You Don’t Choose The Darkness. The Darkness Chooses You.

She’s supposed to be dead, but there she is — standing at the kitchen counter. My dad and my brother don’t see a problem here. They say she just showed up, without any explanation. They sound almost pleased. The dread seeps in. It’s cold. Suddenly I can’t move. I can’t speak. I start squirming. Finally my voice squeaks out, “She’s not real.” This thing is pretending to be my mom. It’s a demon, or she was always one. That’s when she turns around. She smiles. It’s a shy smile, hiding something. I look around. My dad and my brother are gone. Then it hits me. I start screaming. She didn’t come back from the dead. We’re both dead now. This is hell. I wake up with an open mouth, arms akimbo. I’m pretty sure I’ve been squirming and screaming in my sleep. I sit up thinking, I thought this was over. I thought I was done with night terrors. I haven’t had one in almost ten years, at least that I can remember. They used to be so violent I woke up halfway out of bed. Some nights I used to feel like something was trying to drag me somewhere and I’d fought it off. Most people miss their moms. They dream about reuniting with lost family in heaven. They think they’ll grow wings. <a href="https://jessicalexicus.medium.com/you-dont-choose-the-darkness-the-darkness-chooses-you-bffafde56c73">Read More</a>