It's Not Real...

 

The walls were bleeding. It hasn’t happened in a month. but now it’s happening again.

 

I watched a puddle form on the floor, just a few steps away from the bathroom, it’s as if the house wanted me to be unable to reach the only thing that gave me comfort. Still, I took my first step towards it, careful not to step into the blood, my second step was met with something moist, I decided not to look down, I’d know this house blind, so I continued my walk to the bathroom with my eyes closed, a comfort if I might be honest, since I didn’t want to meet any entities upon my entry.

 

‘They are not real’ I reminded myself, for someone with psychosis, my doctor said I had very mild hallucinations, I believe he’d meant I had the most typical ones, but there was nothing mild about stepping into blood until it reached your ankles.

 

 

I opened the cabinet door, keeping my eyes tightly shut, and felt around until I found the bottle and took a pill, then bent down to take a sip of water to down it with. The first thing I noticed was that the water was strangely metallic and a little too thick, Blood, another trick my mind was playing on me, I continued drinking, fighting the overwhelming urge to throw up.

 

I knew if there was blood in the sink, it would be everywhere, every water source in the house would be tainted, and it would drive me mad, this was the same pattern as last month, and the month before, I made sure not to fall into it again, my mother assured me it was water many times before, my father even drank it in front of me, I had nothing to fear.

 

The next thing obviously would be the hands, I’d feel them all over my skin, touching every crevice of my body, something I certainly cannot ignore by closing my eyes. I called out for my parents, they’d have to stick around while the medication did its job and knocked me out, I hate that I have to rely on them for comfort at my age, but they were the only thing between me and my imaginary companions.

 

 My mother ran in first, clearly aware of what troubled me, I flinched waiting for her to step into the blood but she thankfully missed it.  My father followed, “again?” he sighed, watching me curl on the corner of the bed further away from the bleeding walls, but whatever was haunting my mind clearly disliked him because the blood started crawling back to where it came from. I felt my mother’s gaze on me as I watched the roof, the last droplets of blood finally seeping back into it, and under her loving gaze, I felt the blissful unawareness slowly taking me away from whatever hellish nightmare this was.

 

 

 

I woke up again, to a hand caressing the small of my back. I tried to keep my breathing shallow, certain that it would be my mother, but a small voice in my mind was telling me that her hands were not the ones comforting me right now, they were too awkward and too rough to be my mother’s. The person suddenly pulled away, and I worried that the stiffness of my body alerted them to my newly gained consciousness, I attempted to relax but my heart was hammering in my chest, the feeling of being watched entirely too overwhelming. I couldn’t move or call out for help, ‘It’s not real,’ I repeated in my head, it’s not real but that doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying, my phone was underneath my pillow, I could pull it out, and turn the flashlight on to grant me some comfort, but I worried whomever was watching me in the darkness would be quicker.

 

I decided to take a leap of faith, even if someone was watching me, they’d still be a fragment of my imagination, and they would not be able to hurt me. So I dug underneath my pillow and pulled my phone out.

 

I clicked on the side button to turn it on, but the screen wouldn’t budge, desperation hit me in waves, especially when the presence in my room grew more threatening, I kept clicking on the phone but to no avail, it wasn’t charged, the shuffling of clothes as someone walked towards me grew in intensity.

Tears started collecting in the corners of my eyes, my hands shaking incessantly and my heart beating like it was going to crawl out of my chest cavity and into the open, I wanted to scream but not even a breath could leave me in that instant.

 

A feeling of sudden bravery latched onto me and I decided if I was gonna die I might as well see the perpetrator, I jumped from my bed with every ounce of power I could muster and ran towards the light switch, turning it on the same moment a hand gripped me and turned me to face them, I saw the outline of a little girl that faded when the lights finally turned on.

 

A memory grappled me with such force I had to grip the walls to steady myself, walls that were once more bleeding, I could see that little girl again, sister I called her, once upon a time, but that felt like centuries ago, when were in a house that was not this one, when I had a name that I could remember.

 

 I got up and ran to my bathroom cabinet and opened it, the prescription was there but my name wasn’t on it. I left my room in terror, throwing myself into enemy territory, a never-ending hallway that never ceased to petrify me, the girl from my memory stood at the end of it, and I was half inclined to follow her, but I had to see my parents first, ask them about my name, ask them what the hell happened to me.

 

I turned the door handle and found the door open, the inhabitants of this room nowhere to be seen, the girl in the hallway was still watching me, beckoning me to follow her, which I did, careful not to step a little too hard on floorboards that I knew would creak even though I have no memory of ever walking this hallway to its end, another memory caught up to me, one of me peeking inside the door the little girl wants me to open, I knew there would be a staircase leading up to a secret second floor I somehow conveniently forgot about, now I’m walking up those stairs.

 

The second floor is nearly identical to the one below, but definitely much colder, I sneakily approach my room, to see just what has been plaguing my every waking hour these past few months, I gingerly push the door open, when the little girl suddenly touches my back again and I almost scream, she urges me not to go in, but I still do.

 

At first, nothing seems to be amiss, just a bunch of our old rugs rolled on one side of the room, but the other side looks perfectly normal, then it hits me, the stench of rot, I approach the rugs, and squat next to them, pulling at the top until it can reveal what I fear it might hide, a body.

 

But not any body, the body of the girl standing next to me, I turn her way for an explanation but she seems visibly distressed, “what’s wrong?” I whisper, she pulls on my collar even harder, “Is someone coming?” I add, she nods. I do not know what to do, so I open the other rugs, unveiling my actual parents’ bodies, fear gnaws on my common sense, and I decide to stay there, unable to run nor face whomever is waiting for me on the other side of that door despite the girl’s urgings for me to get up.

 

“There you are,” my father’s voice comes from behind me, “I’ve been looking for you,”

 

 

The walls are bleeding again. It hasn’t happened in a few months.

 

 

Lamyae Laaroui

Art By : Mira Mliji