Knock, Knock. Who’s There?
I awakened to answer the relentless knocking at my door, only to realize I hadn’t been asleep.
I don’t remember exactly when I knew I hadn’t fallen asleep. Just like every other night, I took my sleep meds, turned off the light, climbed under the covers, and watched short horror films on my tablet until I dozed. I now know that was probably not the best way to fall into an idyllic slumber, and you would think that my relentless nightmares would give me impetus to change my behavior. You would think.
But, alas, not. At least I was able to awaken from the troubling reveries before, before …
Until now.
As I walked to the door, I mistakenly glanced back at my bed and was horrified to see myself lying atop it, limbs askew, eyes oddly open.
That was the night I died.
And the monsters came for real.
Home
The walls have ears. In times of sorrow, they silently observe and reflect. Sad is my home.
The walls have ears. Music and laughter have been known to fill these rooms. Happy is my home.
The walls have ears. Peaceful serenity has been sought here many times. Familiar is my home.
These walls are witnesses. They know that, all who have ever been before them, were emboldened by loving warmth and care.
So, Love... Love is my home. And that is what the walls would speak, having heard all that they've heard.