YOWIEHUB

The fan groans rhythmically next to me as I stare at the dark ceiling. The air is thick and oppressive, and no amount of air blowing around seems to cool the room. I feel myself sticking to the sheets, melting like a piece of cheese. I glance over at her. She seems to be asleep. I don’t understand how she can sleep so peacefully in this fucking heat. For the past eight years, I’ve always liked watching her sleep. By day, she talks at length about her thoughts. At night, she breathes softly and gently. It comforts me. I worry that she might melt. That would be a real pain to clean up. Cheese, after all, sticks to things.

The outlines of the room blur into the dark. My eyesight has always been poor, but in the dim light, it’s almost impossible to make anything out clearly. I begin tracing the corners of the ceiling with my eyes – the old hanging light with its glass shade, the door to the bedroom, the dark window.

Something catches my attention near the window. It’s the large red drapes she bought from some antique market. I remember hanging it there a few years ago. They barely functions as a curtain, but she’s very fond of it for some reason. I’ve never truly understood those parts of her character. The curtain sways gently, moving rhythmically. In this thick heat, I feel myself melting again.

I sit up, suddenly uneasy. The humidity feels suffocating, and the air in the room is still. I strain my eyes towards the curtain. It moves again, swaying back and forth, just like the fan beside me. Stange, the fan doesn’t usually reach that far. There’s no wind tonight. A soft rustling sound follows. A cold breath of air brushes my skin, and I suddenly don’t feel hot anymore.

Something is in the room.

Thin white fingers push through the curtain, sending a chill through my spine. The hand pulls the fabric back slightly. Dark eyes stare directly at me, hidden by long strands of thick black hair. I can’t look away.

A voice breaks the silence, sharp and strangely loud. “Aww, come on, boys,” the figure says in a strong Australian accent, his words echoing in the stillness of the night.

I freeze, a cold sweat creeping over me as a grin spreads across the figure’s face. His teeth glint white and he laughs. I have to wake her. A sickening curled smile reveals itself under a thin, jet-black moustache. I have to get out. The man staring at me lets out a low laugh. It sounds inhuman. His laugh continues and rises in pitch. Long, bird-like cackles echo at me from the curtain. I try to scream, but nothing comes. My vision goes black

I feel myself falling. The air is cold and wet as I plunge into a deep, slimy pit. My fingers scramble for purchase, but the walls are slick, and I keep falling. Suddenly, I hit something. Splashing into cold, dark water. It feels endless. If I sink, I’ll be lost.

Above me, I see her blurry figure peering down at me from the edge. Her eyes are vacant. She’s thinking of something else. I open my mouth, trying to call for help, but no words come. I try again. “Help,” I silently plead. But she just looks at me once more, her gaze empty. She turns away and the darkness closes in.

I wake, lying in bed, curled into a foetal position. My body aches, and there’s a deep sickness inside me, like something heavy pressing against my chest. The heat is back. I can’t breathe. Beside me, she lies motionless. She seems so far away. I throw off the sheets, gasping for air. An acid in my stomach burns through. My head spins as I crawl toward the bathroom, my mind is a fog of confusion and pain.

The sickness doesn’t leave me. It clings to me, raw and relentless, gnawing at my insides. I climb into the shower, but the water takes too long to warm. I sit on the cold tiles, knees pulled to my chest, water drenching the back of my neck. I struggle to breathe, my thoughts spinning. There’s nothing but the sickness.

The feeling doesn’t leave. But as the water cools my skin, I force myself to think.

How did I get here? I crawled from the bed. Why? Someone was in the room. The man behind the curtain, smiling at me.

A sudden wave of nausea hits again. I try to make it to the toilet, but it’s too much. Black bile comes out from my throat. I leave the shower running and I stumble back to the bedroom, praying the sickness is gone, praying the man isn’t still here.

I burst through the door, and a wave of hot air hits me immediately. She lies there, undisturbed. Her steady breathing is peaceful. The fan is still moving back and forth, its rhythm almost soothing. But the room feels wrong, I cannot be here anymore.

I approach her sleeping body and shake her, but she doesn’t respond. Her eyes remain closed, soft and calm. I call her name. Nothing. She’s stuck in a dream, lost somewhere else. I need to wake her, to tell her we’re not safe. I need to tell her something, anything, but my words are too late.

I walk over to the curtains. They look thicker than before. My pulse quickens. Is he still there? The sickness rises again. I need to know. I must know.

I slowly peel back the red fabric, but I’m terrified to look. What if I see his fingers again? I’ve felt his presence here for so long—was that him watching me all this time? Even now I feel his gaze upon me. Slowly, I pull the curtain back. There is nothing.

The sickness comes again, and I begin to hurl. No time to move, I have to get it out. I wretch, but nothing comes. My eyes water as my head goes blank. I wretch again. I need to — something solid hits the back of my throat.

It is bony and cold. Still gagging, I try to grab whatever it is. I try to pull it out. The thin white fingers start to come out of my mouth. I keep pulling—a hand, an arm, a shoulder. I can’t breathe, and my vision goes dull. As I pull thick, wet strands of hair, those deep black eyes stare into me.

 “Snail race” he says. I don’t understand. I never understood.

As I lose my strength, my legs buckle beneath me. I collapse to the floor, vision swimming. Through the haze, I see a figure crawling into the bed. The blurred shape lies down beside her.

He has taken my place.