As an adult, I’ve never been the type of person to run from the unknown. As a child, though, I would turn tail and hide from anything that went bump in the night. Usually, those things would turn out to be the cat or the ice maker. One night however, something much more sinister was lurking in the dark.
I was nine. I had just slipped down into my bed when I heard a soft ping against the glass of my window, as if a rock had been flung softly against it. The almost inaudible noise was enough to rouse my fragile nature from my semi-asleep state. I became fully aware of every acute thing happening in the tiny bedroom. I strained my ears, trying to listen for anything else.
A minute passed, then two, and sleep started to come over me again. Just as my mind began to dream I was startled out of sleep once again, this time by a much louder rapping against the glass. Clack clack clack!
The window frame rattled as someone or something furiously bashed its fist against the pane.
Retreating beneath my sheets, I tried to scream, but my voice was frozen in horror. In the throes of fear, the banging felt like it continued for hours. Each hit was fiercer than the last. A helpless sinking feeling came over me. The banging was so loud. Tears streamed down my face and my heart beat fast and heavy against my small chest. I sat beneath my comforter hoping, praying for this monster to leave.
The banging finally stopped. Silence filled my room again. After a time, I pulled down my sheets and looked over to my window. Moonlight shone through the edges of the curtains. Shadows danced through the gaps. My 9-year-old mind went wild imagining sharp claws poised to tear into my flesh. Visions of matted fur, piercing fangs and wild, yellowed eyes ran through my mind. I pulled the covers up to my chin and laid my head against my pillow trying to put the incident out of my head.
“Cm ousd” the muffled whisper was just enough to break the silence and alert me once again. I turned to the window and listened intensely. Another whisper floated through the glass. “Come outside.” Terror griped my soul at that moment. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. I wanted to run but was too afraid that the monster might get me when I left the sanctuary of my bed. I pulled the covers back over my head.
Blood was pounding loudly in my ears. I gasped audibly, trying to slow my hammering heart, but I could still hear it. Its guttural voice sounded as if it were right next to me, just outside the cloth fortress I was hiding in. “Don’t you want to come outside and play?”
The voice was rough, ominous, and inhuman. “Open the window and climb out. We can have lots of fun.”
Warmth spread beneath me as I lost control of my bladder.
Shaking, I finally found my voice. “n..no,” the word cracked in my high voice. “Come now, we can be best friends,” it continued. “No!” I shouted this time. There was no response for a moment. Then banging exploded from the window again. It was so intense I thought the glass was about to shatter and whatever evil that was outside was going to come in and take me.
“no No NO NO NO!” I began to shout louder and louder, eventually yelling loud enough to cover the violent thrashing. The scream that I had been too afraid to let out erupted from my throat. Suddenly my bedroom light flashed to life and my parents rushed over to see what was wrong. I was still screaming beneath my sheets, covered in sweat, tears, and piss, but the banging had stopped. My dad went outside to investigate while my mom calmed me down. A while later he came in to look for a trash bag.
“What’s that for?” my mom asked.
“It looks like the cat… was right outside his window,” dad said pointing at me. “That must have been what you heard, kiddo.”
“No!” I yelled “something was banging on the window and it wanted me to come outside.”
“Honey,” my mom began in a soothing tone. “Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?”
“No.” I pouted back.
My dad collected the cat’s body and my parents let me sleep in their room for a couple of nights. The next week, when I came home from school, my mom ran up to me and gave me huge hug. Mascara was streaked on her face from where she had been crying. Puzzled about why she was home early I asked what was wrong.
She said that a child from our neighborhood had disappeared from his home last night.
Three other children went missing that month. All of them vanished from their beds while their parents slept. The police suspected some kind of predator, but I knew it was something worse. I never heard the voice again after that night. The memory faded into the back of my mind with time. Now though, as a senior in college with a 1-year-old daughter of my own, that ethereal raspy voice creeps back into the front of my mind. “I’m still waiting…”
