(sidenote: this is a first basic draft, I know i use 'I' a lot, when it is redrafted I will change a lot of openings. This is not the most recent version as I am currently adding to it bit by bit everyday and hope to accomplish a personal book which by no means I care if it is published or not as I am currently in year 12 of sixth form or grade 11 Junior year for the U.S(I think?))

You can run from it, it will always find you, it will hold you, it's breath, vile and acidic, it burns your face. Your worst nightmares excavate and escape it, they, themselves, fear it. I am overwhelmed, I am absorbed by it. It lives in me, I am a vessel destined and designed to carry it.

I sit up violently, sweating, my heart is racing, it's early. Rain caresses the glass panel of the window, moonlight floods the room. I steady my breathing, I'm starting to hyperventilate. I feel my pulse, too fast to count. My legs and arms are soaked in sweat and only now I scan my room. Desolate. Alone but eerily occupied. As if something, or someone, is watching over your shoulder but you turn and see nothing, whatever is there always escapes your view.

Stop, it's just the dream, you are safe. This isn't the first dream though. I peel back the duvet and let the air comfort my suffocating legs. The television is still on, but only faintly and quietly. It's strange, I thought I turned it off. I stand and feel the wooden-panelled floor comfort my naked feet. It's dark, I can't see everything but I see the shapes, the outlines of items I know immaculately. My desk looms silently, absorbing any individuality of the items resting on it, my chair relishes in the dark and emerges subtly, the shelf is indistinguishable in the dark but is there nonetheless. I walk a few steps towards the door and revel in the pleasure of the cold floor on my feet, furthering me from the vivid nightmare.

But I stop halfway to the door,only a few steps, and turn to face my wardrobe door. It's slightly open, a crack so to say. Not enough to see inside, but enough to imagine the most terrifying horrors hiding behind waiting to pounce, to consume you and every minuscule detail of your existence. Every tiny sound at night is fixating, you are left frozen in decision. Do I run? Is it anything? Do I fight? But we usually conclude, it's nothing. I quickly hop towards the door and with one slamming action trap the horrors inside their confinement until daylight melts them away. I am safe for now. I step out into the hallway and immediately regret my new found journey. Darkness fogs the landing, while shadows cling to corners, looming and poised ready to attack with the slightest and immediate show of fear. It's around three in the morning, that's my guess. The shadows are so prominent as they always are at this time, it must be. I revel in my hidden fear. I'm standing at the exit of my room, I am oblivious to what's ahead of me, it's too dark to see, what was once the terrifying and gripping room now seems like a utopian safe house welcoming my retreat, but I can't go back. I take one solemn step ahead, it's a rather large step. I can see the beginning of the staircase now. In the darkness, your thoughts are important. If you think of a clown, the worst manifestation of a clown in your mind seems to be formed and found lurking in the dark.

You claim to even hear it but it's all in your head. I can hear ticking now and it moderately restores my composure. The clock has run for ten years without the need for change, my grandma claims my great grandfather's spirit keeps it ticking, after all he was a watchmaker. Brilliant, thinking of ghosts. I walk as slow as a hunted mantis, anticipating attack, towards the stairs. I can hear creaks and I wince when I hear them and finally I reach the stairs. I look down at the bottom and I see a pair of eyes piercing me. I stop and I am frozen in fear, all light radiates fiercely from those sockets of terror. A droplet of sweat rolls down my neck. Think Robert. If someone,or something, is truly down there then you need a plan. There's a flashlight in the drawer of my desk; it's hardened aluminium and could be used as a club with the handle. A flashlight that would've been useful before.

My heart rate is increasing rapidly, my chest is tight, I can't breathe. The eyes move on carelessly, it can't be? It's Luna, my cat. I exhale in a form quite unknown to me, a moan, a sigh, and a gasp for air all at once, almost blood curdling when heard. I take the first step onto the scratchy carpeted stairs and grip the bannister in support. Each step feels excruciating and builds on the anxiety of attack.

