Every time the clock struck midnight, the entire house would go dark for 10 minutes…
Every glimmer of light in the house would go out on its own. When that happens, my parents and I would stay quiet and remain completely still in bed. We would be in bed by midnight every night. But none of us would be asleep. No. We were too afraid to go to sleep. We were safe as long as we stayed in bed. During the ten minutes, the house, and us, belongs to them. We would keep our eyes shut the entire time. We could hear them flying around the house, making light whooshing sounds. And when they were near us, we could feel their gentle breeze of a presence, making it enough for the hairs on our bodies to stand frozen. Sometimes they would call out to us with their echoey, inhuman voices. They know our names. After the 10 minutes, we were safe. But even then, we would continue to stay in bed, too afraid to move, too afraid to breathe. 10 minutes might seem like only a short space of time, but it feels long enough each time. We always pray that they wouldn’t take us. According to grandpa, they will not harm us so long as we ignore them and let them be during the 10 minutes. After that, they will return to their own space. But if we interfere, it will be the end of us. What they will do to us, we don’t know. We don’t want to know. One night, I managed to fall asleep hours before the 10 minutes. It was the first time since moving into the house. It was still night time when I awoke. I needed a drink of water. Feeling dazed, I slowly got out of bed, forgetting that it was the 10 minutes.
(Copyright/Credit for Story Starter used – Journal Buddies)