Good Morning

We were walking, a hike but suburban — Emily, Ava, Naomi, and I. The others were lamenting the lack of sun as if it were a physical representation of a lack of joy in the world. The road we walked down — now that I think about it, unfamiliar — felt like Dubuque Street on the way out of town. It looked nothing like that street. A wood of grand trees lined both sides, a river passed under and perpendicular to the road ahead of us, and there was no traffic — not even a distant scratch of tires over pavement. At some point, the four of us passed a library.

I tried to reassure my friends that the overcast, even grey days had a charm of their own as well — lovely in a different way than the brightness of the sun. Ava told me to go back to Norway. I’ve never even been to Norway. How do I go back to it? All of a sudden, darker clouds converged overhead and it began to rain on us — not the drenching kind that makes you fear for cold, but the gentle sprinkling of a comforting companion on a long, warm hike. I was pleased. The others were not. Ava muttered something to the effect of it being my fault, that I’d jinxed them, and something about me being Norwegian. I am not.

Then I began to wake up. I was back in my blue bedroom with the trundle bed, the cart of books and plants, and the open closet door. I knew I was there, and it felt like I could see it, but also as though my eyes would not, could not, open. Someone whispered: “Good morning…” An ominous low tone. I did not recognize the voice. I hoped it was Ava but knew it sounded like a man. The presence was dark and looming as a growing shadow. I could feel it moving slowly toward me from the direction of my closet. I couldn’t tell if the presence was behind the door or inside the closet. My eyes still would not open, my body would not move — I was locked in sleep. I began to whimper and heard my voice out loud but could make it no louder. I could not scream.

Finally, I fully woke up. It was 4:30 AM and the sky was still dark. Yet the shadows in my room felt unusually, suspiciously large. I could not shake the feeling of that horrible, waiting, lurking presence until I turned on the lights — the shadows eliminated, the room and closet proven void of anyone other than myself.