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"What is it, sweetie?" I asked softly.
"I can't sleep," he replied. His eyes began to water a little bit, but he kept a straight face.
"What's wrong?" I sat up and began to rub my eyes until my son interrupted me and pulled my hands away.
"Don't close your eyes, Mommy. It comes closer when you do that," he whispered.
I stared at him. Tears began to fall from his eyes, and I realized he hadn't closed them since he came to my room that night. I looked out past the chilly, empty hallway and into my son's room. Nothing. After hearing my son suck in a horrified breath when I closed my eyes, something creaked in the house. My eyes opened to a dark, mangy, hunched over figure staring back at me with white, blood-shot eyes. It kept its gaze on me, and mine on his. It felt like a staring contest, only, whenever you blink, you lose, and it moves forward to greet you. I always hated games like these when I was a child.
We've gone through two bottles of eye drops. Good thing I stocked up on an extra bottle; you never know when you might need them. The last one is almost gone though, and my son and I are drying up again. The figure in his room made its move a couple of times from our mistakes and hasn't strayed from my doorway since.
Two hours. There's only two more hours until the sun is expected to come up, but I don't know if we can last that long. I remember how great it feels to envelope my eyes under my eyelids. It's at the side of my bed now. My son cries with his eyes open, and it looks like it's helping him. It's too bad I'm the one with the case of dry eyes. And now, I can feel its horrid, stinking breath upon my face.