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Prompt: While sleep is usually easy for you in these carefree days of summer, you've recently started to feel too tired to sleep. Late at night, you wake up feeling uneasy. Occasionally you hear noises, like clicking, but it’s gone before you can really strain your ear to hear. You tell yourself it’s the wind or the pipes in the wall. Still, you can’t shake off that sense of something being with you. You might explore your room, your house, or tiny apartment, but find nothing. Hugging your pillow just doesn't work, and soon you start thinking of that one thing that used to keep you safe as a child before going to bed. The molding teddy bear, the moth-eaten rag that was once your baby blanket, or the Cabbage Patch Kid with the missing eye. Maybe it's about time to open the attic and find it? If only to feel a bit more at ease. It's not like you'll tell anyone what Mr. Flinkins is doing on your bed again. Would your roommate mind if you crawled into bed with them? Maybe you should just keep telling yourself that everyone is fine and it’s all in your head. If all else fails, there is always whistling.
Penelope slid out from under the covers, half-wincing at the sound made whenever her feet hit the wooden floor of her room. She paused, straining her ears to hear more in the darkness. Was the clicking there yet? Would wherever it was coming from hear her? The teenager heard nothing. Good. That's what she was hoping for.
She bent over and pulled the baseball bat she had been hiding under her bed out. Penelope felt ridiculous. There was no reason for her to think that something was wrong. Yes, she'd have a couple of bouts of insomnia over the past few days. Yes, she'd heard that a faint clicking sound--or thought she had, since it seemed to vanish anytime she purposefully searched for it. But that didn't mean that anything was out of the ordinary, not really.
The teenager crept down the stairs as quietly as she could, gripping the bat's rubber covered handle so tightly that her palms began to sweat. She would investigate, just to be sure. If nothing was wrong, fine. If something was... well, she wasn't exactly sure what she could do, but at least she'd know what she was dealing with. The living room seemed clear, so she crept through it and into the dining room. Still nothing... that meant the kitchen was next.
Then, she heard a sound--not the clicking she had been looking for but a tired, female voice calling down from the top of stairs, "Pene? What on earth are you doing?"
The teenager froze in the darkness of the kitchen, her mind racing to come up with an excuse. She blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "I'm... just getting some water, Momma. I'm sorry... I didn't mean to wake you up."
Heavy silence filled the space between the top and bottom of the stairs, and the anxious teenager hoped and prayed that her mother wouldn't come downstairs and investigate. After what seemed like forever, the woman eventually called down, half-stifling a yawn, "That's alright, just... come back upstairs when you're done and try and get some sleep, sweetie. Good night."
"Good night." Penelope nearly dropped the bat onto the floor from sheer relief when the tension passed, but managed to keep her hands steady long enough to lower it to a rest position. That had been too close... and now it once again fell on her how foolish she was being. If it was a youma, then she would have seen it or felt it by now. She was just... spooked, for whatever reason. She was just going to have to accept that.
To keep from completely lying to her mother, she grabbed a gulp of water before moving back upstairs. When she got to her room, Penelope quietly shut her door before moving to the bed, kneeling beside it to slide the baseball bat back in its hiding place. While down there, however, her fingers brushed against a cardboard box. After a moment of hesitation, Penelope pulled this box out and stared at it. Inside were important keepsakes that she almost never pulled out, programs from live shows she had seen, a few toys from her childhood that didn't fit the decor of her room.... other such things, important objects that she couldn’t bear to throw away but couldn’t really bring out either.
She opened the box and there, lying on top, was a particular piece that she immediately took out. In her hands was a cream colored cashmere scarf that her grandfather had given her; it had originally been his, but she liked it so much after borrowing it one cold winter’s day that he told her to keep it. Penelope smiled in memory. She had been so excited, so honored to possess such a beautiful piece that she had worn it every day. That had been years ago, before he had passed away… and once he had, she had placed it into the box for safe keeping. Now, as the teenager brought it to rub against her cheek, she marveled at how was still so soft, that it had a faint, lingering scent of pipe smoke from when her grandfather had used it so many years ago.
Penelope closed the box and slid it back under the bed, but she kept out the scarf, wrapping it around her neck before climbing into bed. Yes, it was the summer. Yes, it was far too hot to be wearing a cashmere scarf. The soft, constant presence nestled against her throat, however, helped soothe her, reminding her of a simpler time when she would sit on her grandfather’s knee and listen to his stories. Maybe thinking about one of those would help her tonight, so that she could forget about this stupid clicking and get back to sleep.
[OOC Note:
Participant: Penelope Seneca
Player: Quicksilver the Archangel
Word Count: 802 (not including prompt)]
