Sleeping Sickness

Alan pushed open his front door; he had forgotten to lock it in his earlier haste. The only thing he could hear was the hum of the refrigerator. He walked into the kitchen, touched the cold coffee pot, and felt fear for the first time in his life. The house felt still. 

It wasn't the manufactured fear of watching a horror movie with his friends, or the stomach turning drop of a roller coaster. It was a fear that froze his bones and held him in place, unable to climb the stairs. His breaths came in short gasps, his sour sweat filling the kitchen. Alan could smell himself, smell his fear.

He could not go up the stairs. Behind him, something groaned, whispering in the kitchen with him. He started, whirling around to find nothing behind him. As he spun in the opposite direction, the ice maker groaned and dumped a load of ice that echoed in the empty kitchen.

Alan shrieked, the sound echoing and chasing him toward the stairs. He stopped on the third riser, his heart climbing up his throat. At the top, Grits looked down at him, peeking around the corner that led to his parents’ bedroom.

The fridge hummed, and a dog barked outside. Grits stared at him and whined softly, his ears wilted. Nothing moved upstairs, and Alan slowly went up the stairs. Grits came to him slowly, his tail between his legs. Alan reached his parents door and stood before it.

It was cracked a few inches.