I wanted to make this post to talk about my childhood, and a secret my parents had been hiding from me for years. A secret which has been slowly stealing from me, and that has left me afraid for my future. I’m not scared for my life, but I am scared that my life’s purpose has been stolen from me.

 Being an only child, my parents have essentially had to figure out parenting with me as I’ve grown up, no older siblings for them to have a test run with. And one of these things they think they’ve had down for years is my bedtime: 9:30PM on the dot, no more. I’m expected to be trying to get to sleep by 9:20PM and getting ready for bed before then. I’ve been used to it for years at this point and, to their credit, it’s definitely kept me in a secure sleep schedule my entire life. I’ve never been a dreamer, awake or asleep, so my main frustration of going to bed was that it was cutting off my ability to think and experience things. I’ve always been a heavy sleeper though, so even if I was begrudgingly crawling into my bed on any night, within a few minutes I was fast asleep.  During my teen years my bedtime led to a lot of spats between me and my parents but ultimately they would win, my mum and dad crying always made me feel horrible and so I’d refrain from disobeying them to not upset them, they said they sacrificed a lot for me, and I believe them.

 My personal loophole for staying up late was to sleepover at friend’s houses when I could during the weekend. The desire to stay up past what I was allotted kept me sociable and eager to hang out if it meant I could spend a few more hours in the night. My parents would also be happy to get me out of the house, not in a malicious way, I think they were just glad I was extroverted as I was and every sleepover I had was another night without potential for frustration over my bedtime.

 When I was at uni, I was no stranger to the later hours of the night and the early hours of the day. My parents’ enforcing of those habits have made me a fiend for the night and so any chance I got to pull an all-nighter to square away heaps of studying over a single night or got invited out by my friends to drink the night away, I took it. Of course, this behaviour isn’t unique to me and I still made sure to spend most of my nights getting the rest I needed. At uni I also began to have dreams every night, and I felt much more in control of my life. I still had no idea what I wanted to do after uni, but ideas would begin to form in my head now and again. All I knew is that I just wanted to meet someone nice and settle down with plenty of money, not necessarily how I would get that money or even if I’d be happy going down the route I was on. In my first year of uni I visited my parents back home for a weekend, and over that weekend I witnessed things that have turned my life completely upside down, and ruined their lives completely. It’s the reason I’m writing this down, and so I can try and figure out what’s been happening to us all this time.

 I’ve never had any proper bad blood with my parents, so seeing them open the door with a big smile on their faces made me feel incredibly happy. I said hello,  gave them both a big hug, and walked inside, closing the door behind me.

 “Am I sleeping in my own room?” I asked as politely as possible, not wanting to seem like I’m trying to leave the room immediately after saying hi.

 “That’s the plan!” My dad joked, “unless you wanna take the dog bed.” He let out a big chuckle and slapped my shoulder lightly.

 “Okay, alright. Stupid questions get stupid answers.” I laughed and gave him another hug before taking my small suitcase up to my room. I unpacked my things and sat down on my bed for a bit, thinking about work I needed to get done. But that could come later. I was supposed to be resting this weekend anyway, that’s the promise I made to myself and I wanted to spend time with my parents. It was already the evening so after dinner I could square away my work and spend the entire day with them tomorrow.

 Dinner that evening was my dad’s signature carbonara, I ate quickly to save time for conversation. We talked about uni, what I was studying, the people I was meeting, the comfort of my accommodation, and of course my sleep schedule. My parents savoured every detail, and in return I asked them as much as I could about their work and hobbies, and this current season of that celebrity dancing show my mum has on every winter. As the conversation wound down and the laughter got quieter, I asked my mum a question.

 “Hey mum?” As I began to speak my mum swallowed her mouthful of spaghetti and laid down her utensils. “Could I bring Dan over this Christmas?” She looked at me in confusion.

 “Who?”

 “Dan. My best friend? He used to come over all the time.” Her face tightened in a look of saddened unknowing. “Do you seriously not remember him?-”

 “Hey. Lay off your mother.” My dad interjected, a bite to his voice like I’d just said something way out of line. I looked to my mum and saw her disposition become much lower, she looked down sadly and lifted another forkful of food to her mouth. The room went silent, my parents never had the best memory but they’d never been so openly sensitive about it, or at least at that time I’d never realised it when they were. I held my mum’s hand on the table.

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. He was that boy that would come over to hang out most weekends. We haven’t seen each other for a couple years but it turns out he’s started living in the area again.” As I described him to her my dad looked on in concern as she nodded her head.

