asleep, They bound from one shadow to the next, until They crouch huddled around your bed. The deeper you go into sleep, the closer They draw to your body. They crawl under your sheets and blankets. Some melt up from under the bed. Toward the end of the night, They are suffocatingly close, like a plastic bag over the head. When They are not listening, They are telling. They speak into your mouth, so each breath we take draws Them in. The first thing you taste in the morning will be Their whispers. They taste like dirty black licorice.

The things they say are warnings, or threats. They will not hurt you. They just watch. But the more you fill up on Their sayings, the more forgetful you become. Their words build up like plaque on your brain, and you forget to do little things; like brush your teeth before bed, say your prayers, or lock the front door. They drift out through the unlocked door, and someone with rope and pliers slips in. And when you wake up, if you wake up, you will absolutely know you are completely alone.