It was juvenile, the way she spoke to its whispers underneath. They played hide-and-seek every night as she stuffed her head under a pillow that was just a little warm. She hated the feeling. She did her best to suffocate herself in a blanket, but it never stopped her from feeling every inch of skin that was exposed to the outside, phantom touches of air in permanent indecision as to whether or not the monster should peel her flesh. Her breaths never travelled below her chest, and she grew accustomed to sitting in her exhales as they boiled hot and sunk deep into the fabric of her sheets. The first night, she told herself no one was there. The second, she tried to ignore how empty her stomach and heart were, how its pull beneath felt so cold, so complete. The third, she told it to leave her alone. But you already are. And it is also true that more than anything else, she longed for a friend.
So they kept playing their game, and day by day, the rising sun started to burn her skin. Every sip of tea singed her throat as she swallowed, and she began to despise the hum of fluorescent lights and the laughter at warmly lit dinner tables. Why are you so weak? Every bit of fire was more of a static poison than the last. During the nights, she craved the cold movement of the monster’s sounds. They kept her goosebumps company. They breathed down her neck and clutched her nerves like an obsession. Don’t move. She didn’t. Don’t sleep. She doesn’t.
She tried to read. Your tears are liquor. She closed the book. She tried to eat. Your bones are nothing but bruises. She spit out sawdust. She tried to breathe. You are a rock that sinks to the bottom of the ocean as it pretends it is still capable of shining. She pinched her throat until her fingers went cold, until the rocks drowned.
Close your curtains. Okay. Get under the covers. Okay. You’re worthless. Okay. A string of black attached to her stomach, and slowly, each of her veins joined the shadows. The vines of black traveled up, up, up, drinking everything except the whites of her eyes. But she could never prove that something other than darkness remained. No one was ever there. So she shut her eyes, and those disappeared, too. Her spine became fluid and then nothing at all, as her darkness joined the gap in between the bedframe and floor. The monster under the bed finally had a friend.
Writer | Shruti Sangamkar ’29 | ssangamkar29@amherst.edu
Editor | Mark Chammas ’29 | mchammas29@amherst.edu