Taking my hairbrush I carefully smooth out my tangled blonde hair. It’s a Saturday and I basically have nothing to do, so I’m anticipating a completely boring day. Lowering the brush, I glance at my messy desk and sigh. ‘Guess I’d better do this.’ I shrug, scooping up handfuls of bobbles, Kirby grips and toppled perfume bottles and pilling them onto my duck egg carpet. With a baby wipe I run it over the surface of the desk and giggle and retch at the same time when I see the grotesque explosion mostly of browns and blacks coating the whole thing. After three more unsuccessful baby wipes I can finally see the pretty cream desk (and I can smell baby wipe at the back of my throat).
I fling myself down onto the carpet and begin the boring task of separating and cleaning each perfume bottle, collecting each bobble, and straightening and chucking Kirby grips. Finally with three very neat separate piles I grab a large makeup bag that was given to me from my nana before she died and I fill it with my bobbles. Satisfied, I pull on the zip. It closes effortlessly, even though it is stuffed with bobbles, and I lift it from the floor and place it daintily onto the desk, smiling from ear to ear.
That night, as I lie in my bed, I wake up to hear a slow zipping noise. Fear fills me, as I sit, not even daring to breath, with a cold sweat dribbling off me. I slowly open up my eyes, squinting through my eyelashes, desperately hoping that it was a dream. I can see the moonlight spilling onto my room through my window, and there, in the midst of my coordinating cream and blue things my pink ‘bobble’ bag jumps out at me. I almost faint when I see the zip halfway down the bag. And, then it starts again. The zip is very discreetly sliding across the bag. It falters for a second, and that’s when I see it. The pair of bright red eyes attached to a sunken black face are leisurely rising from the depths of the bag. I am pivoted to that spot on my bed, crying softly, as the face grows more and more, evolving into a menacing long-drawn face with no nose but a simple, yet effective white slit for a mouth.
It inhales and gazes around the room, slowly, not missing a thing. It’s eyes fall onto me, a quivering lump under the blankets and all of a sudden with a cutting ‘whoosh’ noise it is standing by the bed. I realize that it’s face simply continues to fall until it resembles something like a cloak around where his feet should be. He studies me, his red eyes burning through every last strand of hope I had that this was a terrible nightmare. This is real.
I couldn’t scream or call for help. He would most definitely strike then. And, even if my parents legged it down the stairs and got there in the nick of time, what could they do? If they tried to penetrate him, it might just glide through him, like striking a puff of smoke. And, if they did come he would probably eat them too. ‘Wait, who says he’s going to eat me?’ I asked myself looking at the tiny mouth that he had. But I still didn’t question it.
He lifted a hand, I guess from his side and raised it in the air, his eyes never leaving my face. All of a sudden, I hear a low, yet somehow high scream come from him. I know he’s not screaming like that because his mouth is still firmly shut, and it puzzles me. And then, everything is going blurry and wavering and the only thing I can remember are his piercing red eyes…