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“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite”

My brother and I chirp those words back to my dad as he whispers them to say good night. We are young and anxious ; those magic words keep the monsters at bay. They stay under the bed and leave us alone ; only sweet dreams will disturb the gentle night.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite”

I let same words slip out of my lips absentmindedly when talking to my friends. They start uttering it back. Some have other sayings to protect us from what lurks in the dark. Are we stronger together ? I hope. I adopt their quirks as quickly as possible. When twilight comes, I doze off blissfully. The pitter-patter of what I interpret as rain doesn’t trouble me. Was it a sunny day, without a cloud in sight ? Or was it overcast ? I don’t bother remembering, and the question fades into darkness without a sound.

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite”

My phone buzzes, and those words appear on the screen. I repeat them and smile. Bed bugs aren’t something to be afraid of, I answer. My mattress squeaks quietly, my pillows are soft. I think to myself, “I WILL sleep tight”. I am engulfed by my own slumber to the faint hum of a thousand wee giggles. They follow me as I drift away ; I feel something on my skin and try to brush it off, half asleep, only to find nothing but an itchy red dot, like a sting.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite”

I can’t seem to forget this adage. Like an ear worm, it is engraved on the walls of my mind. It’s driving me crazy. I want to let it go, but I can’t. It lives with me, and is something I can’t ever get rid of. A spell against what lurks under the bed frames, in the depths of my subconscious, in the corner of my eye. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth when I try to shrug it off. I feel the words roll off my tongue like a curse. I have become finicky in my daily routine ; each bedsheet is thoroughly inspected before I lie down. In the middle of the night, I swear I can hear them mumbling things I never remember come morning. I don’t move, paralysed. Maybe I am just imagining things.

For a while, I set those words aside ; insomniacs have other demons to fight. Sleeping doesn’t come easy, and bed bugs seem tiny and harmless compared to what life had in store. Dark pockets grow under my eyes, I tire easily ; exhaustion is around the corner. I don’t notice them anymore.

“Sleep well, don’t let the bug bites swell”

I never noticed how the shadows move in the dark before. Grey on black on grey. There is always a chill in the night air. I wrap myself in fluffy blankets and try to keep my thoughts busy ; at the back of my mind, I want to forget the buzzing of wings in my ears. They flutter all night around my face, . I can’t see them running around my body ; when I open my eyes, they’re gone. I scratch my arms to the blood. I numb the itching with cream and soft lullabies ; the skin is lumpy with scabs I’m pretty sure I didn’t have before.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite”

I mutter to myself desperately, tears fogging my eyes. I heard a noise coming from downstairs ; my mother told me to lock my door and to not open it, under no circumstances. Muffled cries and sounds of a hopeless struggle get to my ears. I frantically attempt to rock myself to sleep and don’t see the doorknob turning behind me. The giant silhouette that stands in front of my stunned gaze. It’s fuzzy, as if it was made of billions of squirming bugs crawling around together. An abnormally long set of teeth sparkles in the pitch black night. Like thick tar, the figure’s deformed arm wrenches my mouth open and slips into it, squeezing silent sobs out of my fading consciousness. An unhinged voice of knives and thorns cuts my skin with its words and its metallic jeers as I cry out in pain.

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite”