I had fever dreams. The kind that obliterate the border between reality and imagination. I kept waking in sharp bursts of panic, convinced there was a presence in the house. Each time I tried to explain it to my confused husband, the certainty slipped away again.
The night became repetitive and exhausting.
Quietly terrifying, in fact.
By morning, the fear felt thin and unreal. Isn’t that usually the case? Daylight brings a certain assurance. Shadows are banished, everything’s okay.
I asked my husband if any of it had actually happened. If I’d woken him and told him there was someone else in the house.
He went pale before answering, ‘No, but that’s strange. I woke up in the middle of the night and heard someone walking from your side of the bed toward the bedroom door. I thought it was you. Then I realised you were still next to me.’
R. H. DIXON 