 “Oh yes, Dan. Now I remember.” There was a weakness in her voice that told me she was lying, but wanted the conversation to be over. “He can come round, you’ll have to introduce me again after all this time ha ha.” I released her hand and looked down at my empty plate. And we didn’t speak until dinner was over.

 After I put my plate in the sink, I said goodnight to my parents and started up the stairs.

 “Remember your bedtime, bud!” My dad called from the kitchen.

 “I was hoping to stay up this evening, I’ve got work to get done and I want it to be out of the way so I can spend all of tomorrow with you two.” I was met with a long pause, within a few seconds both my parents were at the bottom of the stairs, looking at me intently.

 “You gotta go to bed, now.” His tone was stern, the usual humor and lightness in his voice was gone, replaced with something bordering on anger.

 “Come on. It’ll just make it so I spend less time with you.”

 “Then spend less time with us. You have to go to bed.” His voice was getting more desperate, I got more riled up in return. I hated being told not to do something I thought would be better for everyone.

 “What’s the point in me coming home then?!”

 “Listen to your father.” My mum quietly interjected.

 “But why? I’m old enough to stay up!” My dad cut me off and banged the banister with his fist. He snapped at me with a vicious growl.

 “So help me God, you will go to bed or I will send you on a train back to uni this second.” In his eyes I could see he wasn’t just angry, he was scared. His eyes were glassy and he was breathing through clenched teeth like he was trying not to cry.

 “F.. Fucking… fine!” I threw my hands up and went to my room.

 That night, I did my best to get to sleep but ended up waking up around 11PM. I opened my eyes groggily and heard whispers coming from downstairs from my parents and someone else. My dad sounded angry.

 “You said you’d stop when he left home.” The voice that spoke in response rattled me, it sounded raspy and unnatural, like the person speaking was gargling nails.

 “Alas, he has returned. And so I must continue.” His speech was archaic and formal, I walked out of my room and peered down the stairs, crouching next to them to try and conceal most of my body.

 The man, no, the thing standing in front of my parents was unnaturally tall and gaunt with bright pale skin. Its face was a pitch black void that caved into its head, like a black hole that had subsumed the rest of its features. Between the skin surrounding the void were strands of pale flesh that were strung from end to end like a spiderweb that shifted and pulsed in kaleidoscopic patterns every time it spoke. It was completely hairless. Its legs bent forward like a horse’s and its arms were far too long, if standing with its arms at rest, it would have no problem touching the floor with its fingertips. It was wearing a dirty white dress shirt with the sleeves poorly rolled up and black trousers that were torn at the bottom, revealing stained black boots that were flat where the toes should be. I didn’t dare to speak, I was in complete terror, unable to reconcile what I was seeing. The worst part is aside from my dad’s anger and my mum’s fear, they were talking to it almost casually.

 “Fine.” He turned to my mum. “While he’s here we can keep him going to bed on time. And maybe try to convince him to go back to uni until christmas.”

 “How are we going to do that?” My mum was holding back her tears.

 “We’ll figure it out.” My dad softly said back, before turning back to the creature.

 “Now get the fuck out of my house.” The creature twisted around, using its arms to leverage itself against the doorway, its feet made a clip-clop sound as it moved, like hooves against concrete. It held the door handle between its index and its thumb and opened the door. Before leaving it turned around and spoke one more time.

  “I’d be careful with your language, Harvey. You’ve both been on your last warning for quite a while. And you’ve seen what I can take from you.” My mum began to cry as he finished speaking, my dad held her close and clenched his fist. 

 I watched from the top of the stairs as the creature turned his head and crawled out into the cold night air, disappearing until it would visit again.

 The following day I was sitting at the breakfast table with my parents. I couldn’t look at them, I was terrified. So many questions were spinning round and round in my head and I didn’t know how to begin to answer any of them. I just sat quietly and ate my breakfast, giving one syllable answers to any question that came my way about how I slept or what my plans were for that day. They knew something was wrong but they didn’t prod, most likely assuming I was still annoyed from the argument the night before. Once I had eaten my food I went up to my room to study but I couldn’t keep my focus on my work. I only had one goal in mind: to find out what it wanted with me.

 That night I cleared out all of the videos on my phone, saving every bit of storage I had to record myself the entire night. I propped my phone up against the bookshelves in my room with the camera facing the bed. I crawled in and checked my clock - 9:10PM. I had 20 minutes to fall asleep. I tossed and turned, shutting my eyes tight and trying every possible orientation for my body to be in but I just couldn’t manage to sleep. I was too scared to stop thinking, to let myself rest. I ran to the bathroom and rifled through the cupboards, my parents were stocked up on sleeping pills and melatonin gummies. I opted for the latter and downed two of them. They tasted like synthetic grapes, their dusty texture uncomfortable on my tongue. I walked back to bed and checked the clock - 9:22PM. This time, I rustled myself into the duvet and shut my eyes. I felt my body sink into the mattress, the weight of the duvet keeping me encased in a soft sensation that sent my consciousness slowly spiralling into silent darkness. Within moments, I was asleep.

