Glowing Yellow Eyes

It loomed over her, Its face twisted into a snarl.

“You’re nothing, you know,” It whispered. “A nobody. A waste of space. A burden.”

Her chest ached and she curled up tighter, longing to disappear, to have the pain finally swallow her whole instead of destroying her in polite, bite-sized pieces. A sliver of moonlight peeked through the navy black-out curtains, illuminating Its spasmodic movements. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“What are you waiting for?” Its voice inhabited the no-man’s land between enticing and revolting, both pulling her in and pushing her away.

“I can’t,” she responded, her voice barely audible.

“Oh, my dear, but you can. And you would, if you really cared about anyone around you.”

A cold chill shook her already weak and aching body. Despite the layers of blankets, her body continued to shiver. She felt It glide around the room.

The voice continued. “After all, what good are you doing? The world turns without you. In fact, it thrives without you. You’re depleting valuable resources, with no return on investment. It’s a shame, of course, but this is merely a practical decision. Take the emotion out of it.”

Its speech was familiar, rehearsed. It was one she had heard all too many nights. When other children were being rocked to sleep in their parents arms or read a short story to fill their dreams with fantastical characters and creatures, she was in her dark room, alone with It. That first night, It had crept out of her closet, a tiny, insignificant thing, and crawled into her small daybed where she sobbed, pitiful, gut-wrenching sobs that shook her tiny body as she tossed and turned among her blankets and flowery sheets, clutching her shoulders to hold herself together against the emotions that were far too big for her tiny body to handle alone.

“Hello, there,” It had cooed, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to her. “You know what I am, don’t you?”

She had nodded. She couldn’t have said what It was, couldn’t put it into words, even now, but something inside her told her that It was somehow a part of her.

“Good. Don’t worry, I’ll never leave you.” It settled in, maintaining its distance to avoid any contact.

She remembered reaching out, a tiny hand desperate for anything to hold, but It reared away from her touch.

“NO. You do not touch me.” Its voice snapped from soft to harsh instantly, and she recoiled, the tears falling harder and faster and her stomach threatening to throw up the macaroni and cheese from dinner.

“There, there,” It whispered, Its voice changing in timber only, “I may not be a soft teddy or a friendly pet, but unlike those, you never have to worry about me getting lost or running away. No. I’ll never leave you. I will be your one and only true companion for life.”

When her eyelids finally began drooping with pure exhaustion, the last thing she remembered before entering a nightmare-fueled dream world was Its glowing yellow eyes vigilantly keeping watch over her small form.

Now, nearly thirty years later, It had grown with her. What had started as a small thing, barely the size of one of her dolls, now filled her room. It still sat on her bed, crunching itself into a smaller form, and most nights the last thing she saw was those glowing yellow eyes. It hid, sometimes, mostly when someone else would spend the night, as if whatever room she was in could only hold her and It, and another body, even if asleep, tipped the precarious occupancy limit. Her twenties had been full of one-night stands and platonic sleepovers because of this. It had worked, temporarily, but she soon learned that when she couldn’t find a Tinder hookup or bribe a friend to stay the night with free booze and food, It returned harder, faster, and angrier than before, as if punishing her for keeping it away.

It screamed and raved, destroying any fragile scaffolding she had painstakingly built in Its absence. The aftermath ensured any relationship was short-lived.

When she finally gave up trying to use someone else as a buffer, It calmed. Its taunts shifted from violent and jarring to insidious and almost gentle, like falling back into a bad habit. For a while, it was a relief.

It was manageable.

It was safe.

She didn’t see the true danger of familiarity and comfort until it was too late. Instead of waking up bruised and bleeding, she never slept. Instead of the fights, violent and terrifying as they were, there was just nothing. Just a resignation. She let it take over her life, settling into the isolation it required. Without realization, she had accepted that this was it, that there was no life free of It. That this would be her reality—until she finally listened.

“Aren’t you oh so tired? Don’t you know you can fix everything, right now? It would be so easy. Just an uncomfortable moment, that’s it, to save you from all of this.” It gestured toward the moonlight. “Everything out there. All the horror. All the pain. All the tragedy.”

One solitary tear dripped on the stained pillowcase.

It gestured toward her this time, still maintaining the familiar physical distance. “And everything in there. No more shame. No more fear. No more tears. How long are we going to play this game, now? It’s been decades; far long enough for you to realize this will never change. Each and every night, just like this, until your body finally gives out. Your last moments, nothing but anguish. But this, this you can control.”

Her pleads had run dry years ago. She had done all the mental gymnastics. Lied to It. Lied to herself. Dealt with the consequences of Its constant presence. Firings. Breakups. Evictions. Hospitalizations. Debt. It took everything in her to keep her nose above the never-ending icy stream, let alone pull herself up onto the banks.

