It was always this urge to bring the entire room into my field of view. If I didn't, who knows what could sneak up behind me?

This sound pretty silly, but it really messed with me. I hated being alone, with nobody to help me with their own eyes, to watch the whole battlefield for enemies.

I was also terrified of shower cabins. The mirrored walls gave me a feeling that I couldn't quite see the entire thing.

This then transformed into a new fear – the monster under the bed. I couldn't see under there while I slept, and even if I went and slept there, the roles would change, and I would fear whatever could be lying up on the bed.

I had to take sleeping pills almost every single time I needed to rest. And I'd regret it at precisely the moment I started feeling sleepy. After all, nothing really changes if I fall asleep on purpose or accidentally. I'm the same kind of vulnerable for anything that might come for me.

Then, it came. In the form of a dream.

I was sitting at the edge of my bed, looking down. But my own legs weren't the only legs I saw.

I was a very short dream, it felt like a teaser for a bigger, scarier nightmare, or something.

The funny thing is that I have had trouble sleeping precisely because of nightmares. Why else would I take the drug every single night? To supress the nightmares. It was supposed to feel like a time-skip. If I couldn't get peace at night, might as well remove the risk and just skip around from day of suffering to another.

Clearly I was getting used to the drug and needed an increased dosage.

Happily, I lay down and gulp down a pair of pills, waiting for the meaningless rest to wash over me.

I then felt a profound confusion. It felt like my body vanished, but I could still feel my limbs and move them around. I stood up, feeling strangely refreshed, like I've stepped onto a planet with much weaker gravity than Earth's. I then tried to get off the bed, sitting down on the edge, stooping my feet on the floor.

As if on queue, something began to emerge from under my bed.

I immediately burned my eyes into it. I stared as if my life depended on it, as if I was in a staring contest with the devil, taking each and every detail of its form into my mind.

It was foolish of me to think I was actually seeing it. At the edge of my vision, I could see myself, sound asleep, eyes closed. Vulnerable.

It was a cruel joke. It knew that my etheral eyes didn't pose any threat. It could do whatever it wanted with me, after gathering its power throughout all my dreamless nights. Even after giving me a warning.

I should've continued being scared.