“Can you get me a blanket, please? It’s really cold here,” her voice echoed through the cold room as I watched her shivering under the white sheet.
Putting on my earphones, I realize I’ve learned its best to ignore these complaints after a decade of working the night shift in a morgue.
There was a picture in my phone of me sleeping.
I live alone.
I can’t move, breathe, speak or hear and it’s so dark all the time.
If I knew it would be this lonely, I would have been cremated instead.
The last thing I saw was my alarm clock flashing 12:07 before she pushed her long rotting nails through my chest, her other hand muffling my screams.
I sat bolt upright, relieved it was only a dream, but as I saw my alarm clock read 12:06, I heard my closet door creak open.
I decided to kill off a few characters in the book I’m writing.
It would definitely spice up my autobiography a little.
The driver wasn’t very chatty, so I checked my phone.
“Hey it’s your Uber, I’m outside.”
The doctors told the amputee he might experience a phantom limb from time to time.
Nobody prepared him for the moments though, when he felt cold fingers brush across his phantom hand.
I woke up to hear knocking on glass.
At first, I thought it was the window until I heard it come from the mirror again.
She wondered why she was casting two shadows.
Afterall, there was only a single lightbulb.
Growing up with cats and dogs, I got used to the sounds of scratching at my door while I slept.
Now that I live alone, it is much more unsettling.
In all of the time that I’ve lived alone in this house, I swear to God I’ve closed more doors than I’ve opened.
The grinning face stared at me from the darkness beyond my bedroom window.
I live on the 14th floor.
I just saw my reflection blink.
Working the night shift alone tonight.
There is a face in the cellar staring at the security camera.
They delivered the mannequins in bubble wrap.
From the main room I begin to hear popping.
You wake up.
I awoke to the sound of the baby monitor crackling with a voice comforting my firstborn child.
As I adjusted to a new position, my arm brushed against my wife, sleeping next to me.
I always thought my cat had a staring problem – she always seemed fixated on my face.
Until one day, when I realized that she was always looking just behind me.
There’s nothing like the laughter of a baby.
Unless it’s 1 a.m. and you’re home alone.
“You get home, tired after a long day’s work and ready for a relaxing night alone.
You reach for the light switch, but another hand is already there.”
She went upstairs to check on her sleeping toddler.
The window was open and the bed was empty.
I never go to sleep.
But I keep waking up.
My daughter won’t stop crying and screaming in the middle of the night.
I visit her grave and ask her to stop, but it doesn’t help.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered, crawling into bed with me.
I woke up cold, clutching the dress she was buried in.