Safe Spaces

In the Bedroom

Being a writer means staying up late to start on the idea that pops in your head just as when you are about to sleep. To me, this was an everyday reality. I write for fun.

My writing focuses on the romance between young adults and adults, although I also write about painful experiences of both women and men. Never in my life did I—and so did my readers—imagine that I would write a horror novelette, as I was never into it anyway. I could endure thrillers that involved messed-up humans that kill whether for revenge or for fun. But the type of horror with ghosts and paranormal encounters? I would skip them in a beat.

However, when I had an idea about demons infiltrating a theater, I could just not let it go. It happened after reminiscing about the time I watched a horror movie alone in a newly opened cinema, thinking that there were people watching with me; too bad I ended up alone, shivering and scared, with knees bent up on my seat, scared that someone—or something—would pull me out and I would end up a missing person. "This is different, and I think I could manage this," I would say; plus, having the ending in my mind made it easier to start writing.

Because I had work during the day, researching and writing parts of the story came at night. Oftentimes I would not notice the time, but my body would know its limits; I would stop writing at 1:30 a.m. and would probably be fully asleep at 2:00 a.m.

That is . . . until the day I browsed about demonic names.

I was contemplating whether to name some of the supporting characters with prominent murderers or demons. I was not sure how I got into researching demonic possessions, but to cut the long story short, I scared myself. When I looked at the clock, it was already 2:33 a.m.

Because I'm a natural scaredy-cat, I would close my windows as early as midnight. However, that night, I forgot to close them during my usual time and ended up closing them after deciding that I wanted to stop writing and take a rest.

I pushed my curtains to the side so I could easily pull my windows and lock them to close. Since it was already dawn and our neighbor was not fond of opening their front-yard light, all I could see was the lining of our neighbor's roof in the darkness.

But that night, I saw something different—something glowing—from a distance.

I continued closing my windows and assumed that it was an antenna of some sort from the neighbor maybe three blocks away. Before going to bed, I opened the door and closed the lights.

The next day, I was, again, too excited to write the unfolding events in my story that time went unnoticed. When I looked at the clock, it was already 2:44 a.m.

I hurriedly pulled the windows to lock them, but just as I was closing the last window, my eyes gravitated toward the two glowing circles, now just several feet away.

Trembling, I pulled back the curtains and jumped on my bed. The lights were turned on all night.

I made sure that this would not happen the next day by closing all the windows by as early as ten in the evening. The room lacked ventilation, but to me, it was a logical, temporary solution to my irrational fear. By eleven, I drank a sleeping pill to help me restart my sleeping schedule.

It took effect by midnight. I opened my door, closed the lights, tucked myself into bed.

But in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a chilly draft that settled on my feet. Realizing that my blanket was gone, I extended my arms and reached for the floor, trying to find it, still with closed eyes. My hand, however, was not able to touch anything but the cold tiles.

It was then when I heard the door creak, waking my senses.

The door was closing.

And at the back was a figure with the glowing eyes, now standing by my feet.

I screamed.

My younger brother, still with red soppy eyes from his disturbed sleep, ran toward my room, pushed the door, and switched on the light, asking me what happened. It was then that I realized that my blanket was still covering my whole body.

When I looked at the walls where it should have been, it was not there.

"Nightmare?" he asked.

"Probably," I replied and told him about the figure with two glowing eyes. Frightened, I asked him if I could sleep in their room instead. I did not care if I had to sleep on the floor; anywhere was better than my bedroom that night.

I got up and put on my slippers. When I turned to close the lights, I saw one window open . . . and two glowing circles right outside.