The Night Walker.

I am writing this after several sleepless nights.

Why? Why does he have to ruin my nights? My ears are trained now, to hear any small noise he makes. He might not be in my vicinity, but the fear, the dread, sends chills up my spine.  I lie down on my bed, twisting, and turning.  Considering the plethora of situations, where I d have to face him. I shudder at the thoughts. Meanwhile, my brain, prepares myself. I have in mind the exact escape plans. I wonder, if this is what people do in the zombie apocalypse movies. No, they are silly. They wear  tank tops,  and the shortest of shorts, inviting zombies to bite them. Idiots. Ahh, this is how my brain distracts me at nights. I love my brain, yes, my brain told me to write so. Narcissistic to the core.

Some nights are peaceful, I know he is somewhere far. The noises are drowned by the creaky fan over my head. But on some vicious nights, I feel his presence. Right under my bed. Moving about.  That was one night where I jumped, gathered my blanket, and my phone(No, I ll never leave it) and rushed to my parents’ room( and I locked mine, smart move,*pat on the back* ),in the middle of the night. Worth it, I could sleep peacefully. The presence of parents has this charming effect. Hah, who am I kidding. I knew they slept near the door. They’d have to face it before it came to me. *evil grin*.

Isn’t it just illegal. Usurping my freedom, at my own home. Yes, I ve tried to kill him. With all the methods, conventional and non conventional, but to no avail. He dodges every move, with the swiftness of a ninja, and the Intelligence of a Yoda. His skill to go invisible, into the depths and crevices of a floorboard, is simply amazing.

I can’t take this anymore. My parents don’t care. They say, am paranoid, childish. My younger sister makes fun of me. Of my fear, of the dreaded demon. I don’t know the reason for my fear. Is it those childhood memories. Or the look of it. Or its agility, to move hither thither. Or its sinister,  rather diabolical tail, which I ve always dreamt of lashing on my face.

Musophobia, they say. But no, It ain’t no phobia. Am not scared of Jerry, he is the cutest thing from my childhood. And I am not scared of Ratatouille either. But this one, is one of a kind. A giant bubonicplaguespreading-giant-superintelligent being, whose favourite hobby is to jump from the window near my bed, over my face, to the ground. Or to be at the exact place where am going to place my feet.

Yes, he is not a hero.

He is a Silent Protector. Watchful Guardian. A Dark Nightmare.

Raat ko aane wala (The one who comes at night),

The RatMan.

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