The Companion

I saw her again last night, the figure standing in the dark corner of my room, barely visible under the dim moonlight streaming through the slit in my curtains. She stood there looking at me, unmoving. The weight of her gaze prickled my skin and sent a chill down my spine. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could tell there was one. It comforts me. And yet, I can’t tell if that comfort is mine, or borrowed from something else.

The weather is sad and gloomy this afternoon. Dark gray clouds hanging low in the sky. There’s a low rumbling sound just over the horizon. I shiver as a cold gentle breeze brush past my curtains causing my skin to tingle. I pull my cardigan tighter against my frame to block out the cold as I stare out the window at the people passing by. A man walks by with a little kid, the child screaming and kicking because he wants to go back to the park. The street is nearly empty, save for the occasional passerby. Everyone is sheltering themselves from the storm that’s coming. I sit by the window, monitoring the shifts in the clouds, when suddenly a thunderclap splits the sky and it starts to rain. The gentle patter grows into something wild and unrelenting, pounding against the roof. Heavy wind pushes at the windows, the glass trembling, almost lifting from its frame.

I step back from the glass and into the kitchen, grabbing a mug of hot coffee to ease the chill. The house is dark—the only source of light from outside now swallowed by thick, looming clouds. I flip the light switch. Nothing. The power is out.

I grab a flashlight, its beam cutting through the darkness, illuminating dust motes in its path. I sink onto the couch, coffee in hand.

A lightning strike cuts across the sky, briefly illuminating the house—and immediately after, a thunderous rumble shakes the walls, rattling the whole place like an earthquake.

She’s back. I felt her eyes watching me as I sat there. Her presence lingered in the corner of the room, where my eyes refused to stay. Every lightning flash briefly illuminating her. This evening I saw her eyes for the first time. They’re just like mine, but, empty. I don’t think she wants to harm me. Maybe she just wants a friend. A companion. Some days I long for her presence, the gentle breeze that brushes against my ankles anytime she’s near, the way my muscles tense when she appears and relaxes when she stays. The storm has settled but she’s still right here with me. I write this down so I don’t forget how it felt, her presence in the corner, watching. Maybe writing it will make sense of it, or maybe it will summon her closer. Either way, I can’t stop.

The next morning. The clouds still hang dark and heavy overhead, and a low rumble rolls through the sky with each flash of lightning. The power is still out. I’m sitting by the window staring at the debris the thunderstorm has left in its wake. Everyone’s indoors. The weather channel said the storm would likely linger for a week. The feeling of knowing you now had a reason not to go outside fell over me when the news report came on. I know I have to go outside again, but every time I take a step towards it, the thought comes back. The thought of what happened that day and knowing I could have prevented it. A few people are coming out of their houses now to see the disaster left on their porch by the storm. Branches still pressed against the roofs, bent from the storm, as if the night hadn’t let go. Trash cans lie overturned, their contents scattered across the street. I remember the rain that day... how it fell on the street, the screeching metal. I can’t think of it long, or it grows heavy in my chest.

I can’t sleep. She hasn’t visited today. Some nights she’s here and everything feels heavier, but when she’s gone, I feel hollow. The silence presses in almost like it’s waiting. The thunderstorm keeps growing, threatening to take the roof with it. The power is still out, the only source of light being the flashlight in my hand. I keep thinking back to the day of the accident. My mind is troubled, the weight of longing for their presence heavy on my chest. I wish I could see them one last time, tell them I love them and I will never stop loving them, and what I would give to hold them in my arms again. Hold my daughter and kiss her gently on her forehead and tell her I’m sorry for what happened. For what I’d caused. I would give anything to be able to lie by her side and read her the same bedtime story she always wanted ‘til she falls asleep on my shoulder and I drift off to the sound of her gentle snores.

