Creaky

He had just fallen asleep.  It was always so difficult getting settled.  His brain was running on overdrive.  Too much work, too many to-do’s, and all he really wanted to do was relax.  It was too late, as usual, to relax, though.  Everything took longer than he had expected, and nothing was easier than hoped.  He had wearily resigned himself to the night, spent a good hour tossing and turning, and finally the damn switch had turned off.

Outside, the wind was howling.  There was a storm building up, and the trees had started dancing.  The branches began crawling across the walls like nails on chalkboard. He stirred restlessly, an uncomfortable moan trapped behind his dry lips. The moon had pulled in larger, but somehow the bedroom had grown darker.  As if hearing him, she woke.  It was another night where something was off, but neither knew why.  The temperature had dropped 20 degrees.  As sweat broke out on his skin, her heart began racing.

The branches and wind delighted in confusion.  The scraping had become incessant, as if Mother Nature herself was the conductor to the chaos.  She began pacing, her creaking footsteps causing his eardrums to ring, and more discomfort to leak from his pores.  His teeth ground as the pressure clamped her temples in a vice.  As his thoughts raced, hers slowed to a confusing murmur.  She found the steps and tried to make her way down quietly, as she did not want to upset him.  With every step, his agitation grew.  She knew she might awaken him, she did not know if this was good or bad.

She could see her breath, as she felt his fire.  He was burning alive again.  No longer restless or weary, his eyes had shot open.  He knew he had to hurry, but he could only muster slow.  The stairs were hammering in his ears.

It was too late, she was crumpled at the bottom of the steps.  He could see the blood shimmering in the seemingly too bright moonlight.  While he could see his breath, there appeared to be none from her.  He yawned and decided to sleep on it.