The owls had been a startling synchronicity.
Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, I corrected myself. I had to name it, rationalize and control what was happening. You learned that owls belong to her, so you saw owls everywhere.
I knew this wasn’t true. I bit my lip, staring at the empty ceiling. The owls were new.
I slept with no lights on every night and not once in the last several years had that ever felt the least bit oppressive. Tonight it was a prison.
Had I allowed myself to be influenced by an entity that I was supposed to be controlling?
The swirling, dark shapes in the empty space of the room said yes.
I reached over and fumbled with my phone to check the time. 11:54 p.m.
I put it down. I forgot immediately. I checked again. 11:54 p.m.
I quickly shined the phone around the room. Nothing.
I stared for what felt like a short eternity attempting to fall asleep. I thought I’d closed my eyes repeatedly, but they were open like a waiting bear trap watching the darkness for sudden movements.
My body was fully alert but my mind was sludge.
Every time I shifted in bed, it felt like I was high. The movement would arch and yawn and I felt every microsecond of it.
Time distortion was typical of altered states of consciousness.
I should have grounded. I should banish.
The shapes loomed over my eyeballs.
I should banish.
I should -
A whimper from the other room. My son calling for me. “Mom?”
I breathed slowly and deeply trying not to let my quickening heartbeat show. The shadows quivered with anticipation, craned their formless necks. Would I go?
“Mom.”
It was soft, like he was gently stating my name. It wasn’t at all like the usual screeching when he woke up in bed without me.
My heart thump-thumped in my throat. Shadows inches from my face.
“Mom.”
I leapt, shadows recoiling. I flicked on all the lights in the house as I went. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing there.
Every motherly instinct in my body screamed that he needed me.
I got to his room. He hadn’t moved from the position I’d left him in hours ago. His breathing was even and steady. I touched his forehead. He was warm like sleep.
I slumped against the doorframe, turning off his light.
I stared straight past the thin veil of hallucinations. I refused to acknowledge them.
I looked at the time. 11:59.
I rubbed my burning eyes knowing that all night would be like this.
I spent the next five hours pretending that I didn’t hear footsteps walking up and down the hallway or banging on the walls.
At breakfast my grandmother made a snippy comment about how I shouldn’t party so late into the night and that I looked like hell.
“Thanks, Mema,” I said, chewing chocolate chip pancakes.
