All In Your Head

Upon hearing the whispers, Wendy immediately opened her eyes. Squinting, she notices the red numbers on her alarm clock read 2:04 A.M. Wendy holds her stuffed teddy bear Oswald, close. The wrinkles on the sides of her eyes straightened with the release of her squint, she lays in bed, in fear; another night, another series of unclaimed whispers. It’s been so many nights now that she can no longer remember the first time she heard these specks of voices.

She tossed and turned under the soft blankets of her bed, nestling herself beneath them. Wendy laid thinking about where the tiny whispers came from. She had an idea but wasn’t quite sure. A thought surfaced, tell my parents? She asked herself softly.  She shook her head violently. No. She couldn’t do that.  Even if she did they wouldn’t believe her anyway.

Wendy’s father might even spank her for disturbing his sacred sleep. He worked a lot of hours, all kinds of shifts. He even spent a lot of time away from home due to his job. When he was home, he wanted to rest and be with mommy. Although, most of the time it seemed like he mostly wanted to sleep or drink his brown bottles. “Grownup bottles” he called them. Wendy had been over baby bottles for years now and didn’t really even like the taste of milk anymore. She thought that she defiantly wouldn’t want to drink from a grownup bottle, ever! Her daddy got funny when he drank his bottle. And not like a clown or knock-knock joke funny either, a weird funny. After his brown bottles, he passed out on the couch with the TV unattended, remote in his open palm, before being dragged up the steps to bed by his wife. Wendy’s mother would joke to her friends that he talked more to her in his sleep than he did when he was awake. In Wendy’s mind, he wasn’t the worst of daddy, but he certainly wasn’t in the greatest dad in the world either. Although she was only seven years old, Wendy was smart enough to know it wasn’t the healthiest of households.

As her thoughts journeyed on from her whispers to her parents and her scary father, Wendy’s mind finally drifted into a peaceful slumber.

The house remained still and silent the entire night until the tiny, scratchy murmurs of whispers arrived uninvited. Wendy’s scream erupted, and the bedroom light in her parent’s room flicked on.

“What in the heavens of hell is going on!” Her father shouted as he twisted his old withered black bathrobe around his body. He grabbed for his Swiss Army knife out of the nightstand and dropped it into the tiny slit pocket around the waist of the robe.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)