Later that night, as I lay awake in bed at insomnia’s mercy, I heard a scratching from within the wall behind my bed. It was nearing 3am, and in my exhaustion, I slammed my fist against the wall to scare away the rats or possums scurrying across the wooden beams.
For a beat, there was a silence, and then the rats knocked back.
It was a single knock, so I didn’t think much of it.
Barely a minute passed before there was another single thump. Annoyed, I sat up and thumped the wall back.
Fighting with rats at 3am was not something I wanted to be doing, and yet there I was, nostrils flaring at the knock that returned to me. In a sleepless rage, I knocked back twice, hard, and buried myself under the covers, hoping the rats got the hint and left. I had just closed my eyes when I heard it.
Knock. Knock.
That wasn’t possible. I sat up, slowly, and stared at my wall.
Knock. Knock.
I stumbled out of bed, almost tripping over the sheets that had tangled around my legs. There must have been something wrong with the pipes. The bathroom shared a wall with my room, so I trudged out, heart racing, and pushed the bathroom door open with my foot as my fingers flicked on the light.
The tiled walls remained intact. There was no leaking, or any notable signs of damage. It was a relief, given I didn’t have the money to fix any issues, but it was unnerving. What had caused the knocking inside my wall?
I approached the wall connected to my bedroom and knocked, once. Nothing. The rats had scattered. And whatever plumbing issue might have caused it must have resolved itself.
Shaking my head, I turned to leave when the bathroom light flickered, the door slamming shut before I had the chance to flee.
Darkness enveloped the room. It devoured all warmth, leaving an ice-cold chill that settled deep into my bones.
I knew what awaited me in the clothed mirror—I knew who would be staring back if I turned around and removed the sheet. I had to leave. I had to get out. I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Let me go!” I demanded.
Not until you make me a promise.
“What promise?”
You must promise not to go looking for your mother.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, arms wrapped around my body to fend off the cold.
I had no interest in finding my mother, but it was strange the Devil would demand such a promise. Was it because I was right about her? Did she have schizophrenia or some other kind of mental disorder? And if I was right about her, did that mean I was right about myself, too? Hell, I had to be right, for who was I talking to right now?
“Why?” I challenged.
She has only ever caused us pain. Why bring that pain back into our lives? Think of Auden. Do you really want to hurt him again?
“You don’t care about Auden. You don’t care about us being in pain,” I scoffed. “You’re scared. You’re scared that if I seek out my mother, she might be able to rid me of you once and for all.”
Laughter burned my ears. The Devil’s gentleness all but evaporated as fear crawled through my veins, goosebumps dancing along every inch of exposed flesh.
There is no Devil, Augustus. I am you. You are me. For your mother to rid you of me, you would have to die.
“No,” I shook my head, “we arenotthe same.”
You sound like your mother. Delusional. I am the voice in your head. Literally. You make me out to be somebody else—the Devil, the villain—so you don’t have to face the truth of what you are. A monster.
“No.”
Look at me.
I didn’t move an inch.
