As I gaze up at my mother’s beautiful dark eyes, she embraces me in her arms. Strands of her silky black hair brushes against my skin. Her sweet, comforting voice recites the lyrics from an old lullaby, trancing me into a deep sleep.
“Look to your right, its dark as night
Look to your left, and you’ll go deaf
Close your eyes shut them tight
Careful or you’ll die of fright
Open wide and look around
There’s blood on the door
Mummy’s on the floor
Now turn back and look straight
If you see me then it’s much too late”
Whilst I am asleep I get a peculiar feeling that my bed is rocking, that someone is watching me. I know that it can’t possibly be my mother because she had already returned to her room during the night. I open my eyes slowly, afraid that I would find someone there. I can see nothing but darkness in the room. I firmly grasp the ends of my quilt, digging the ends of my long fingernails into the palms of my hands. Slowly and carefully I attempt to toss onto my other side to face the wooden framed door. There’s nothing there either.
I begin to hear noises from the roof above me. An ear-splitting sound, like the screeching of nails against a chalkboard, grows louder and louder from each end of the roof. Droplets of sweat begin to moisten and trickle down the side of my face. I begin contemplating as to whether I should make a run for the gloomy hallway to reach my parent’s room. As I anxiously uncover the soft silk sheets, the noise above the roof turns into a sudden silence. The adrenaline floods my system like it’s on an intravenous drip, right into my blood at full pelt.
My heart pounds, pumping blood faster than I knew it could. My body wants to run fast for the hallway to find safety, but instead I stay right where I am. Sometimes freezing is the best choice. I want to quell the hammering in my chest, but the shock I am experiencing right now stops all movements in my body.
Suddenly, something urges me to race towards the hallway. I sprint across the cold, granite tiled floor and begin knocking helplessly against the master bedroom door. The door creaks open by itself, but I am not frightened by this. Instead, I am terrified by the haunting site in front of me. My father stands holding a white blade pressed against my mother’s throat, as she lies terrified on the floor. He stares at me, but something isn’t right. This isn’t my father.