the voices


I am never alone anymore. There are no visitors here in my home, but yet I feel an unfamiliar presence. The bumps, footsteps, and shuffling sounds are always in another room or above me in the attic. Why am I am being watched, for what sinister purpose? I do not know. I heard voices yet again today. They can’t be talking about me, I said to myself, but still I know that I perceived my name being whispered softly in my ear just moments ago. I bravely peeked through the narrow passage to the garret today, the sultry, musty air shoved by me as I opened the portal; it seemed apparent to my vision that there was nothing amiss, yet I felt as if someone were peering back at me from within a dark shadow in the foreboding corner. Alas, it has become bitterly cold since those fearsome moments and but a mere hour has since passed, as Fall has made the transition, reluctantly giving her way to cold and unforgiving Winter. I rest in my bed alone now, warmed cozily by my thick quilt; I am so very weary, yet I fear sleep’s inevitable embrace as the room grows dark, for I hear the voices once again; they are calling my name.