Tonight, the icy tendrils tunneled into her mind. She’d always been able to block them before, usually by drinking until she passed out. This time, they were fiercer. They twisted and pried until her sobs were no longer silent and the air filled with hoarse cries. It came closer, closer than it had ever been before, and Its breath rustled her hair.

“You can feel it. It’s time.”

She tried to reply, to deny this, but all that came out was a gargled sob.

“Yes, yes, you know it. You’ve spent your entire life trying to pretend I didn’t exist, trying to block me out, but I’m here, I’ve always been here, and I will always be here. You know I’m only here to help. To reassure you that it’s the right thing. Believe me, it is. Think of your family, of how much you’ve burdened them. A difficult child, disobedient, selfish, ungrateful, a failure. Can’t you see the relief in their eyes? Or your work. Make things easy on them. No more PIPs, no more HR meetings. No more imposter syndrome, although, in your case, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? They can finally hire someone competent and worthwhile. You’ll be solving a big problem for them. Or your friends—you know they’ve just been putting up with you because they pity you. Free them. Let them accept that you were always a lost cause and stop wasting their time. You’ve been right all along. They hate you; they’ve always hated you. You’re doing them a favor.”

Her resolve, threadbare to begin with, frayed. She glanced up. It was holding something out to her, but her tears kept it unidentifiable. She uttered a small, “Please.”

“Come now, it’ll be easy. I’ll be right here the entire time. You can finally get some relief.” It pressed the item into her hand, the closest It had ever been, and tremors shook her entire body. She knew what it was, immediately.

“I—I got rid of these,” she stammered, voice rising in panic.

“You tried,” It agreed. “But I told you I’d always look out for you. And I knew you’d regret it. So I held onto them. Kept them safe for you. Until the right moment.”

Her mind raced. In her right hand, the pill bottle was unbelievably heavy, full of a variety of pink and blue pills she’d accumulated and stashed away over years. A few months ago, on a relatively good day, she swore she had flushed the pills. But here they were.

It resumed jolting around the room in frantic movements that kept her heart racing.

“Take them,” It growled, Its voice growing and deepening. “Take them, take them, TAKE THEM, TAKE THEM.”

With a jolt, she realized the pills were now in her hand, not the bottle. She couldn’t remember taking the lid off. There was no fighting it. She had fought for so, so long. Her tears had slowed back to a silent stream, and she knew, deep in her bones, that she didn't have the strength to resist.

Without warning, a flash of emotions flitted through her mind. The first warm breeze after winter rustling her hair. The satisfaction of cooking a new recipe. The joy of making a friend laugh. The smell of rain after a summer thunderstorm. The butterflies and endless possibility that accompany a first kiss. Then, things she had always longed to experience. Home becoming a person, not a place. Tiny fingers wrapped around her finger. Warm sunrays caressing her face from a mountain summit. Suddenly, for the first time, she realized she was, while maybe not hopeful, painfully, desperately curious.

In one smooth motion, she threw the pills across the room.

There was a moment of silence, of It registering what she had just done, before all hell broke loose. It launched itself in front of her, raving, raging, Its cold emptiness inches away from her, and she leapt back at It, aching, exhausting muscles strengthened by the adrenaline surge, and wrapped her hands around what should be Its neck.

It was cold and clammy, damp, and deeply, innately unnatural. She recoiled, her skin burning from the contact, but maintained her chokehold. It writhed under her grip, but to her surprise, It didn’t fight her back. For the first time, It could not berate her, It could not shame her, and she tightened her grip until her hands turned purple. Her heartbeat crashed in her ears and her head pounded, but still she held on, refusing to let go. With a final, desperate gasp, It disappeared.

She dropped to the floor. The worn carpet scraped and dented her knees. But she didn’t move.

It was gone.

The moonlight still shone through the curtains and the bed was still damp with sweat, but her room was empty. She took a deep, satisfying breath, and for the first time, cool air rushed into her lungs and cleared her head. She stood, hesitantly, her body still aching and protesting, and took a lap around the room. Nothing lurked under the bed or in the closet, waiting for her to be alone to strike. Nothing whispered abuse from the shadows. Nothing taunted her with an endless kaleidoscope of painful memories. She was simply alone.

Her brain took this all in slowly, no longer racing, no longer flooded with emotions, just…there.

A strange, garbled combination of a laugh and a cry exploded from her. After all this time. She swept the scattered pills off the floor and dropped them into the toilet, then watched them spiral into oblivion. She changed the sheets, got a drink of water, and settled into bed. She pulled the blankets up to her chin and felt warmth radiate throughout her body. It was all so simple. So easy. So different.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But as her eyelids began to droop and her breathing slowed, nothing watched her with glowing yellow eyes. For tonight, that was enough.