The shadows danced across the bedroom walls like twisted, monstrous fingers, searching for her in the dark as she huddled in strained silence under the covers of her bed. She grasped a dimly lit torch tightly in her hands, the light providing some faint insulation from the malevolent forces that existed outside the warm confines of her immediate surroundings. She didn’t dare to move and risk alerting the unseen presence to her, the thin white veil of the sheets her only protection from what lay in wait beyond. She concentrated on the silence, analyzing every creak and groan of the house for signs of immediate danger. Her breath was long and strained, and she knew that at any moment her thin layer of protection could be ripped away. This was not new for her. For as long as Cait could remember she had lived in the same house. And for as long as she could remember she had been at the mercy of a monster.



It was an ever-present threat looming on the edge of her mind like a nightmare in waking that never quite left. It only ever came for her at night, but she could feel it watching her with every waking moment. In the uneasy groan of the floorboards. In the cold, daunting expanse of the dark hallways. It was always present. Always searching for her. As she huddled under the sheets, she heard the creaking of her bedroom door slowly opening, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. She held her breath in anticipation, the room was silent, hanging over her like a heavy dread. The sheet shifted slightly, Cait closed her eyes tightly, then with a sudden movement the sheet was violently ripped away.

Today was Cait’s eleventh birthday. She had a birthday party much in the same way as other eleven year olds might have. The backyard had been decorated with baby blue and modest fare provided. The adults mostly chatted amongst themselves as the kids played, but Cait knew better. She feigned enjoyment but couldn’t let her guard down. She sat amongst her friends, looking back at the house behind them. Her mother had given her a brief glance of fleeting concern, before turning to continue her conversation. Her mother had never believed her. She had always been dismissive of her, refusing to believe her stories of constant fear and menace that dwelt within that house. She had always been a difficult child, and she was at that age.



Cait’s father had died when she was a baby. He had worked two jobs to make ends meet and he was fiercely protective of his family. The heart attack came suddenly, and they were not prepared. Even though she never admitted it, her mother partly blamed her for his death. She was their only child, a child that had come into the world by surprise. Cait was 4 years old when her mother remarried. Her stepfather was a retired serviceman. He was rigid and uncompromising, but he made her mother happy. He accepted Cait for the most part, but they were never particularly close. She trusted him in most matters, but never dared to tell him about what went on in that house from fear of rejection. Between her mother’s cold indifference and her stepfather’s well-meaning but oblivious attempts at being a father, she was alone.



Cait sat huddled and exposed on the bed, her eyes held shut tightly. She felt the cold caress of a vaguely human form move across her skin, the apparition brushing by her leg and thigh as the tears streamed down her face. She wrapped her arms around herself as she prayed to something, anything, to release her from this nightmare. In the silence, her bedroom door suddenly slammed shut, and down the long dark halls muffled cries for help could be heard, but no-one was listening. Amidst the violence and through blinding tears Cait could make out vague forms. A familiar shape. A reassuring voice. It guided her, and gave her some semblance of comfort, until the moment was snatched away. As her bedroom door swung open and Cait saw her stepfather standing in the doorway frozen in disbelief, the scene seemed to play out like a movie. The slow motion movement of him coming towards her bed, the shadows as they danced across her room surrounding him like a thousand monstrous fingers, the glisten of the scissors as they sank into his flesh. The look of terror on his face as he collapsed to the floor.



Just as quickly as it had begun it ended. There was silence once more. Cait stared at the floor, her breath held tightly. The blood flowed fast and freely. Her stepfather’s glassy lifeless eyes locked on hers. She stared into him, unable to look away, even as the screams of her mother began to fill the room, she remained still, unmoving. “Michael, what have you done?” her mother screamed as she collapsed to the floor beside her stepfather’s lifeless body.

Cait’s eyes opened. Her eyes began to focus as she looked around the cold bedroom of her apartment. Various pills lay strewn across her bedside table. Boxes piled in the corner suggested she had just moved even though she had lived there for months now. She had been here before. This perpetual dream-like state between asleep and awake. In this fleeting moment reality slipped away, and for a moment she could pretend she was happy. As she emerged from her sleepy daze she began to focus on the shrill sound of her alarm, a sobering reminder that it was time to return to reality. She rolled out of bed and sat on the edge, her feet touching the cold floor. As she began her morning routine getting ready to go to a job she hated to pay for an apartment she didn’t like, she was reminded how alone she is. She glanced at herself briefly in the mirror, her eyes instantly drawn to the imperfections, making sure not to look too long. She’d learned from a young age that can be a dangerous game, best not to fall into that rabbit hole.



She mostly ignored others on her commute to work. The odd puzzled glance from an older woman; the uncomfortable leer from a man a few seats across; the inquisitive stare of a child opposite that seemed to penetrate into her soul and lay her completely bare. Cait was used to it, but it never really got easier. Her morning drudge into the office wasn’t any better. She did her best to keep her mind focused as she went about her day, the mundane small talk of a co-worker, the uncomfortable silence in the mail-room between her and someone who was clearly trying to avoid her. The strained relationship with her boss who only tolerated her out of professional courtesy. This was not a safe environment, despite what the feel-good diversity training the company had given lead them to believe. Others sometimes tried to play down the fact when Cait attempted to confide in them how hard simply existing in “normal society” can be, especially with her past and what people thought they knew about her. The generally well meaning but misguided comments from acquaintances who told her that she’s reading too much into things had become tiring as she once again went through the motions of agreeing with them because it was easier than trying to convince them of a struggle they didn’t really believe existed. It was easy for them to say. As Cait returned to her desk she noticed a new pile of mail, she shuffled through and came across an envelope with familiar handwriting. She choked back tears at her desk as she skimmed the contents briefly. The letter from her mother began “Dear Michael,” so typical of her she thought to herself. There was nothing dear about the intentions of the letter, a fact that Cait understood all too well.



