Sometimes at night, I wake up breathless.
And in that breathless state, I see things; ghouls, ghosts, inhuman things that have long faded to myths and nightmares, to crawl around the corner of disbelief. Often I stare confused, dreams leftover in my brain too cloudy to process, but my heart beats rapidly enough to tell me it’s there.
The ones unaware of my presence stay longer, or the ones with too much cognizance remain behind to bask in the rare human acknowledgement, but only for as long as I hold my breath.
Often enough in my panicked state breathless than stillness, my room barely illuminated, the breaths I hold stay stagnant in my chest. The world stops for a moment; silent and still. But I breathe because my lungs burn and my heart tells me to do so.
The ghouls vanish before me, dissipating into the night, concealing their form back to the shadows. I wonder if this strange occurrence is what birthed tales of monsters under the bed.