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Lying In Bed
page: 16
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Marcus was lying uncomfortably in bed where he'd spent yet another distressing day with a headache and a frog in his throat that just wouldn't
clear.
Now the mattress felt lumpy but a peculiar sort of lumpy, it felt bony. As if he was lying on a string of bones, not for the first time either. Resignedly he squirmed around a bit as he tried to straighten out the covers underneath him. The feeling persisted, it had no intention of going away.
Marcus looked towards the drawn curtains and saw a shadow moving across them. 'Just the roses' he thought. There were beautiful roses right outside the window but he'd been too ill to go out and enjoy them. He remembered seeing them last year – a delicate pink with golden undertones. How he'd have loved to see them now.
The bed reminded him of its presence and he wriggled a bit, trying not to notice how the shadow of the roses had taken on a human-like form. They did that sometimes, it had stopped worrying him.
What concerned him now was that as he'd moved his foot it had encountered an icy cold spot in the bed. He moved it some more, perhaps a draught was coming in from under the duvet. But no, there was no draught and the icy spot couldn't be relocated.
Relieved, he looked towards the window again to see the shadows moving about. As he did so he noticed a silvery glow in the sky, just discernible through the thin curtains. That was the Moon. The Moon that he loved so much and had gone out to greet most nights, marvelling at its beauty and various phases. He'd been out to see the recent eclipse and remembered the feeling of awe when he saw Earth's shadow in the Moon. 'Gosh, that's us' he'd thought. There on the Moon -the very shadow of the Earth and everything on it.
Marcus tried not to sob. He hadn't seen the Moon properly for a long time now, he was too ill to go out at night and risk getting the cold on his chest. So he had to be happy with the dim light shining through the curtains.
Gradually, he was losing all the things he loved even though they were right there with him.
In the living room were all his computers but he was too ill to sit up and use them. He'd lost interest in the game he'd loved so much many months ago.
He looked over at the wardrobe, filled with all his posh clothes. Not only was he too ill to go anywhere that posh clothes would be required, but they'd be too heavy for him to wear now. Not to mention they dropped off him anyway after his severe weight loss.
As if on cue, he felt something bite his hip. He slapped it and gave himself a good hard scratch. 'Bastard – how many times is that going to happen today?' He hoped it wouldn't happen again but had got used to whatever it was having a few nips. Sure enough, just as he'd settled, he felt it again on his ribs. He scratched again, noticing the hard uncomfortable bony feeling as he did so.
He wanted to sleep, to get another day over with. One more to tick off. He wondered for the umpteenth time how long he could go on, unable to breathe properly but just able to keep himself clean and fed. The goals for each day, anything more he could do after that was a bonus.
His foot located the icy spot again and almost distracted him enough to not hear the footstep just above the ceiling. But, hear it he did. What the bloody Hell was up there? It didn't sound like the noises the house generally made as it settled for the night.
It had been going on for months, that footstep and some weird scratchy noises in the walls.
He'd started to feel that he might be in Purgatory, what with being on his own all the time and having his things so close and yet out of his reach. He'd spent a lot of time going over his life, too. Mainly the bad things as he tried to make sense of the illness that had felled him and why he might have deserved it.
But, if he was in Purgatory now that meant he must have died without realising it and the next step was the descent into Hell.
Marcus reflected, things were definitely getting worse as he would have expected with a chronic illness. All he did was worry. How would he cope when he could no longer get out of bed to cater for himself? How long before he starved to death?
A cracking noise sounded from the wall and reminded him of his present troubles. Thoughts of food could wait until the morning. For now, he wanted to sleep but even that was fraught with difficulty.
Twice recently he'd had out of the body experiences and they weren't fun. On neither occasion had he realised that he wasn't inhabiting his body. He'd tried to sit up or turn on the bedside light and found himself unable to do so. He'd been able to see in the darkened room as easily as if he'd been awake but his movements had been ineffectual and awkward.
He'd felt disorientated and had since been worried that he'd be in a similar situation if he died. He didn't like the 'feel' of the place when he was out of his body, it had felt uncomfortable and slightly menacing. The second time it happened he'd been trying to scream just prior to re-entering his body.
