The dream always starts in the same way.
There’s a knock at the door. I’m instantly awake. I stay curled up under the duvet. But my eyes are wide open, waiting for the next knock. And then the voice. It used to be so authoritative and warm, but now it’s whiny and whimpering.
Bud. Bud, pleeease.
The knocking continues for what feels like an age. I hear a thud on the carpet, like someone sitting down on the other side of this make-believe bedroom door. I don’t know how long he stays there, but the ticking in my head tells me it’ll be over soon.
I wait.
Wait for the drop. Wait for the thud.
And then the quiet that stretches out for so long, it feels like I’m falling.
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
And I do.
My chest heaves as air enters my lungs in a heated rush. My hair is drenched with sweat. I take a moment to adjust to where I am, realising it’s the same dream, all over again.
I breathe in. You’re in Gexta.
I breathe out. You’re fine.
I look at my phone. It’s close to 3am.
My throat is dry, dry with an unslakable thirst. I swing my feet onto the floor, trying to forget the dream that’s been a recurring nightmare for a year now. The dream that transports me back to that awful day.
I walk past the dresser in my room, the vanity bag covering the power socket. The one with the camera I think is there, but don’t know for sure. Seeing the socket in the dark gives me the creeps. Maybe it’s the panic of the dream still pounding in my heart, or it’s the simple thought that someone in this house is watching me. Filming me.
For a moment, I consider drinking water straight from the tap in the upstairs bathroom. Instead, I open the door of my bedroom as quietly as I can, looking around. The hallway is dark, the door to Deborah’s room closed. There’s a steady snoring on the other side.
Alcohol used to make me snore, too.
I use my phone’s torch to navigate the stairs and tiptoe to the kitchen, my socks slippery on the floor. There’s a low hum from the fridge. The living area is eerily still. The moon is bright through the bay window, casting reflections across the room.
Even the ocean is quiet.
I open a cupboard, grab a glass. I wince as the water whooshes from the tap, breaking the silence. But I try to remind myself that no one’s awake.
I drink fast, swallowing air with water. The glass makes a thud on the metal bottom of the sink as I put it down. My heartbeat slows as I stand with my eyes closed, focused on nothing but the calming of my mind.
I’m about to move back towards my bedroom when I hear it.
A stir. Movement. Footsteps.
I realise the noise is coming from the study. Richard’s study.
I walk towards it, my socks barely making a sound as I cross the hallway. I stand in front of the study door and hold the torch of my phone up to it.
I’m about to put my hand on the doorknob when it opens.
Seeing his face in the dark sends a chill down my spine.
“What are you doing here?” Richard grunts.
“Sorry,” I whisper, my heartbeat racing. My flashlight’s still on, casting light onto his torso. He’s in a sweatshirt, his hair tousled in all directions. The light falls on the drawn window shutters, the Mac on the desk with its screen shining bright. In the corner of the study, there’s a mattress, a few pillows and a duvet cover.
I strain my neck to look closer into the room, but Richard’s body looms over me.
“Turn that off,” he says, pushing me away as he steps over the threshold and closes the study door behind him. I fumble with my phone, my fingers scrambling as I turn the light off.
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting some water,” I say, my voice croaky. His gaze is intimidating, his eyes heavy like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, knowing full well that if he’s sleeping in that study, then clearly things are not okay.
Richard leans forward so our faces are on the same level. The sourness of his breath makes my eyes water. “I’d be careful about sneaking around down here.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Tiny particles of matter float between us, soft like snow.
“I wasn’t sneak—”
I stop. Maybe I was sneaking. But then again, I was half asleep and recovering from a nightmare. I wasn’t thinking straight.
His face darkens, and with his brow furrowed, he looks almost menacing. “Go back to bed.”
Without a word, I head to the stairs, a sense of urgency jolting me forward. I don’t look back to see if he’s behind me. When I’m finally alone in my room again, the door closed behind me, I take a deep breath. I sink down onto the bed, Richard’s face playing through my mind. So aggressive. So scary. All because I was outside his study? Even if he’s sleeping in that room—working through the night—his reaction to me finding him there was all wrong.
There must be more to what just happened.
My eyes skip to the power socket again, and I’m hit with a reminder of the maybe-there-maybe-not camera in this room. Suddenly, it’s very clear. I don’t feel safe here.
It’s like I’m a kid again, being chased by the Bogeyman.
Except this time, the threat feels real.