I'm four steps down and it makes the loudest creak alerting the world of my pitiful existence. I breathe in and walk two steps at a time now and I finally reach the bottom, the junction to either the living room or dining room which follows to the kitchen. The ground down here is warmer, I'm in cotton boxer briefs only, yet I am warm. I turn to my right and procedurally feel blindly for the light switch, I can't look, it only increases my fear. With relief,I find the switch and flick it on with a hidden desperation. Lights redeems itself and empties the room of horrible and vindictive thoughts. The long mahogany table looms demanding attention and respect, it's minions, the thin, mistreated pine chairs are tucked in neatly, obeying orders.

It's a nice and simple room, white hypnotising walls with oddly placed cacti in ceramic pots, clearly uncomfortable and out of place. A cabinet full of plates denounced of their expensive titles, former lords, now workers used for eating rather than display. I look ahead and see the remaining room, the kitchen, illuminated in darkness, once again I reach out blindly for the light switch and I find it, I pause for just a second in triumph but as I'm about to flick the switch, something grazes my hand. I recoil in horror withdrawing my hand, shaking uncontrollably. The dream. It was real. I stand there momentarily in absolute fear. My pulse once again uncontrollable, a pond of sweat has formed on my brow. My olive skin now mottled and pale with fear. As I stand there in mercy of it, I think of the mere achievements of my pathetic life and vow to change if my life is spared, I will read more, I will understand people more, I will write. And something happens now. Adrenaline surges through my veins, I breathe as if it were my last and ironically, make the same sputtering noise as earlier while I reach again for the light switch. My eyes are closed, as if it makes a difference in the bleak darkness, for the horror that beholds me once the light is on. I find it and flick the light on.

I peer through my eyelids at an empty room.

Fear melts away and I am left with shame. I am a fearful man. Although I am left with an empty room, a wave of anxiety withdraws me; what if it is hiding? No, dismiss the thought. I let a nervous laugh escape out loud. It's best to laugh when afraid, the children at school use to laugh at me, ironic that, a form of cruelty is now my salvation in fearful times. I'm alone in the kitchen now, a room with white glossy ceramic tiles surrounding the walls with a large glass panelled window, about a third of the wall up. No curtains protect me from view of the window, leaving me feeling raw and exposed. It's still dark out, I can't make out the outside world which seems distant in memory. I survey the room, nothing is out of place, all cupboards remain untouched, looking upset in their beige expression. I turn my attention to the sink.

The tap is on, but only faintly. Water trickles down in a soft stroke against the aluminium sink. Water vanishes into the drain reminding me of my desperate thirst. My throat burns in agony and a longing desperation to supplement the wasted water. It's early, I'm tired. The dream left me startled, the adrenaline has worn off and the extent of my fatigue is only now apparent. The floor in here is cold, too cold to stay still. I shuffle my bare feet amongst the bleak marble floor and walk towards the sink. As I shuffle towards the sink, I can see the disappointing silhouette of myself in the window. My rich brown hair curls in a tired mess on my head, I look less of a man than I am, if any. I study myself in the reflection in a curious profession as if seeing myself for the first time. Who am I? My hands reach to my face and rejoice in contact with my flustered cheeks, my reflection is hidden once again. Water. I turn to my left and reach to open the beige pine cupboard, the handle, smooth to the touch. Glasses sit obediently waiting to be used, to supply me with elixir. I choose a cylindrical plain glass. It glistens as I withdraw it in haste from the cupboard. I hold it in my right hand and use my left to gently shun the cupboard to sleep. I, once again, shuffle back to the sink, I reach, with the glass, under the tap and with relief, fill it with water. The way the water falls into the glass is hypnotising; it captivates the serene motion of waves in the deep sea, I want to dive in, to forget my troubles; and I do. I lift the glass and gulp violently to soothe my throat, I feel my stomach filling and it is satisfying after my hardship. I exhale hard out of my nose as I finish the glass. I lay the glass to rest on the kitchen side; a dark, smooth black marble counter.

