Hallways

I've always been the scaredy type. Ever since I have memory I've been afraid of the dark. I think there are two types of fear, rational and irrational, and fear of the dark has always looked like the later. I guess it's just that fear of the unknown and the primal memories of our ancestors hiding in caves so they wouldn't be hunted by bigger animals that made me afraid of it. But if there's something I fear more than dark,and it's long, empty hallways.

My house (or apartment to be more precise) is not very special, I've lived here for my whole life, been in every single nook and cranny, played in every corner, and looked upon every square meter of it. And yet, after all those years, there is one part of it I still can't help but avoid at late hours at night ... the main hallway. I won't dwell too much in details, but to help you picture it, it's a couple meter long passage that connects two rooms, and on one end the bathroom, on the other the living room.

I can remember when I was a little kid trying my damn hardest to sleep in my huge, lonely room, covered head to toes with my blanket, remaining static (You know, so the Boogeyman couldn't see me). Sometimes however, I felt the need to use the bathroom, a need I resisted with all my willpower, but many times I gave up, stood up, and sneakedthere.

I gently pushed down the covers and quickly scanned the room for those invisible demons that always stalked me, opened the door and cursed the loud creak it made, afraid it would awaken the terrors that rested beneath my bed. I closed my eyes, passed through the portal, and found myself standing in the middle of the hallway.

What was only a couple meters, looked liked a hundred miles, there wasn't a single light, because of the lack of windows and lightbulbs (it was an old apartment after all), but the worst part of it (if I had to choose) was the mirror resting on the bathroom wall, the one single visible object when all lights were off.

One day, as I faced the usual odyssey, as terribly cold breeze blew behind me, as if the breath of the undying telling me to go back to bed. I paralyzed, my legs shooked wildly, my throat dried, and the mirror nested upon the bathroom wall cracked. My parents found me sleeping on that same spot, in a poodle of piss and tears that same morning.

Even now as an adult, right now as I write this very page on my laptop, sitting on the toilet in the bathroom, I can't help but notice the lightbulb is blinking madly, my toes are freezing, and the door is making that annoying creak ...