Presence

       Music turned almost completely down. Television shut off. The silence is deafening. My fingers brush over the dark blue fabric of the chair. I can feel its eyes on me. If I concentrate enough, I can somehow hear it standing there. I close my eyes, waiting for it to do something –anything. I know it wants to. Does it want to turn off the stereo like it did last night? Maybe make the hall light flicker like the night before that? Or does it want to move the things on my dresser? Maybe it wants to put my game controller on the chair once again. After all, that is what drew my attention to its presence to begin with. I open my eyes.

      “Coward.” I whisper. Even in the dead of summer, the room feels a little colder than the rest of the house. How many times has it said my name this week? Once yesterday. Twice two nights before that.

      “What do you want?” I knew it wouldn't speak. I don’t think it had the energy to. The thin hairs on the back of my neck stood as the floorboards by the bedroom door creaked. I stared at the closed door, feeling tense. I leaned forward slightly. For a few moments, it remained like this. My breath was caught in my throat. Just as quickly as its presence came, it disappeared.

       I fell back into the recliner, still not sure of what its intentions are. It hasn't been violent lately. It has just been…there. Footsteps. Moving things. Playing with the hall light and, more recently, the bathroom light. Scratching at the attic door. Small things. Has it grown weak or is it happy that I’ve been noticing it more lately? I don’t know.

       As I typed the beginning of this, I seen a shadow move across the connected doorway. It is three thirty in the morning. Everyone in the house, excluding me, is asleep.