Footsteps in Front of My Bedroom

Not again, it’s impossible, please don’t do this to me.

It’s dark, I sit up in bed, fear manifesting itself as sweat and anxiety. The footsteps thud past my bedroom again. They pace back and forth, until there’s a knock on my door; I don’t answer it, I’m petrified.

It’s twenty minutes before I pluck up the courage to slip out of bed and creep quietly out of bed. I listen; it is silent. I open the door, a chill rushes into my room and I shiver. It must be her, it must!

The anger takes over my body and I storm across the landing to my Mother’s room. I burst in and shout, “Stop it! Just fucking stop it!”

She is still strapped to the bed, she begs me to free her. But I know it is HER who is taunting me. Who else is it going to be, a ghost?

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