Silent Companions

He's there again, appearing almost every night, a constant presence in the darkness of my room. I catch glimpses of it, standing silently in the corner, patiently waiting for me to look away so it can inch closer. Its, small and penetrating eyes, emit a pulsating blend of red and orange hues. The figure it possesses is eerily human-like, a fact that sends shivers my spine. Humans, with their façades hiding deceit and hidden agendas, scare me the most. The unknown and mythical beasts don't faze me as much.

In the darkness, I slowly roll over in my bed, my hand inching towards the switch of the lamp on my bedside table. It moves along me, effortlessly transitioning to the next square, like a game of chess, someone moving their knight across the board to kill the rival's pawn. My hand hovers above the switch, poised ready to illuminate through the inky blackness that engulfs my room. Yet it has never made an attempt to harm me. It hasn't laid so much as a finger on me since I encountered its presence. I was merely three old when I first noticed its figure, as it has always stood planted in the corner, across from my bed, but carefully avoiding the soft illumination from the hallway light that seeped in through my slightly ajar door.

Now, at the age of fourteen, it still observes me. Its beady eyes remain upon me, as if waiting for something that even I fail to comprehend. With a click, I turn on the lamp, and my room becomes awash with warm white light. The warm glow reflects upon the aged sea salt colored walls, reminding that I've long intended to repaint them, but I've never quite found the motivation. Its presence vanishes, leaving no trace behind.

Sometimes, though I find myself missing it. I wonder where it goes during these moments of illumination. Does it experience an emptiness akin to mine? It may appear daunting with its dark figure, accompanied by those pulsating red and orange eyes, but strangely it brings me solace. No, I'm not afraid of it, I'm not afraid of not being afraid of it. Most children would tremble in fear at night, seeking refuge in their parents' embrace, but it's different for me. It has become more of a companion than an intruder, no longer do I feel the initial intimidation it emanated.

Click, my lamp goes out, engulfing me once again in the inky darkness. It's oddly comforting now that I'm older. I feel a sense of empathy towards the fright it may incite in other children, I also pity it. Perhaps, deep inside, it yearns for companionship too, perhaps it craves a friend. It evokes a strange sympathy in my heart, as if its appearance was never chosen, nor desired. Being unable to change it's looks must be a burden it carries. In a way, it's similar to me. We both spend most of our time in solitude, and surprisingly, we solace in it.

"Goodnight, my friend," I whisper into abyss, gazing at its presence as it watches over me. Now, I refer to it as my friend, my guardian, for it has always been just that. a smile stretches across my face as I surrender myself to slumber, drifting into the seamless realm of dreams. Just before I surrender myself to the depths of sleep, a faint, raspy voice brushes against my consciousness. "Goodnight, friend."

(Authors' note: This is an old story I wrote about a comfort character I used to have, so I'm sorry if it's a bit of a mess! I tried to fix it up as much as I could without changing the story line, hope you enjoy reading it though! - Cupid)