I don't think I was supposed to call Shiloh.
I also don't think I should turn my lights off at night. Or try to sleep. Or sleep in my room.
I was trying to fall asleep, as usual. Watching some weird-ass kid show on TV that looked years old, it was nightmare fuel enough. But then came the scraping noises. At first I thought they were ordinary. But they grew louder, emanating from the wall behind my head. Something was in the hall, or the closet. I turned off the TV and started listening harder. Was this something to fear? I felt like it. I tried to assure myself it was nothing. The wind blowing through and moving stuff around. It was too peaceful outside for that though.
So I sat paralyzed in bed at god knows what hour of the night, not sure what the sound was or where it was, seeing only the worst possible monsters coming to life in my head. Turning the TV off was a bad idea, too. No light, and now I was far too terrified to turn it back on. The scraping seemed to slow then. And then it stopped entirely.
I sat in the dark and silence thinking it was over. Dawn would come, and it would all be over.
Then the closet light went on. Thing is, it would have been far less scary if I had a closet light. Faulty wiring or wild animals or burglars can't turn on lights that don't exist. And flashlights don't logically light up purple. It was safe to say that this was unnatural, and also safe to say that holding back the bile that built up in my throat and darting out of my room and down the stairs was a logical course of action. I spent the rest of the night locked in the bathroom holding a plunger and a pair of scissors for self-defense.
I haven't ventured into my room yet. I also haven't told anybody -- would getting others sucked into this whole thing make it worse?
I'm checking the closet today. In daylight. I'm not living in fear forever, whatever might have been in there.