He imagined he'd see the Grim Reaper if he died. He wondered if it would look anything like its popular image.
Before his illness Marcus had enjoyed going out for walks late at night. Out in the country where there were no street lights, he'd enjoyed striding around in his long black coat. If he heard a car approaching he'd put up the hood. Freak out some of the neighbours on their way home from a night out... If he had his walking stick with him he'd heft it over his shoulder like a scythe. There was something he'd never do again. Unless he haunted the place. Sadly, he thought of the river that ran parallel with the road. How he'd loved seeing the mist rising off it in the darkness.
Now, he tossed and turned a bit in the dark room and tried not to think too much about the beautiful world outside or how he'd been unable to go out and enjoy the Spring blossoms that he'd always found so alluring. He remembered the year he'd been nursing a sickly bee and how he'd taken it to the apple trees to feed in the blossoms. Those trees were only a little way along the path, but out of his reach now.
He must surely be dead. This must be what death is like, the gradual loss of everything one holds dear until one wakes up to the truth. He fidgeted as he felt another couple of random nips. Bloody flea – the only living thing he'd touched in months.
Marcus gave in to sobbing. He'd heard that a person could die from the lack of touching another living being. He tried to calculate how many months it was since he'd touched anyone, even fleetingly.
The bed felt uncomfortable again and he moved and felt that, for sure, this time the bed moved with him. He moved his foot and located the icy patch, the lumps in the bed moved again and he felt a draught coming from inside the bed. Right on cue, a small noise issued from the wardrobe beside him. He jumped. He got a crawly feeling going up his right shin and felt something like breath on his forehead.
He checked to make sure he was awake. Dammit – he was. This was all real and he lay in the dark waiting for what would come next. A nice easy heart attack, he hoped.
Now the mattress felt lumpy but a peculiar sort of lumpy, it felt bony. As if he was lying on a string of bones, not for the first time either. Resignedly he squirmed around a bit as he tried to straighten out the covers underneath him. The feeling persisted, it had no intention of going away.
Marcus looked towards the drawn curtains and saw a shadow moving across them. 'Just the roses' he thought. There were beautiful roses right outside the window but he'd been too ill to go out and enjoy them. He remembered seeing them last year – a delicate pink with golden undertones. How he'd have loved to see them now.
The bed reminded him of its presence and he wriggled a bit, trying not to notice how the shadow of the roses had taken on a human-like form. They did that sometimes, it had stopped worrying him.
What concerned him now was that as he'd moved his foot it had encountered an icy cold spot in the bed. He moved it some more, perhaps a draught was coming in from under the duvet. But no, there was no draught and the icy spot couldn't be relocated.
Relieved, he looked towards the window again to see the shadows moving about. As he did so he noticed a silvery glow in the sky, just discernible through the thin curtains. That was the Moon. The Moon that he loved so much and had gone out to greet most nights, marvelling at its beauty and various phases. He'd been out to see the recent eclipse and remembered the feeling of awe when he saw Earth's shadow in the Moon. 'Gosh, that's us' he'd thought. There on the Moon -the very shadow of the Earth and everything on it.
Marcus tried not to sob. He hadn't seen the Moon properly for a long time now, he was too ill to go out at night and risk getting the cold on his chest. So he had to be happy with the dim light shining through the curtains.
Gradually, he was losing all the things he loved even though they were right there with him.
In the living room were all his computers but he was too ill to sit up and use them. He'd lost interest in the game he'd loved so much many months ago.
He looked over at the wardrobe, filled with all his posh clothes. Not only was he too ill to go anywhere that posh clothes would be required, but they'd be too heavy for him to wear now. Not to mention they dropped off him anyway after his severe weight loss.
As if on cue, he felt something bite his hip. He slapped it and gave himself a good hard scratch. 'Bastard – how many times is that going to happen today?' He hoped it wouldn't happen again but had got used to whatever it was having a few nips. Sure enough, just as he'd settled, he felt it again on his ribs. He scratched again, noticing the hard uncomfortable bony feeling as he did so.
