The house waits differently at night. Shadows fill the corners where light had prevailed. The air feels denser, almost harder to breathe. There is a tension to it, as if something unseen is waiting in the shadows, just out of view.
I don't bother to turn on the lights to find out anymore. Instead I lie there, half-awake. The air stirs as if someone walked by. It creates whispers of footsteps that never touch the floor and laughter that never reaches a voice. It carries a faint scent, impossible to name. For a brief moment every night, the silence bends as though it's been shaped around someone who should've been here but never was.
Sleep never comes. Not in a satisfying way, at least. When my eyes close, I wander a maze of hallways and doors. They feel familiar, but I can never figure out where I am. Behind a door, I'll hear the softest call of my name. I'll open the door, only to find an empty room with another door in it. These rooms are empty only in looks. I walk through them to the next door avoiding invisible objects and unseen people, as if these rooms hold things. I follow the voice through door after door, every room similar. The voice is always just around the corner, or behind another door.
I've stopped asking questions. Questions imply answers that will never be. There will only ever be the feeling, the weight of a presence unseen. Some nights, I think I see it. I'll catch it disappearing behind another doorway, or see it jolt in the corner of my eye, but every time I look directly, there is nothing. There is always nothing.
Lately, the voice sounds different. Not louder, but closer. It's no longer calling to me but instead from somewhere I've already been. The rooms feel tighter now, the walls more watchful. Some nights it feels like I'm not the only one wandering these rooms and halls.
This morning, I woke up unsure if I'd slept at all. The corners were quiet now, and the tension wasn't as strong. The footsteps were lighter, and the laughter didn't find things as funny as it used to.
The silence doesn't bend the same way. Something is missing, and I can't tell if it ever really belonged to me.