Dark, dark everywhere; I couldn’t see or recognise anything because of the lack of light.
I had understood that it hadn’t passed too much time since I entered that unknown place, as my eyes still hadn’t become accustomed with the dark.
I decided to remain still, in fear of getting hurt by objects I couldn’t even perceive. When I was able to at least see the outline of the things around me, I realised that I was sitting in a bedroom like the one in my childhood house but without windows or doors to explain at least how I had entered it.
I started to hyperventilate: how did I come there? But therefore, judging by the lack of memories of the moments before being there, who had dragged me there? For what purpose?
All of a sudden, a storm of what seemed fireflies surrounded me, buzzing and buzzing all around me. There were at least one hundreds of that strange things…they couldn’t be the friendly insects I have seen many times, as these ones were emitting a bluish light. Definitely strange.
I looked around to find openings from where they could have entered there room, but there wasn’t anything of that sort. That place was like a container. How could I still breathe? There was nothing which could lead outside or at least make some fresh air come inside.
I was astonished, frightened, my claustrophobia was kicking in and the swarm of bugs certainly wasn’t helping. As I was struggling to swat them away, they disappeared, leaving only a faint glow which seemed to maintain its intensity.
I used this opportunity to calm down and look at my surroundings. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Have you ever imagined what a mentally disturbed child’s room looks like? Well, I had never had an idea, but that room had just made my imagination look like a preppy girl’s one.
It was a rectangular place with light walls full of scribbles, even on the wooden ceiling, in a reddish ink: they weren’t words or, at least, none that I could understand but symbols and numbers.
The most common ones were a strange fork, an eye, 2 and 3; they weren’t hieroglyphics and I was certain, looking at the place where I was in, that they weren’t a good omen.
There was a shattered bed, with the covers ripped off like by animal claws; near those rests there was a doll with a human body but a chicken’s head sewed with ragged shoe laces. It was the creepiest thing I have ever seen.
The only faintly normal things seemed to be a wooden chair with bloody scribbles, like the ones toddlers do on paper and a plain box at about one meter from where I was sitting.
What kind of material it was made of? It seemed sturdy like plastic, but it looked smooth like silk: a strange combination.
As I was approaching it, a strange blackish liquid began to ooze off and coming quickly towards me: it didn’t look too dangerous, so I wasn’t scared and I sat down calmly where I was but when I observed it intently I noticed pointy shards of metal mixed in it. I panicked. I tried to crawl away but my legs were immobilised.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t escape. I was screwed.
The liquid was getting nearer and nearer and it was a millimetre away my foot when, with my heart beating an erratic beat, I closed my eyes and prayed every God known to humankind to save me, or at least to grant me a quick and painful dead.
I felt something heavy, warm and fluffy on my foot: I reopened my eyes and saw my tabby cat sitting on me and I was in my cosy apartment. The clock on my bedpost showed that it was still 5:56 a.m.
That episode taught me a great lesson: never watch a horror movie, especially on people entrapped in strange houses before going to bed.