I feel her now. Something’s different. She’s different. Closer. The weight of her presence heavy in the air and on the floorboards making it creak. She’s standing just beside me. Watching. She doesn’t seem calm. Something is troubling her. I don’t know what it is. I don’t dare speak to her. There’s a coldness to her presence, one that makes my skin crawl. The house keeps rumbling, the wooden beams creaking, and the windows rattling like something is pressing to get inside. A lightning flash illuminates her. I can see her now, her features, pale and expressionless, hooded eyes framed by dark rings. Her jawline, soft. A face I feel like I know all too well but can’t quite place it.

The thunderstorm hasn’t settled. It’s been a month now. No one has come by the house. The neighbors keep looking at it like there’s something wrong. She’s closer now. I can feel her breath brush against the back of my neck sending cold air down my spine. I haven’t looked at her yet, I don’t want to.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the same person I was before. Sometimes I wonder if I ever was.

I tried talking to her yesterday but she just stood there, unblinking. I asked her what she wanted. Nothing. The sound of her breathing filling the room. Does she want to harm me? She’s changed. She looks different now. The familiarity stronger. She wears my face. I know it sounds crazy. But I feel it, she wants my life. She wants to replace me. That’s why she keeps getting closer and closer. I fear that she will harm me. What do I do?

It’s late evening. I stand in the doorway to the bathroom. It’s dark. The power is still out. I can sense her. She stands by the shadow line, just at the edge of the flashlight, still and patient, as if she knows where the light can’t reach. Staring at her feels like looking at my own reflection. I walk into the bathroom. She moves away from the light, taking a step back with every step I take. A shiver runs up my legs through to my heart as it thuds against my chest like a wild horse. I know the implication of what I’m about to do, but I can’t help it. She’s got something planned that she won’t say. I walk to the mirror, the only reflection in it being mine, barely visible in the dark bathroom. I raise the flashlight to my face. My eyes are droopy, framed by dark circles. The tendons in my neck stand out sharply under the skin. My reflection morphs into something unrecognizable—different from how I remember it. I move closer to the mirror, searching my own eyes for a glint of familiarity. There is none. A thought hangs over me, every syllable carving itself into the depths of my mind. “Am I dead?”

The storm presses against the house like a living thing making it groan under its weight.

She’s doing something to me. She’s messing with my mind. I look over at her—now by the corner washed in shadow—a faint smile pulled at her lips, thin and deliberate. I click off the flashlight, inviting her to come closer. She does. Her presence suffocating with every step. My muscles quiver, stiff with fear, and my skin tightens as goosebumps form. My hands squeeze tightly on the flashlight and the steel handle of the object on my other hand.

The pounding in my chest eases as a sudden calm washes over me. The same calm I felt when she was just a shadow in the corner, her presence still and watchful. I wonder if she’s trying to protect me, if she thinks of me as family, if all she wants is to ease the pain. Or maybe she wants to switch places with me. She would inherit the pain, and I’d be the shadow in the room, quiet and at ease. I reach out, drawn to her, to see what will happen if I give in.

I flinch as I break out of her control. The lightning flash flowing in through the bedroom briefly catches the steel blade as I thrust it forward, tearing into her. She folds over, silent and still. Blood gushes from the cut, dark and thick, the red substance is illuminated by another flash of lightning. I yank the blade out and drive it back in, screaming with rage. Thunder rips through the sky, carrying my scream in its wake. She crumples to the floor as I straddle her, unrelenting. Blood arcs through the air, splattering on the tiles and pooling on the floor. Her face remains emotionless, unreadable beneath the dim light flowing into the bathroom.

I pull myself off her as her breathing seize.

Resting my back against the bathroom wall, my mind drifts to the day of the accident. I looked away from the road for just a split second. When I looked back, the car in front of me was closer than it should be. I slam the brakes—tires screeching, metal colliding in a heartbeat. Their screams fill the air. I should have died that day. Maybe I did—maybe this…all of this, her, the emptiness, the longing…is what remains of me. A shadow of the person I lost when I looked away.

The storm eases, leaving only soft rain and a low rumble.

My heart slows to a steady rhythm, my shoulder relaxes, and for the first time, nothing stands behind me. For the first time, nothing stands within me either. For the first time in months, I feel alone—truly alone. And I’m not sure if that’s better.