Stop Him

Sleepover

My eyes snapped open the sound of a squeak.

    I must've fallen asleep.

    Blinking, confused, I watched as my closet door opened by itself.  What the hell?  Disoriented, I realized my phone was still playing Lucifer, giving off a bit of light in the room as I stared at the closet hard, trying to see what had just opened the door.  My mind was reeling as I sat there in semi-darkness, confusion pulling at me as I tried to understand what I’d just seen.  If that’s what I just saw.  It had to be . . . right?  My closet door was closed before.  Whether I’d just seen it open by itself or not, somebody had to have come in my room to open it.

    “Gigi.”  Jumping at my dad’s voice, I turned to find him in the doorway of my room.  He was leaning heavily against the door jam, the culprit of his inability to stand straight nestled in his hand.  “Where’s your mother?” he asked, blinking tiredly at me.

    “She’s asleep, I think,” I said, looking him over nervously.

    He sniffed, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, taken a drunken half step backward.  “Tell your friend there to keep it down,” he said, pointing toward somewhere behind me in the room.  I stiffened, eyes widening as I took in his bleary eyed state.  He was already stumbling down the hall toward his bedroom while I sat there, frozen, wondering what friend he was talking about.  Drunk, my brain reasoned.  He’s just his usual stupid, drunken self.

    Nobody’s there, I told myself.

    Still, I felt that chill creep up my spine again and, as if God was spiting me, my phone shut off, leaving me in complete darkness.

    No.

    I heard a squeak of the closet door moving again.

    No, no, no, no—

    I fumbled with my phone, turning on the flashlight, sending the beam of light toward the closet door just in time to watch it click shut.

    Nope.

    Sweating.  I was already sweating, seated there, eyes wide.  The beam of light kept moving, my hands were shaking so bad.

    What the f**k?

    What the actual f**k?

    When I turned to run, I came face to face with a dark figure and everything went black.

. . .

Bright.

    Blinking, I realized sunlight was streaming through the curtains landing right on my face.

    Sunlight?

    Sitting upright, I thought about the closet and glanced at it to find it shut.  The room looked non-threatening fully lit and was thankfully empty.

    A nightmare.  I’d just had a really creepy nightmare.

    It's the stress from the move.

    Maybe the peanut butter sandwich didn't agree with me.

    Just my brain messing with me.

    Taking a careful breath, I picked up my phone to find that it was dead.  No wonder I hadn’t woken up on time.  No phone, no alarm to wake me up.

    My bedroom door opened and I braced myself for the worst only to find my mother walking in with a box.  “Oh.  Why aren’t you at school right now?” she wondered.

    “My phone died,” I said, holding up the useless device.

    “Oh.  Well, get going.”  She set the box down on the seat by the bureau and I hopped up, already opening my closet, looking for something to wear.  I’d just pulled out an outfit when mom said, “And Gigi, I’m happy that you’ve made a friend but no sleepovers, okay?”

    I froze, glancing back at her.  “Sleepover?”

    “Yeah, your dad said you had a brunette friend over last night.  Saw her walk down the hallway into your room.”  She was serious, her lips pursed.  I gaped at her, trying to squash my mounting panic as she went on obliviously, “You know how your father is with new people.  Why would you even think about bringing somebody over without discussing it with us first?”

    I couldn’t respond, too stuck on her statement that a brunette girl had gone into my room last night.

    The girl.

    The one at the edge of the bed when I’d turned to run away.

    Ghostly pale, dark hair falling into her face, features blurred.

    “Just don’t do it again,” mom said, giving me a serious look before shutting the door.

    Was it real?

    I glanced down at my phone, still dead on the bed.

    My chest tightened and I struggled to breath, quickly shutting the closet door, rushing out of the room with my things to change in the bathroom and get moving.

    It couldn’t be real.

    It was just a nightmare.

    Dad’s just a dumb drunk.

    When I realized I’d forgotten my book bag in the room, I was dressed and calm again.  Rational.  It was all just a creepy coincidence.  I’d practically had myself convinced that I was just overreacting until I stepped into my room and saw the closet was cracked open.  I know I shut it.  I made sure to shut it.  Grabbing my bag, I ran out of the house.