I will count the shadows

Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Whose stars are these?

The bearded interrogator, a policeman I think, wants to know who savagely beat me but I cannot explain to this officer, all dressed in white and wearing his flexible rubber ear trumpet, except perhaps to ask him: why are there stars in the ceiling? He doesn’t answer. How can I trust a cop out of uniform? I suspect he is not real. Maybe he’s just out to mislead me.

Come closer. If I know you, I will tell you instead. Do I know you? You don’t have to answer. I must trust someone and there’s only you and this so-called policeman here, so it has to be you.

There was a humanoid, a creature that inhabited the narrow room behind the painted door on the wall of my bedroom. It must have roamed the shadowlands behind the forest of clothes. From there, it might have been stalking me. It most certainly had no right to even be there. I can’t prove it but I believe that it used to come into my bedroom when I was asleep. I only know because it made the fatal mistake of revealing itself today when I was still half awake. I was scared, I admit it but this did not stop me from defending myself. There were no weapons in my room so I had to rely on my childhood tricks from the playground. Fists and headbutts, teeth and kicks. I can tell you this, although the creature was tough, with skin like bricks or concrete, I know I damaged it. Then I pursued it, destroying the clothes, the door and the wall as I went. Sadly, my mind began to fill with smoke and starless nights and people shouting. I can’t remember if the creature escaped or…

Where did these stars come from?

There are strangers tut-tutting, placing pink patches on my face and hands. I stare at their failed excuses for eyes but say nothing. I am no clown, no convict, and give nothing away, nothing that might incriminate an innocent person. I know how the system works. I was part of it once. I think.

Why are these stars out during the day and why is somebody crying? Is somebody crying? Where is everybody?

Here is a jacket to keep me warm. The texture is as rough as cereal fibre, a nightmare, for now I cannot move arms that I’m sure were once mine. A frail man brings a raspberry lollipop. It is full of juice and the end is sharp and shiny.

Pain then no pain. Still, I won't sleep. I will count the shadows instead.

There is a woman, a brunette I think. It’s difficult to tell because of the shadows. Everywhere, shadows. She is fumbling around in my nether regions. There must be a numbing gel of some kind because it’s cold but whatever she’s doing still hurts. I think she is talking to me but I can’t understand her. It is my language but her dialect is so strong, her accent so thick and… she seems to be slurring the words. There are two men by the side of the trolley. By the way his face is stretched to the sides and his bullet-shaped head is bobbing back and forth, I can tell that one of them is laughing. But why?

I am moving. I know because the stars in the ceiling are rushing past. The walls are pale green. Summery, restful. Now and then there are numbers, directions, but they mean nothing to me. I don’t know where I am, let alone where I am going. I will update you when I arrive. If I arrive. This new world seems to be full of ifs. If it is a new world. If, if, if.

There is a door at last. I catch a glimpse of the number, twenty-three. So, I am no longer me. I am fixed on a board somewhere, the silent inhabitant of room twenty-three. I wonder, if that creature in my bedroom did not die, could it wheedle its way into this room? What chance would I have, trussed up like this? I think I might cry with frustration but… I don’t have the energy. So tired. I will not sleep. I will not sleep. I will not.

The two men, who appear to have been assigned to me for whatever reason, haul me back to wakefulness by turfing me out of the trolley and onto a bed. They pull up the wooden, sliding slats to stop me from rolling out in my sleep. Or throwing myself out. When I was very young Mother used to do this before she tucked me in and kissed me goodnight. I wonder if one of these men will tell me a story. But mother… Oh! That was so long ago. There is an empty chasm between her and tonight. Where has my life gone? Have I even had a life? Why is there only one star in the ceiling now, with a metal cage around it? Where have all the other stars gone?

I wriggle, twist and frantically try to free my hands. I will need them to express my thoughts if I cannot speak. Why can’t I speak? The two men stare down at me. One is laughing again, the same man, I am certain. The other has deep black eyes and they seem to be on the verge of tears. I don’t need someone to cry for me. I am brave enough. Or, at least, I was. I think. There is so much here that is making me uncertain of myself.? How do I know enough to ask all these questions when I don’t know enough to answer them?

I will end my tale by starting. My name is… is… Never mind. I will tell you as soon as I remember. This is merely a temporary blip. Like, is room twenty-three real? If so, where is it? I am beginning to feel very tired but I don’t know why. I just know that I must not sleep. Must not.

The laughing man has left now. I didn’t like him. He didn’t show me any respect. The dark-eyed man is at the door. I really, really want to ask him just one question: if there are stars, then why are there stars? But he is closing the door. I am no leftover fragment of space so why am I now all alone? I can’t stop myself screaming, hello, hello, is anyone there? Tell me, please, am I alone?

The dark-eyed man just stares through the crack of the almost closed door. He opens his mouth but says nothing then crosses once more to the bedside. And laughs. But his mouth continues to get wider, dislocating like a snake as it prepares for a meal larger than normal. For a moment he rests the back of one hand on my cheek, as if reassuring. Strangely, I remember that touch from my sleep. His fangs sparkle then he moves out of view.

I feel the saliva as his mouth slides over my feet, reaching up past my ankles. Up and up. I must not sleep but I cannot bear to stay awake. Silence is the shroud convincing me that it is time to travel to the land with no stars.