They only come out at night. Some people think that a small squirrel is running around the attic, maybe some mice had made it in for the winter. But after last night I know better. Now as I lay in bed and hear those sounds the covers are pulled a little tighter, my pulse quickens just a bit, and I get this tingling feeling in my feet that makes me think that I have Restless Leg Syndrome. Am I the only one who hears them?
Just like a child trying to find Santa every Christmas Eve, I try to close my eyes and wait until I can spring from my bed yelling “Gotcha!” My visitors finally revealed to me. Some nights I keep my eyes squeezed tight and hope I can rely on just my other senses, but tonight these little slits are scanning the darkness. I don’t even remember when I feel asleep.
Was it all a dream? I could have sworn I heard voices talking about how they were going to get things back to the attic. Concerns of how they needed to contain the power source otherwise this was all for nothing. My first thought is that I rolled over on the television remote and my brain was hearing some late night Science Fiction movie. Could be I heard the news talking about nuclear reactors. Who knows? The mind does funny things when you sleep!
Tonight felt different, I could hear everything as if I were part of the conversation. All I need to do is open my eyes and everything would be clear. The tingling in my feet is just odd. My eyes open to see I’m strapped down to the bed. Nothing too tight, I could probably just shrug my shoulders are be free in seconds. But why did someone come into my bedroom and restrain me?
The sound of a tiny engine whirls in the distance. Muffled, but speeding up. The tingling in my feet now a numbness where I can’t feel anything below my ankles. I keep hoping this is just a really vivid dream, but I pinch myself and get the result I expect, a little twinge of pain.
A needle slides into my foot, the numbness sliding up my legs. The tiny voices now really clear.
“I think we’re ready. The bag should hold everything util we get back to the shelter.”
“As long as you’re sure, if we touch the wrong thing we’re doomed!”
And that’s when they started to harvest my toenails…
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Choose Your Adventure.”