The Night Visitor

Jacob lay in his small bed, cocooned in the safety of his blankets, the rhythmic ticking of the clock the only sound in the stillness of the night. He was wrapped in the soft embrace of sleep, dreaming of sunlit days and laughter, when a series of muffled footsteps interrupted his slumber. Roused from his dreams, he cracked open one eye, curiosity battling against the heavy tug of sleep.
 

The door creaked open, and a figure emerged, dark and ominous. Jacob's heart raced as he squinted to see through the dim light. The man was tall and cloaked in shadows, moving with the silent grace of a predator. Jacob’s breath hitched in his throat as he choked back a whimper, not wanting to reveal that he was awake.
 

Before Jacob could fully comprehend what he was witnessing, the figure dragged something into the room. His breath caught in his chest. It was his parents, lifeless and slumped against the figure like ragged dolls. Panic surged through him as the man propped them up on the small, rickety chair in the corner, their heads drooping unnaturally. Jacob’s mind raced through a kaleidoscope of horror as he tried to convince himself it was a terrible nightmare, but the senseless brutality before him shattered that illusion.
 

The man then produced a small, bloodied knife and with precision, drew something on the wall—something that felt both intimate and obscene. Once finished, he stepped back, admiring his work before vanishing under Jacob's bed.
 

The room was plunged into a suffocating silence. Jacob lay frozen, the warmth of his bed contrasting sharply against the icy knot of fear tightening in his stomach. He sensed the presence lurking beneath him, aware that he was not alone, and he wasn’t ready to confront it.
 

With every drop of stillness that passed, his mind raced furiously. Jacob knew better than to make a sound. He wasn’t just any child; he had read enough stories and seen enough movies to understand that silence was his greatest ally. So, he pretended to be asleep, clenching his eyes shut tightly, wishing that this was all just a figment of his imagination.
 

He could hear the shallow breaths below him—slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Time melted away, stretching into an agonizing eternity. An hour passed, and the darkness of the room began to shift as his eyes adjusted, the shapes around him emerging from the shadows, more defined yet utterly terrifying.
 

Summoning every ounce of courage, Jacob turned his head slightly to the side, straining to read the dark, dripping letters on the wall. They were formed in a language only he could understand—a grim echo of innocence lost. It was there, stark and brutal, that he finally discerned the words through his trembling breath.
 

"I know you’re awake."
 

A rush of pure terror washed over him. The boy’s heart thundered in his chest, drowning out the sound of the world around him. Just then, he felt a shift beneath his bed, a subtle movement that sent icy fingers of dread skittering up and down his spine. He swallowed hard, even that small motion feeling like a betrayal in the silence.
 

With every ounce of his willpower, he forced himself to stay still, to not react. There was a sickening understanding that the man knew he was awake—that the game had changed. Moments felt like lifetimes, and though Jacob's body screamed at him to run, to escape, his mind locked in a desperate bid for survival.
 

After what felt like an eternity, he finally mustered up the strength to think logically, to analyze. The figure beneath him had made a choice, prioritizing cruelty over chaos. He hadn’t killed him, and for that, Jacob felt a flickering hope. But how long would that hope last? He needed a plan.
 

Quietly, he shifted his body, lowering himself down to get a better view of the floor, and as he did, something fell—a small toy soldier he had dropped earlier that evening. It clattered against the wall loudly, and a hush fell like a blanket over both of them. The intruder shifted again, this time a sense of frustration emanating from beneath the bed.
 

In that moment, Jacob seized his chance. Curling himself into a ball, he rolled swiftly toward the wall opposite his parents, shoving his small frame into the darkness of the corner, concealing himself from view. The moment he felt the cold wall against his back, alarm bells rang inside him. He squeezed his eyes tight, ready to hold his breath indefinitely.
 

Breathless seconds dragged out, then the figure emerged from under the bed, his face a dark mask of rage and intrigue. Jacob dared not breathe, barely able to process the figure’s movements as it scanned the room searching for him.
 

He could sense the tension in the air, feel the malevolence radiating from the man. But Jacob was a child of the dark too, trained by fear to navigate through shadows. He stayed silent, waiting for the fleeting moment when the figure would turn.
 

With the creeping dread trailing him, the man finally exited the room, leaving behind a disorienting silence mixed with lingering terror. Jacob remained hidden, body frozen, fear pulling tight like a noose around his throat. He couldn't be sure if he was truly safe, but he waited, listening.
 

He didn’t know how long he had to stay hidden, but it was a matter of life and death now. He had survived the night, and with the first rays of dawn creeping through the cracks of his window, Jacob understood one thing: he couldn’t only be a frightened child anymore. This was his home, and it deserved the courage he had always kept silenced.
 

With new determination blossoming within him, he resolved to escape this nightmare and later find a way to be free from the words that now haunted the walls of his childhood.