Roachville

Before going to bed, I sent Ely an email.

‘They lost you and they’ve been here. I’m ok, but I told them you had it. Sorry, I hope you understand… Be very careful when you come back here. They’re watching me.’

Around 2 o’clock in the morning, I paid the price for eating too much blue cheese, when giant translucent cockroaches crept out from everywhere. It took me a few minutes to recognize the long fretting antennas of the first insect coming out from underneath the futon. The rest of its body revealed itself. The beast was watching me. I got up fighting the drowsiness, found a flip-flop, concentrated and swatted as hard as I could. The insect’s body spasmed for a few seconds and the legs kept moving as it tried to flip itself upright. I hit it a couple more times to make sure it was dead. I looked for something with which to remove it but by the time I had found a suitable bit of paper, the corpse had disappeared. I jumped back in bed, biting my nails.

After a while, I relaxed and made myself comfortable under the duvet but I heard a tiny scratching noise. It came from the telephone, which was an old-fashioned land-line phone with a round dial pad on the front. I’d always wanted one – but I didn’t remember getting it. I stared at it, confused, until I saw another even larger cockroach climbing all over it. This one was bigger than my hand. Blue cheese acid refluxed all the way to the back of my throat. I found the flip-flop but the creature scuttled to the side and I smacked the phone instead. I swore between clenched teeth and hit again. That time I had got it. I lay back on the mattress. A third insect crossed the ceiling at high speed and escaped through an impossible hole by the window frame. I jerked nervously as a lock of hair brushed my face. I scratched my head manically and waited for my enemies’ move. Before long two deceptively sluggish roaches extracted themselves from behind the laptop. I shuddered and forced myself to get up. I tried to hit one and missed. Also, the first cockroach that I thought I’d killed was back in its spot. One of its antenna and several legs were missing but it dragged its body towards me, oozing a trail of slimy liquid behind it.

Panic engulfed me and I froze to the spot, closing my eyes, covering my mouth and ears, crossing my legs as tightly as I could, waiting for this nightmare to end.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the naga emitting a blue light before going invisible. I stood up instantly. This wasn’t a dream. Complete and utter darkness enveloped the room, blocking the outside light from the street lamps. I brushed the hair away from my face and squished my hand over my mouth to try and wipe away the numbness forming inside my jaws. In this sea of black where, after a while, up and down didn’t make sense any more, I waited. I waited for a small eternity and I got cold. No matter how hard I stared at the darkness, it was impossible to make out any shapes.

My eyelids felt heavy. After all, maybe this was a dream. But before I could try my childhood waking-up technique, like a flickering mirage in the desert, a man in a grey suit materialised. Cold sweat pooled in my armpits.

As before, the man was faceless but his suit looked like Kenneth Tann’s. Whatever this was, I had to face it. Trying to settle my heartbeats, I counted my breaths. When I reached seven, I moved forward as quickly as I could, formed a fist with my hand and aimed for the grotesque faceless head, willing my hand to smash through the featureless skull. But my aim struck at nothing and I rolled back to the floor with a muffled thump. I looked up and the grey suit hovered above. A gigantic mouth had opened in the middle of the face. It was as black as the darkness surrounding me and out of it a monstrous laugh unfurled, getting louder and louder, piercing at my eardrums. A painful flash rocked my brain and, whimpering, I curled up in a ball. I pressed my fists against my ears for as long as the terrifying sound went on, my body transfixed, unable to make the slightest move apart from uncontrollable quivers, which carried on well after the howling had stopped and the faceless man had disappeared.