The Blog of felt.buzz

The head on the door is talking to me, again. It was quiet for a while, a few days I think. But since I woke up about three in the morning running from something horrible in my dreams, the head has been calling me. Mary tells me the head doesn't exist. She can't see it, she says. She certainly can't hear it. But I'm lying here next to her trying to listen to her breathing over the sound of that voice, and I can't understand why she doesn't wake up. "Can you hear it?" I said a few days ago, when it was telling me all about what the neighbours were up to. "I can't hear nothing, baby," Mary said. "Maybe you should see a doctor, or something. Not that I think you are crazy," she said, quickly seeing me react. "But you ain't sleeping and it's not right." I sit up and look at the door. The head isn't obvious at first, not in the dark. But if you look long enough you can see it in the knots of the wood. It's mouth is as big as my fist and it moves constantly. The voice reminds me of someone, and it took me a while to remember who it was.

...