Taking Up Space: A Short Story Collection

13: Insomnia: Sunday Night

I crawled into bed and pulled the comforter around me. Last night scared me. It scared me so much that I couldn't sleep all day. I missed Mom and Dad, and I wished I had gone with them to Grandma's.

The pad of paper and a pen was on my nightstand. I didn't want to pick up that pad. I didn't want to see that line open up. Maybe I could ignore the whole thing. So, I turned off the light and closed my eyes.

Except that I was so tired, I couldn't sleep. I rolled over, plumped up the pillow, then rolled over again. I curled up into a ball. I uncurled and laid on my back. I just couldn't fall sleep.

I turned on the light, slipped my feet into my slippers, and threw on my robe. I paced the length of my bedroom. Every time I passed the pad of paper, I stared at that line.

"This is ridiculous," I finally said, and threw the pad into the trash.

The pad burst into flames, and a smell of burnt, rotting flesh filled the room. Thick, black smoke billowed out of the trash can, and a loud roar shattered the bedroom window. Two yellow eyes, and a huge mouth with a triple set of teeth emerged from the smoke. The eyes fixed on mine.

I couldn't move. Even if I could, there wouldn't have been enough time. The smoke, with those eyes and that mouth, moved around me and through me so quickly, I couldn't take another breath before I dissolved into ashes.