I should go back to bed, it's early. The hardest part comes next. What was once a painstaking fearful endeavour must now be revisited in reverse. I turn away from the sink now in a careless manner, I will keep this light on until morning, to protect me, I walk casually amongst the switch from cold and cruel flooring to neutral ground, a comfortable carpeted floor of the dining room. Should I have chosen a cream carpet? Stains never come out of it fully. As I walk past the heavy table, I capture sight of a tiny, delicate creature, cute in reality, a field mouse. The fearful eyes, much like my own, watch me in terrified panic of my next move. It's hazel winter coat lay snug amongst the pink nose and courteous, yet fearful eyes. The tail, a pink worm, lay straight in absolute tranquility, careful not to move. I have no intention of harming, or even capturing him, I see a lot of myself in those painfully fearful eyes. No words were spoken but the mouse understood, it scurried along with a clear wave of absolute relief. I keep on walking and now reach the junction once again, the choices now are left to the stairs or straight ahead to the living room which is cloaked in vile silence. No ticking. I am too tired to care of the cold breeze escaping from the living room. I survey ahead of me upstairs and decide some despicable horror lay ahead, but I am safe for now. I lurch my right leg ahead, a muscular crutch spiralled with deep black hair, and take the first step onto the stairs.

I pause. I feel incredibly uneasy. What if something, the thing that grazed my hand, is now behind me.

I sprint upstairs at an alarming speed releasing intense bursts of sound. My heart rate is increasing disturbingly. It is closer to me. I sprint faster allowing a fearful gasp to escape. I reach the top and hunch over in victory, I let out a nervous laugh. I have escaped once again. I am now encased in absolute darkness, yet feel calm. The triumph over It on the stairs must have warded off further danger, I was safe to proceed. I walk to the entrance of my room and peer in, rain drops continue to litter the window, the noise is soothing like a welcoming tapping. My room is lit softly by the moonlight, its brighter than when I woke up, I must've been gone for an hour or so. I turn my head to my right and check my wardrobe door. Slightly open. I feel uneasy, I feel sick to my core. I thought I had closed it. This time, I slam it shut in fear and anger which burns away my fatigue. I check my bed. The white Egyptian cotton duvet remains peeled back, remaining in ecstasy of my return. I sit on the edge of my bed and check my phone. My phone. This whole time something I am so attached to could have redeemed my courage, yet I left in a groggy and drained state, leaving it to sleep. I check the time. Three fifteen. It's only been fifteen minutes? Did I wake earlier than I thought? No, I'm too predictable, my body craves routine, as we all do. Full of water, I feel relieved my journey leaves me with one final gift, time, time to try and sleep, time to escape the dream.

Cautiously, I lay down my aching core sub coming to the myriad of comfort designed for me to rest. I grip the duvet and pull it over me, cocooning myself in. My eyelids are heavy in my head, the wave of dreariness is taking me to sleep. My final thought. I am safe now.

Morning comes respectively. It's early, earlier or later than before? My alarm is about to go off. It must be a few minutes till seven, I'm a routine animal. I have a few precious moments to wake up properly, to contemplate anything and to let my mind wander; the few minutes before I adhere to the authority of an alarm. The alarm sounds in a disturbing blast, leaving me feeling uncomfortable. I sit up precociously, as I did a few hours before, my mind leaves my body trailing with a shackle of exhaustion. My feet touch the floor, now warm, in an endearing embrace. I stand up and bring my sorry hands to my face to rub my dreary eyes. Many things race through my mind as I do this; what will this day become? What will I eat today? Who am I? My hands leave my face exposing me to survey my room. It looks distinguished different compared to the illusive collectiveness as seen in the dark. The wardrobe door is shut fully. Did I dream of it opening? Was my whole journey a dream? My desk sits occupied in contempt with itself. Cologne in a sky blue container wavers amongst the clutter. A lamp watches amongst the mess; pens scattered,waiting to be used. I turn my attention to my bedroom door now and start to leave in angst.