The Nightime Man

First pasta, If it's shit then if you told me so and why I'd be eternally grateful.

The Nightime man
Day 1:I can’t deal with empty hallways, dark rooms, silent places. It’s instinctive, maybe a phobia. Whatever it is, it’s a nuisance. I’m alone, my parents left yesterday and dealing with my house at night is getting pretty annoying, it’s too quiet, I feel exposed, maybe it’s just my 16 year old brain suffering due to lack of human contact and abundance of bad horror films. Maybe I’m just crazy, but that creaking, the movement from next door is very easy to confuse. Sometimes I hear a rasping, repetitive, intrusive, breaking the silence and leading my mind to dark places. The boiler isn’t what it was back then. I shouldn’t be this scared, it’s daytime, I’ll just go see Jack.

Night 1: Another day, I tell you when college rolls around I’ll be freaking ecstatic, I’ll be able to hang around with people other than them, my friends are boring, I don’t see them for a month because of a rugby concussion and they’ve just been getting progressively more dull, stupid. It’s not fun anymore, Jack even forced me out tonight, he was fine earlier, the indecisive asshole.

Day 2: I can hear my own heartbeat, I can hear every creak in this forsaken house, but the one thing I’m missing is human contact. My neighbours have jobs and so I’m left here without even hearing someone speak through these paper thin walls. Even when I go outside to see friends, enjoy the longest summer I’ve ever had the pleasure to enjoy, my mind is perpetually drawn back to this place, it’s walls, it’s cracks, how the light in here is muted. I can’t even remember what living here with other people was like.

Night 2: Bored of the internet, going for a walk, I haven’t gone for a walk in too long, who knows what’ll happen? I hope I see a dog walker or something, I need to have a chat and dogs are cute.

Day 3: I didn’t leave the house today, I’m tired of my friends, their inconsistency, their flaws, their tendency to make shit up about me, what I said or whatever.. I’m quite happy here, writing, listening to music. It’s intoxicating, being alone, I don’t mind the dark anymore, in fact the nights are the best time, I don’t know why, some unknown factor that makes me feel…Real.

Night 3: I just looked back at all that, and apparently I don’t know what I’m talking about, this place is dull. I need to get out, I want to see my friends more than anything else. Maybe I should sleep, get away from tonight, kill the time before I can be free from this place, my parents are due back tomorrow anyway so this works out fine. Ok, maybe sleep was too much to ask for, I’ll just sleep in tomorrow, besides, it’s not like I have anything to do right?

Day 4: Urgh, why did I sleep in? The diary says I stayed up late but it’s all a blur to me, I don’t remember it, in fact I don’t remember a lot of things, this is weird, I can usually at least remember what I did yesterday, even if it was nothing, maybe it’s a side effect of the concussion, It’s never been like this. I need my parents to come back, I’m gonna play some video games while I wait for them, post later tonight.

Night 4:The neighbours just won’t fucking SHUT UP will they? Seriously, I’m going over to talk to them.

Day 5: Ok what? I didn’t make that last post, I’m sleeping away tonight, if anyone’s in the house they’ll have to deal with a distinct lack of people in the house to fuck with, I tried calling my parents but there’s no answer, they’re so late,

Night 5:My friend kicked me out, it’s ok though, what friend of mine can’t take a freaking joke? I made a few fake threats, it scared his sister, so what? I don’t like people anyway, I’m gonna clean up the basement tonight anyway, it needs to be done sometime right?

Day 6:I woke up at home, I can’t even REMEMBER last night, why the FUCK is there a post up? It’s got to be the concussion, but I’m not like that. Oh God. I’m going to check my basement. They’re dead. My mum, has a fucking cleaver lodged in his skull. My dad isn’t so lucky. Oh God, they were in the boxes, they’d been SLICED AND HIDDEN, mixed in with the remains of what looks like a dog. I didn’t even look in the other boxes, but the smell down there told me enough. The worst thing is I know who did it. Even if I can’t remember it. They must have gotten back sometime in the night. They won’t believe me, it was the night time man. I’ll be found out, I’m running away…I had a life, I had plans, and he took it. I didn’t kill them, oh my God, he’s coming, I can feel it.