He wanted to sleep, to get another day over with. One more to tick off. He wondered for the umpteenth time how long he could go on, unable to breathe properly but just able to keep himself clean and fed. The goals for each day, anything more he could do after that was a bonus.
His foot located the icy spot again and almost distracted him enough to not hear the footstep just above the ceiling. But, hear it he did. What the bloody Hell was up there? It didn't sound like the noises the house generally made as it settled for the night.
It had been going on for months, that footstep and some weird scratchy noises in the walls.
He'd started to feel that he might be in Purgatory, what with being on his own all the time and having his things so close and yet out of his reach. He'd spent a lot of time going over his life, too. Mainly the bad things as he tried to make sense of the illness that had felled him and why he might have deserved it.
But, if he was in Purgatory now that meant he must have died without realising it and the next step was the descent into Hell.
Marcus reflected, things were definitely getting worse as he would have expected with a chronic illness. All he did was worry. How would he cope when he could no longer get out of bed to cater for himself? How long before he starved to death?
A cracking noise sounded from the wall and reminded him of his present troubles. Thoughts of food could wait until the morning. For now, he wanted to sleep but even that was fraught with difficulty.
Twice recently he'd had out of the body experiences and they weren't fun. On neither occasion had he realised that he wasn't inhabiting his body. He'd tried to sit up or turn on the bedside light and found himself unable to do so. He'd been able to see in the darkened room as easily as if he'd been awake but his movements had been ineffectual and awkward.
He'd felt disorientated and had since been worried that he'd be in a similar situation if he died. He didn't like the 'feel' of the place when he was out of his body, it had felt uncomfortable and slightly menacing. The second time it happened he'd been trying to scream just prior to re-entering his body.
He imagined he'd see the Grim Reaper if he died. He wondered if it would look anything like its popular image.
Before his illness Marcus had enjoyed going out for walks late at night. Out in the country where there were no street lights, he'd enjoyed striding around in his long black coat. If he heard a car approaching he'd put up the hood. Freak out some of the neighbours on their way home from a night out... If he had his walking stick with him he'd heft it over his shoulder like a scythe. There was something he'd never do again. Unless he haunted the place. Sadly, he thought of the river that ran parallel with the road. How he'd loved seeing the mist rising off it in the darkness.
Now, he tossed and turned a bit in the dark room and tried not to think too much about the beautiful world outside or how he'd been unable to go out and enjoy the Spring blossoms that he'd always found so alluring. He remembered the year he'd been nursing a sickly bee and how he'd taken it to the apple trees to feed in the blossoms. Those trees were only a little way along the path, but out of his reach now.
He must surely be dead. This must be what death is like, the gradual loss of everything one holds dear until one wakes up to the truth. He fidgeted as he felt another couple of random nips. Bloody flea – the only living thing he'd touched in months.
Marcus gave in to sobbing. He'd heard that a person could die from the lack of touching another living being. He tried to calculate how many months it was since he'd touched anyone, even fleetingly.
The bed felt uncomfortable again and he moved and felt that, for sure, this time the bed moved with him. He moved his foot and located the icy patch, the lumps in the bed moved again and he felt a draught coming from inside the bed. Right on cue, a small noise issued from the wardrobe beside him. He jumped. He got a crawly feeling going up his right shin and felt something like breath on his forehead.
He checked to make sure he was awake. Dammit – he was. This was all real and he lay in the dark waiting for what would come next. A nice easy heart attack, he hoped.
He reached over the side of the bed for his water bottle, hoping that nothing would grab his hand. Because that had happened before. Looking back over
his life a lot of 'stuff' had happened to Marcus at night as he'd tried to sleep. Nowadays, there just seemed to be more of it more often.
He'd read somewhere that the veil thins as one nears death and he wondered when he could expect to see dead friends and relatives hovering round the bed. He'd already felt that the old lady he'd suspected of haunting the place was becoming a bit more obvious.
He'd noticed the odd smells since moving in, usually perfume but sometimes less pleasant. Sometimes he'd just had a sense of her. But yesterday... why'd he have to think of that?
