Shuteye

 You tell yourself it's nothing. Houses creak, boards shift, wind rustles a few things outside, that's all there is. Yet, as you're going to sleep, your body urges you to open your eyes to ensure you're safe. Check the door, make sure no one opened it. Look outside, make sure no one's out there. If your eyes are closed, you can't see the man you're imagining standing at the foot of your bed.

Forcing your eyes shut, you try again. It's more frustration than anything now, looking at the clock and seeing 2:14 lighting up your room in small red numbers from your dresser. It's a counting-up count-down to the next day when the inevitable bags under your eyes and heavy yawns tell the story of this night you ever could. You will close your eyes, you will fall asleep, you promise yourself for the good of tomorrow.

Thump.

Eyes wide as dinner plates. It's amazing how fast your heart will pick up the pace when danger, real or imagined, is around. In your head you tell yourself that's the sound it makes when the heat comes on, and not a burglar, home invader, serial killer... You know your reasoning is perfectly logical. That sound happens when it's a cold night. Of course, your heart is still doing its greatest impression of a jackhammer.

Thump.

Okay, it usually doesn't happen twice. That's odd. Not a big deal, but that's odd. It's something that can be checked out in the morning, as your bed is warm and comfortable and the idea of getting out of it is not in the cards tonight. You reassess where you're at. The red lights flare their warning of 2:27. Five hours is fine if you fall asleep right now, just take a nap when you're back from work, you tell yourself. So, you close your eyes again. You're an adult, for goodness sake. This isn't something you should be dealing with. It's just like being a child again, except you've replaced monsters under the bed with someone breaking in.

Of course, people do break in...

That's it. The only way you're falling back asleep is accepting that you're going to have to go downstairs and check it out. Not to see anything, but to confirm that you see nothing. That there's nothing there, and that everything's all in your head. Convincing yourself you're a brave, levelheaded adult, you rip the sheets off your bed, throw on your housecoat, and march out of your room to suddenly realise that the stairs are dark and every step you make on them seems to be loud enough to wake the dead. Have they always creaked?

Why is your heart beating? This is ridiculous. You turn on the light and your home feels warm and familiar, even if the light stings your eyes. You check each room, still walking around on tip-toes as for some reason anything that breaks the silence is oddly disconcerting. Your eyes take special care to look around inside, but not outside, as you saw that horror movie when you were a kid where there was someone out there, and you just don't want to deal with that right now.

After a few minutes the scouting mission is complete. There's no one there. There's never anyone there. You're just falling asleep, the same as you always have, and in the morning you'll feel awfully foolish. It's 2:41 when you're back up in your room, and that same frustration from before sets in. Less than five hours. That'll be a lot of coffee tomorrow morning.

Having gotten out of bed makes the sheets and pillow seem more comfortable again. Also, as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you feel far more comfortable knowing you checked outside. Your heartbeat has since settled down to a gentle pattering. It's your chance. You're almost there.

Thump.