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We would all be downstairs, together.
I felt comfortable, welcomed.
Then, I would have to go upstairs for something or another...
by myself...in the dark...
alone.
With every step up those stairs it felt like I was traveling
miles away. A slow walk into the cold unknown.
By the time I would reach the top of the stairs the warm welcoming glow
was just a memory.
I would race to turn on my light. Only then I could tell
if the room was empty.
I had countless nightmares about the light not turning on. Standing there
in my room
in the darkness unable to see my surroundings.
Was it pure paranoia?
Was there a presence?
Was it the house? My imagination?
Was I truly alone?