 It is here where I must consider how to set out describing the things that happened to me while I slept. Because truth be told, what I saw in the recording the following morning sickened me, and each attempt to describe it vaguely doesn’t tell the full truth and each attempt to describe it flatly makes me break down into tears. I’m trying my best, I’m sorry if I make little sense.

 What I saw in the video was that it entered my room. My parents stood in the doorway as it looked over me and clasped its hands around my torso, slowly shifting me onto my back. I could hear the hard thuds of its hooves through its boots on the carpet as it lifted itself up and crawled like a spider on top of the bed, its spindly, pale body hanging over mine. At this point my mum turned into my dad’s shoulder and clung to him, she couldn’t bear to watch as the creature lowered its head to mine. It was difficult to see from behind but the angle of the footage allowed me to glimpse strands of flesh from its face flick onto mine like pale elastic bands connecting it to me. Its body began to churn and writhe in place as a colourful fuzzy light glowed within the strands and soon from its head. I could hear my own laughter, my own crying, my own speech, thousands of emotions and words all muffled and turning inside the creature’s head as I laid there unmoving. The light and noise faded and as it did the creature detached itself with a quenched gasp for air before crawling off of me and standing up. It nodded to my parents and crawled out of my room, my parents parting to let it through.

 I clicked my phone off and sat on my bed crying. How could they let that happen to me? All of these years, every argument, every time I slept, every single part of my routine as a child was shaped around this? This awful, disgusting creature. Immediately, I packed my bags but before leaving I decided to confront my parents. They were in the living room watching some soap opera. I walked in and looked at them, with a quivering voice and red, tearful eyes I asked:

 “What have you been letting into my room when I’m asleep?” The moment those words left my mouth I saw them visibly tense up. My dad’s expression turned stern while my mother’s dropped into sadness. “I recorded myself sleeping last night, I saw that thing you were talking to at the door. I saw it climb on top of me.” Tears began to flow down my cheeks. “What have you been letting it do to me?!”

 “Son, we have to let it in.” My dad’s voice trembled, he had been caught, and he was afraid.

 “WHY?!” His voice dropped to a whisper, he quietly responded back.

 “Because if we don’t, it takes from us.” As he finished his sentence my mother’s hand clung to my father’s. “It took something from your mother a long time ago, and believe me it’ll take more if we say no.” I felt hot and angry.

 “What does it take? What does it do to me?”

 “Memories. It feeds on memories. And dreams.” My father began to cry. It’s an odd feeling seeing your father cry, as a child it’s earth shattering but as you grow up it simply feels strange. Like something you’re never supposed to see. My feelings settled as my mind focused on the strain in his voice and the tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, son. I told it no, I tried to tell it to leave so many years ago. But when I shut the door, it found its own way inside. And it punished us, it punished your mother.”

 “So you’ve just been letting it steal my dreams? I’ve felt so fucking numb and aimless for years! And you’ve just let that happen?! Why didn’t you give me up for adoption? Or send me away? Anything but let it take my life away!”

 “You’re talking about giving away our baby boy like it’s easy. We couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.”

 “But you could bear everything else?! What the fuck is wrong with you?” My voice was hoarse and choked with tears. “After tonight, you’re never going to see me again. EVER!”

 “No, son, please!” My mum called out to me. “We did this for you!”

 “Bullshit. You did this for yourselves.” I stormed out of the room, grabbing my things and walking out the door. After that day I stayed true to my word, I never saw them again. Once school ended I stayed with friends and relatives, doing my best to avoid going back home. A few years after I left my mum died of alzheimers, followed soon by my father. I didn’t attend either funeral.

 Now I live in London with my wife and daughter. It took me a while to find my place in life but now I’ve found it. My daughter is only a couple of years old, so a lot of my time is spent at home taking good care of her while my wife is at work. She is the light of my life, and I can’t wait to see what she becomes. I never want to stop loving her.

 But, dear reader, I think I have to. I’m writing this at 9:30PM, there is a cold draft coming through the front door, and I can feel a twisting knife of dread burying itself deep inside my chest.

 There’s a knock at the door, and I can hear the clacking of hooves against the pavement.