I groggily get up, rubbing my eyes. Yawning, I glance over at the clock. The blinking display has ‘3:32 am’ on it in dimly lit, pixelated numbers. It feels quite chilly, and I can hear wind outside, which is odd, considering the fact that summer had just ended; the weather was still supposed to be fairly warm. I hear an odd noise; it sounds like scratching. Kind of like how it sounds when you slowly scratch your fingernails against a wall.
I scan the dark room, trying to see what the cause of the scratching sound was. I squint my eyes, trying to locate where it came from, but there’s nothing in sight that’s out of the ordinary. The scratching starts again. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Yet I still don’t see anything.
I suddenly feel uneasy, my exhaustion disappearing in an instant. My blanket—which felt soft as a cloud earlier—feels rough, like a carpet. The ferocity of the wind adds more to my uneasiness, which is another weird thing to add to the list; I was usually unfazed by the weather.
The noise happens again, breaking my train of thought. The scratching now feels annoyingly repetitive, despite the chills it sends down my back. I decide to finally go check and see what it is. But just as I’m about to get out of my bed, I get interrupted by a peculiar ripping noise that echoes across my room, bouncing off the walls. You know the sound gift wrapping makes when you tear it open? Well, it was sort of like that, but louder and… weirder?
I instantly freeze, wondering what on earth that was. Just moments after the ripping sound, the scratching starts again. Except this time, it’s louder. Much louder. The room somehow seems to be darker than before. I don’t know how that’s possible since the room was already dark, but it was definitely darker.
I look at my only light source, the digital alarm clock on my bedside table. I can barely make out the quiet ticking noise over the wind and scratching sounds. I stare at the dim display a little longer, mesmerized by its blinking. As I’m staring at it, the clock ticks to 3:33 am.
Just as the time changes to 3:33 am, there’s a sudden loud sound; it sounds like a piece of paper being torn in half. This time, I can slightly tell where it came from. The ceiling. I look up at my bedroom ceiling, not noticing anything until I look in the corner. It was at that very moment that my eyes widened, my mouth went dry, and my heart began to beat so fast that I thought it might jump out of my chest.
Perched in the corner of the ceiling was something I could have never imagined nor thought was real. Well, I certainly hoped it wasn’t real. But there it was, lurking right above me.
It was some sort of creature, and no, I’m not talking about the cute little creatures you’d see in a children’s show. It was like a creature you’d expect to see in a horror movie. It was pitch-black. It seemed humanoid—with arms, legs, and a head—but its features were distorted, it had long and sharp talons, and it was hunched over like some kind of wild animal. I don’t even know how it got up there. It kind of reminded me of Venom, a creepy alien from a movie.
I was snapped out of my thoughts as soon the creature showed its face. It turned its head around slowly, without moving any other limbs—like how an owl would do it. Its face was pitch black like the rest of its body, but it had a wide, ugly, and scary smile on its face, revealing greyish white, sharp teeth.
To my horror, the creature begins to crawl forward. Right towards me. One taloned hand in front of the other, it draws closer and closer to my bed, all while staying on the ceiling. I look around the room frantically, except I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. An escape, perhaps?
As I’m looking around the room, my gaze lands on something on the windowsill. It’s the pot of roses I had planted a few months ago. At first glance, the roses seem healthy, as beautiful as they had always been. But as I look at them, I notice the roses are drooping, most of the life drained from them. But how? They were perfectly fine earlier.
I tear my eyes away from the roses, telling myself that it was a mystery to find out later—if I manage to get out of this situation, that is. I look back up at the ceiling, preparing myself to look at that horrid thing again. And there it is, still up there, grinning at me for whatever reason creepy creatures smile at you for.
The creature crawls forward, and despite its slow pace, it’s coming closer and closer. I watch, my breath quickening, as it finally reaches the spot right above my bed. As I stare at it, I notice something on my right side. I can’t make it out, but it seems to be descending. Suddenly, the thing bolts right toward me. I feel a flash of pain. Looking down, I see a huge gash down my arm, running from my wrist to my elbow. It already begins to bleed, but that isn’t what I’m concerned about. The veins around the wound seem to be blackening. It might just be the darkness playing tricks on me, but I’m certain about it.
If I have a gash on my arm, then the thing must have been the creature’s claw. I glance up, and sure enough, the creature is putting its arm back on the ceiling. I observe it longer, trying to ignore the throbbing in my arm. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did.
The creature abruptly drops from the ceiling. Suddenly it falls, so I don’t know how it happened. But I know that it’s now on the bed. The very bed that I happen to be sitting on.
The creature swiftly rights itself, turning its face to me. My breath gets caught in my throat as it begins to crawl forward again. Its horrendous smile laughs at me while it creeps forward. Each step it takes is another second towards my doom. And yet the only thing I can do is helplessly watch the creature inch closer to me.
I bolt up, gasping for breath. I sit still for a moment, taking heaving breaths, trying to let my heartbeat slow down. As I calm down, I recall what just happened. The creature was crawling towards me… and then I woke up? So does that mean that it’s merely a dream?
Thank goodness it’s just a nightmare. I let out a sigh of relief. It was a very realistic dream though—it all seemed so real. I look around my dark room. I don’t know if it was just because I was still scared from my dream, but the room appears to be darker, the roses don’t look too healthy, and the wind seems to be getting stronger. I try to shrug it off, telling myself it’s just me being paranoid, but I can’t shake off the weird feeling I have.
Right when I think I’m safe, I feel a throbbing in my arm. I look down, only to see a scar running down my forearm. And it is in the exact same place the creature in my dream scratched me.
A scratching sound makes me avert my gaze from my arm. It sounds just like the one in my dream. The scratching sounds get louder and closer. Scratch, scratch. I suddenly feel like I’m suffocating—my heart beats faster and faster, and my breathing is ragged and uneven.
I glance at my alarm clock. As soon as my eyes land on the faint light of the clock display, I see it tick to 3:33 am. This time, there’s no denying it. The scar, the state of my room, the sounds, and the time. They all exactly lined up with the events of my dream.
I slowly look up. I had already accepted what was happening, yet a small part in my mind kept hoping, hoping this wasn’t real and that it was just the nightmare playing in my head again. As I look up, I don’t see anything. Maybe there isn’t anything there after all. But right when I’m about to look back down, I see something in the corner of my eye. I turn to look at it. What I see makes my heart fall to my stomach.
Perching right in the corner, keeping glued to the ceiling like some kind of lizard, is the very thing I hoped would never appear. Yet there it is.
It’s the creature, looking just like it had from my dream, its wide, terrifying smile taunting me.
About the Author
Anna is a pre-advanced BUBOTS student and is 12 years old. She is homeschooled and lives in Australia. She likes drawing, digital art, horse riding, reading, and writing, and hopes to become an author and artist.