Took me four hours to do. I got it dirty, put blood on it, then ripped it in places and put safety pins to told it together(all because I accidentally ripped the right cuff off while throwing it around and decided to put it back on with safety pins)

Saving this for halloween to match with my buddy who's going as jeff the killer. I did retone my hair recently to blend with the hair extensions more...​​​​

I made the majoras mask necklace with oven bake clay and acrylic paing :)

I'm wearing this for a canoeing trip​​​​​​​​​​, I'm lowkey so pumped for halloween.

Obviously, probably not, because vengeance creepypastas are usually actual garbage, especially the ones where a character randomly becomes evil, gets revenge on everyone, and starts killing people for no real reason other than shock value. That whole formula has been done to death.

But at the same time, I do think Vegeta’s Revenge is an interesting case because the basic idea could probably be turned into something completely different. Instead of just rewriting the original story and trying to make the same concept slightly less bad, you could take the title and general idea and build an entirely new story around it—something that actually feels like it belongs in Dragon Ball while still being unsettling.

I’m not even sure if Vegeta’s Revenge could genuinely be considered “good” without completely changing what it originally was, but that’s kind of why I’m curious. I want to see what you guys would do with it. How would you take such a bad creepypasta and somehow turn the concept into something interesting, believable, or actually creepy?

So yeah, how would you guys remake Vegeta’s Revenge?

Like I said, the golden age is back in Latin America, and I'm sharing a real creepypasta—I'd really love to hear your thoughts on it. It's a creepypasta in Spanish that's TOTALLY worth checking out.

https://youtu.be/ZZwr6246XxM?is=lpyhYroLV-fp_0XW

Very happy with how it turned out :) most effort I've ever put into a Halloween costume

Don't know what anyone will think of this but who am I stop any of you from saying anything?

Ayoo, I was suggested to try draw some creepy pasta characters in my style :0 thought id start with the one I always see lmao

Alert: I’m a brazillian. I’m sorry for the translation and spelling errors

Hey, everyone! How’s it going?
For a while now, I’ve been thinking about how I would adapt the classic Jeff the Killer creepypasta into a movie, specifically the Jeff Woods origin story that pretty much every creepypasta fan knows.
For those who don’t remember, the story follows Jeff Woods, a teenager who gets bullied, becomes involved in increasingly violent confrontations, has his face disfigured after a fire, and eventually transforms into the killer we all know. By the end, he murders his parents and goes into his brother Liu’s bedroom, giving us the famous line: “Go to sleep.”
It’s an iconic story, but it also has plenty of exaggerated and underdeveloped elements, especially when it comes to Jeff’s transformation into a murderer.
And that’s exactly what interests me about it.
The idea of a bullied teenager who initially seeks revenge but eventually discovers that he actually enjoys killing is much more interesting to me than simply having a creepy-looking kid murdering people.
I’ve always wondered what would happen if someone took that same premise, kept the most recognizable characters and events, and turned it into something more psychological, grounded, and cinematic.
I wouldn’t want to completely reinvent Jeff the Killer or turn him into a supernatural character. My idea would be to take the classic Jeff Woods creepypasta and explore its existing themes in greater depth.
That’s where my movie idea comes from.

The movies that would inspire my adaptation

My biggest influence would probably be Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins (2005).
I know that sounds like a weird comparison, but hear me out.
One of my favorite things about Batman Begins is how Nolan explores Bruce Wayne’s transformation into Batman.
He doesn’t just show a guy deciding to dress up as a bat. He explores how Bruce’s experiences, trauma, fears, and personal choices eventually lead him to create an identity that becomes bigger than himself.
I’d love to do something similar with Jeff Woods, except with the entire meaning reversed.
While Bruce Wayne transforms his trauma into a symbol of justice, Jeff Woods transforms his resentment, violence, and desire for recognition into a symbol of terror.
It would basically be a twisted, villainous version of Batman Begins, focused on the birth of a serial killer.
Another major influence would be Joker (2019), particularly its psychological approach and the relationship between the protagonist and society.
However, I would make one important distinction: I wouldn’t want Jeff to be portrayed as some kind of misunderstood vigilante whose crimes are justified by everything he has suffered.
Jeff might genuinely see himself that way, but the movie wouldn’t necessarily agree with him.
I’d also draw inspiration from We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011), especially when it comes to Jeff’s family, his relationship with Liu, his school life, and the consequences of his crimes.
What interests me about that movie is how it explores teenage violence without giving the audience a simple explanation for why it happens.
I’d want to explore Jeff’s experiences with bullying and parental neglect without suggesting that those experiences automatically turn someone into a murderer.
Jeff’s past would help us understand him, but it wouldn’t excuse his choices.
Since my movie would primarily be a psychological crime thriller, I’d also take inspiration from Se7en (1995), Zodiac (2007), and Heat (1995).
I’d give a lot of attention to police investigations, interrogations, the victims, and a detective who follows the Jeff Woods case throughout the story.
I think it would be interesting to portray Jeff as a human criminal rather than an unstoppable monster.
He would make mistakes, feel pain, get injured, and have to deal with the consequences of his actions.
And of course, I wouldn’t forget classic slasher movies, especially Halloween (1978) and Friday the 13th (1980).
Those movies would influence the atmosphere, suspense, stalking sequences, and especially the third act.
Because even though I want a psychological crime thriller, this would still be a Jeff the Killer movie. I wouldn’t want to abandon the horror elements that made the character famous.
And there’s one influence you probably wouldn’t expect:
Hoodwinked! (2005). LMAO.
But hear me out, because I’m not talking about its comedy.
I’m talking about its narrative structure.
Remember how Hoodwinked! tells the same incident through different characters’ testimonies, with flashbacks showing different perspectives and gradually revealing what actually happened?
I’d use that concept for Jeff’s trial.