A few creaks issued from the walls as he thought about it. He'd gone into the spare room for his toothbrush and, for some reason, thought of her. Obligingly the smell of perfumed wafted in front of him. He'd half laughed to himself and issued some sort of challenge. Even more obligingly the sound of water running down the plug-hole had issued from the wash basin right beside him. But, he wasn't running any water. Not there in the spare room, not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen. No dishwasher or washing machine was running. The lavatory hadn't been recently flushed, and yet he heard water draining away.
He'd gone off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and, upon his return discovered the tube of toothpaste standing just outside the cabinet, not inside it where he usually left it. He'd tried to write it all off. He was ill and teeth cleaning was stressful. It wasn't so far fetched to think that he'd just absent-mindedly put the toothpaste in the wrong place, especially after what had just happened.
Marcus tried not to dwell on it. He didn't like the spare room. He'd had an action figure in there that was motion sensitive. It spoke when anyone walked near it. Except, since it had been in the spare room, it spoke when nobody was near it. 'Nobody living, anyway' he thought, grimly.
Not grim – ahh – don't think of that again. He'd been trying so hard not to notice those feelings of something brushing against him. Something as light as a feather at various points on his body. Or, surely, that was just a loose hair on his shoulder. A loose hair wouldn't feel like breath on his forearm, though.
Perhaps he'd just give in to it, like he had with the ghost yesterday. Open his mind and see if it would speak to him.
A low laugh echoed in his mind 'I already spoke to you'.
'You mean I didn't imagine it before?'
'What did I tell you?'
'That you'd come for me when it suited you. And it's your body I'm lying on and you have me in your embrace. But we won't be going anywhere tonight'
'What else?'
'That if your presence, and that of your nibbling little pet, bothers me that much then I should write it all down'.
He'd read somewhere that the veil thins as one nears death and he wondered when he could expect to see dead friends and relatives hovering round the bed. He'd already felt that the old lady he'd suspected of haunting the place was becoming a bit more obvious.
He'd noticed the odd smells since moving in, usually perfume but sometimes less pleasant. Sometimes he'd just had a sense of her. But yesterday... why'd he have to think of that?
A few creaks issued from the walls as he thought about it. He'd gone into the spare room for his toothbrush and, for some reason, thought of her. Obligingly the smell of perfumed wafted in front of him. He'd half laughed to himself and issued some sort of challenge. Even more obligingly the sound of water running down the plug-hole had issued from the wash basin right beside him. But, he wasn't running any water. Not there in the spare room, not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen. No dishwasher or washing machine was running. The lavatory hadn't been recently flushed, and yet he heard water draining away.
He'd gone off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and, upon his return discovered the tube of toothpaste standing just outside the cabinet, not inside it where he usually left it. He'd tried to write it all off. He was ill and teeth cleaning was stressful. It wasn't so far fetched to think that he'd just absent-mindedly put the toothpaste in the wrong place, especially after what had just happened.
Marcus tried not to dwell on it. He didn't like the spare room. He'd had an action figure in there that was motion sensitive. It spoke when anyone walked near it. Except, since it had been in the spare room, it spoke when nobody was near it. 'Nobody living, anyway' he thought, grimly.
Not grim – ahh – don't think of that again. He'd been trying so hard not to notice those feelings of something brushing against him. Something as light as a feather at various points on his body. Or, surely, that was just a loose hair on his shoulder. A loose hair wouldn't feel like breath on his forearm, though.
Perhaps he'd just give in to it, like he had with the ghost yesterday. Open his mind and see if it would speak to him.
A low laugh echoed in his mind 'I already spoke to you'.
'You mean I didn't imagine it before?'
'What did I tell you?'
'That you'd come for me when it suited you. And it's your body I'm lying on and you have me in your embrace. But we won't be going anywhere tonight'
'What else?'
'That if your presence, and that of your nibbling little pet, bothers me that much then I should write it all down'.
edit on 31-5-2016 by berenike because: (no reason given)
The first page I felt almost utter despair.
Second page much the same.
Can't shake it.
Damn you Berenike.
Second page much the same.
Can't shake it.
Damn you Berenike.
Thank you everybody for stopping by to comment, I do appreciate it
Sorry guys - that's the story. Some of it going on even as I wrote
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