It had been 20 years since the incident, but not a day had gone by that she didn’t think about what happened that night. People thought they knew the story, but Cait knew the truth. But somewhere along the way between the therapy sessions, the medication, the pain and anger and guilt, and the blame from her mother for her stepfather’s death the truth had become blurred, but it was still there. The doctors blamed it on childhood delusion and fantasy. Her mother supported this. She had never accepted Cait and seemed to jump at any chance to tell her that she was wrong and that her existence was wrong and she was sick and confused. Yet somehow through the years of therapy and medication, the years of being told she was not who she knew she was and her existence was invalid, Cait endured. She survived, just as she’d always done.



That day at lunch she was lost in thought as usual, she didn’t notice her friend Jodie’s questions about the bruise on her neck she had been trying to cover up. “Oh this?” Cait replied. “Jeremy just likes to get a bit… rough sometimes. It’s harmless fun, really.” Jodie raised her eyebrow slightly as she processed Cait’s answer. “As long as that’s all it is then I’m happy for you. So you’ve been seeing Jeremy for nearly six months now, are you two planning on moving in together? I wish you’d get out of that isolated apartment by yourself.” Cait hesitated. She wanted to answer truthfully, but fear of judgement stopped her. If she knew the truth it might make things worse. “We’re still working out the details” Cait sighed, “I don’t want to rush into anything just yet.”



Cait slid the key into the door and turned the handle. As she moved into her cold apartment after a long day and closed the door behind her, she slumped to the floor. She looked to the mantle piece as she clutched the crumpled letter from her mother in her hand. A picture of her stepfather stood prominently. “How, after all these years could she still blame me?” she thought to herself. They all thought it was her that had killed him, but Cait knew the truth. The same thing that had terrorised her as a child took her stepfather’s life. If it weren’t for all the forced medication and years of suppressed memories she might still be haunted by the malevolent spirit from all those years ago, but she had learned to push it down, like her mother had always wanted her to do. Reading her letter brought back feelings and memories that Cait had tried hard to forget. Flashes of light and sound. Feelings of happiness but also feelings of despair and loneliness. She began to think about things she hadn’t thought about since she was a child. She hated her stepfather but she also admired him for trying to save her. She couldn’t now remember a time without him in her life, or a time without living in fear.



Cait wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she began to sob, she hadn’t felt this feeling since that night. The images began flooding back, the feeling of helplessness, the feeling of being scared and alone. Of those grotesque and twisted fingers creeping across her bedroom wall like shadows, but also flashes of warmth. A familiar and safe feeling, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Her father. Cait couldn’t remember her father, but suddenly she could see him in her mind clear as day. She began to remember other things. The feeling of him watching over her as she grew, of him guiding her and protecting her even though he was no longer there. She remembered it so vividly, and for the first time in her life she remembered the day the monster first came. It was not long after her stepfather had moved into that house from long ago. She remembered him looking at her, judging her as he and her mother discussed her. She remembered the look of disgust on his face and how they always called her Michael. She remembered all of the nights of fear and isolation, and she remembered the first night he snuck into her room.



“Oh god” Cait gasped under her breath as she once again choked back tears. The memories were now a floodgate, and she remembered how he slowly approached her bed and sat down next to her. She remembered the stink of whisky as he gently lifted her sheets and ran his rough hands up her leg and across her thigh. She remembered the fear as he lent down and whispered in her ear. “So you want to be a girl? I guess i’ll make you into a girl then.” She remembered all of the nights since then. Every single one. The ghostly apparition from her memories slowly started to morph and take shape, the shape of a man. “It was him” she sobbed. “It was always him.” As Cait cried she hadn’t noticed the figure that was standing in her doorway. She turned her head back to the mantle where the photo of her stepfather stood. She turned away in disgust before noticing the figure from the corner of her eye. She leapt up startled as she quickly wiped away her tears. “Jeremy what the fuck are you doing here?” she exclaimed. “I came to see you baby, you’re my girl, although that’s not really true strictly speaking, is it.” The insult stung Cait as she tried to compose herself. “Look I don’t know what you want but you need to leave, now.” Cait steeled herself as Jeremy drunkenly swaggered towards her. She wasn’t sure what she felt first; the sudden blunt force to the side of her face, or the deep internal pain of his foot as he kicked her stomach on the floor.



Cait lay crying, a crumpled and scared mess on the floor. All she could think about was her father, and the last night he had come to visit her. She remembered the feeling of terror as her stepfather snatched away her sheets. He didn’t bother with subtlety anymore, he knew her mother wouldn’t believe her anyway, after all she was a delusional child. She remembered the feeling as he stood over her, and then feeling the warm familiar presence of her father again. All this time she had thought this unseen presence was haunting her, but it was actually there to protect her from the real monster. She remembered a feeling of relief as she saw the scissors lift themselves from across her room and plunge themselves into her stepfather’s neck. She had suppressed it for so long, he had always been there to protect his little girl, always there to watch over her, but now she needed him more than ever he was gone. Through the blood and tears as she lay on the floor, Cait began to smile. For the first time in her life, she understood, and she began to feel the warmth of her father again. As Jeremy walked towards her, the feeling inside her grew stronger, and the picture on the mantle began to distort and bend, before shattering into a thousand pieces. Cait lay on the ground staring up at Jeremy smiling, before the bedroom door violently slammed itself shut.

