It was sometime in autumn, though what month I can’t quite recall. We still lived in the old house in my hometown where I grew up, before the extra burden of housing my second-oldest brother and his family overwhelmed my parents and started our string of moves. The house had been built in the early 1900s. I had heard random odd things in the house growing up, but that’s a different story. My room was on the second floor, as was what had become the guest bedroom. It had previously been the room for the older brother closest to my age, but college whisked him away downstate. That autumn, one of my uncles occupied the space. He was a tall drink of water full of Southern charm that complemented his deep-voiced twang. He snoozed next door while I stayed up late reading a book in bed.
The witching hour struck as the protagonists drank a magic potion they had brewed to change their physical forms. The window beside me had its shades shut, and beyond the pane of glass was the dark, blessed night. I had always enjoyed the night time, its peace and quiet, its dazzling spectacle of stars up above. However, something cut through the quiet: little pebbles against the window’s glass. I thought I had imagined it at first, but it came again. Could it have been a friend who snuck out of their house and wanted to spend the night (what little was left of it, anyways)? If so, why wouldn’t they have texted? Could it have been the short and cute dark-haired girl at school whose beauty had captivated my youthful heart?
Ever the hopeless romantic, the latter possibility sprung me from my bed. I peered out into the dark, searching everywhere for a sign of her, or anyone really. All that greeted me was the neighbor’s driveway and the street lit by lampposts. The town slept outside my window, and perhaps, I thought, so should I. After one last glance in case I had overlooked something, I returned to my bed and my book to finish the chapter.
An unease crept into my skin. Who had thrown those tiny stones? It must have been my imagination. Or, worse, a prank. I did my best to shrug off the thought and focus on the heroes’ adventure, but there were eyes somewhere waiting for me to notice them. I checked the window again, finding more of the same. I pressed my ear against the door, but only heard the snoring of my uncle. Even my closet held no answers. Crawling back into bed, I heaved out a heavy breath and tried to relax once more.
“Over here,” a little girl’s voice giggled through my door.
I froze in a cold sweat. My eyes darted to the door. My uncle couldn’t have made that voice. His snores confirmed his innocence. I had no younger siblings, especially no little sister to speak of. The staircase leading up to the second floor was no ally to those who attempted to sneak up them, instead loudly creaking with each step. Yet there had been only silence before she spoke.
She giggled again, and I was on my feet. Despite the attempt of several horror films to instill in me the wisdom to keep away from the dangers of what goes bump in the night, I stood at the door once more. The door knob was chilly in my hand. I could even see my shaky breath as I hesitated there. Whether it was courage or foolishness, my wrist twisted and turned the knob until the latch clicked open. My heart sprinted hard and fast as I slowly pulled the door back. Holding my breath did little to calm me, and only intensified that awful fear in me. I clenched my eyes shut and poked my head into the ajar space between the door and the jamb. With a prayer of safety coursing through my mind, I eased open my eyes.
Nothing. Just the darkness of the house and my snoring uncle.
I shut the door with a relieved sigh and locked it just to be safe. Back into bed, I laughed at myself for letting my mind run so wild. It was silly, really, the whole thing. Maybe it was time to put the book down and get some sleep. I had clearly been awake too long. Setting the book on the bedside table and shutting off the lights, I pulled up my covers and got comfortable. Snug as a bug in a rug, it was bedtime.
“You’re silly,” she giggled again.
Sleep would finally take me come dawn’s holy light. The little girl would never giggle at my door again. I still heard things from time to time, but that’s a different story.
Tyler Gohde 