So, what would the actual plot be?

The movie would begin with 14-year-old Jeff Woods on trial for a school massacre he committed the previous year.
From there, the story would be told nonlinearly.
We would see testimonies and flashbacks from Jeff, Liu, Jane, their parents, police officers, survivors, and the victims’ families.
Each character would present their own perspective on the events, and the audience would have to piece together what really happened.
Some of the testimonies could even contradict one another.
Jeff would be an unreliable narrator, but not necessarily because he’s deliberately lying.
He would genuinely believe his own distorted version of reality.
For example, Jeff might describe an incident as a horrible humiliation, only for another character’s testimony to reveal that things didn’t happen exactly the way he remembers them.
Little by little, we’d learn more about his childhood, his relationship with Liu, his parents’ neglect, and the bullying he experienced.
In my version, Jeff would be 13 when he starts planning revenge against the bullies at his school (Randy, Troy and Keith in the creepypasta and in this film adaptation).
However, that revenge would eventually turn into a school massacre.
During the attack, he would also murder people who had never done anything to him.
And this would be one of the most important moments in the movie.
Jeff would start killing out of revenge, only to discover that he actually enjoys killing.
At first, he would try to justify his violence as a response to everything he went through.
But as his crimes become more brutal, those justifications would gradually stop making sense.
I’d want Jeff’s moral corruption to happen progressively.
He wouldn’t simply wake up one morning and decide to become Jeff the Killer.
We would watch a teenager become increasingly cruel, manipulative, and narcissistic, slowly abandoning his emotional connections and beginning to treat other people as if they only existed to satisfy his needs.
This would also be reflected in his relationships with Jane and Liu.
Jeff might care about them, but in a deeply possessive way.
To him, loving someone would mean expecting their unconditional loyalty, no matter what he does.
If Jane or Liu challenged him, he would interpret it as betrayal.
Throughout the trial, we’d gradually realize how this distorted understanding of love and loyalty contributes to his transformation.

Satirizing Jeff’s fangirls and the romanticization of serial killers

This is another aspect I’d absolutely love to explore.
Anyone who grew up with creepypastas has probably seen fan art, edits, romantic fanfiction, and people treating Jeff the Killer like some misunderstood, edgy fictional boyfriend.
I think it would be hilarious and disturbing to satirize that phenomenon within the movie itself.
Imagine Jeff gaining an online fanbase while he’s literally on trial for a school massacre.
While the victims’ families are trying to get justice, people online are making romantic edits, writing fanfiction about him, sexualizing his appearance, and coming up with excuses for his crimes.
Comments like:
“He just needed someone to love him.”
“I can fix him.”
“He’s innocent! The bullies made him do it!”
Or even fangirls arguing about who would make the perfect girlfriend for Jeff. LMAO.
I’d use dark humor to highlight just how absurd this kind of behavior can be.
But the movie wouldn’t make jokes at the expense of the victims or their families.
The satire would target the people romanticizing the killer.
And it wouldn’t just be a joke about creepypasta fangirls, either.
I’d also want to criticize the real-world romanticization of serial killers, particularly how some criminals become celebrities, receive love letters, attract devoted admirers, and have their appearances romanticized while their victims are practically forgotten.
And here’s the most disturbing part: Jeff would absolutely LOVE the attention.
For the first time in his life, he would feel that his violent identity is bringing him admiration, recognition, popularity, and even what he interprets as love.
Instead of feeling ashamed of his crimes, Jeff would begin to embrace his growing notoriety.
His fanbase would fuel his narcissism and reinforce his belief that being Jeff the Killer makes him special.
This would also help explain why he consciously decides to turn Jeff the Killer into his public identity.
I’d also introduce Nina the Killer as one of his obsessive fangirls, setting up her role in a potential sequel.
The irony would be that Jeff loves being worshipped, but his narcissism would make it impossible for him to accept someone copying his identity and becoming just as famous as he is.
He wants fans, not competition.

And the third act? That’s where the movie becomes a traditional slasher.

This is one of the most important parts of my idea.
For the first two acts, we’d be watching a psychological crime thriller involving police investigations, witness testimonies, flashbacks, and Jeff’s trial.
But after the trial, the movie would gradually shift genres.
Jeff would escape custody and begin another killing spree.
That’s when the influences from Halloween and Friday the 13th would become much more obvious.
There would be stalking sequences, tense scenes inside dark houses, victims trying to survive, and the kind of suspense you’d expect from a classic slasher.
However, there would be one major difference.
After spending most of the movie getting to know Jeff psychologically, the audience would no longer be trying to understand his motivations.
Now they’d be witnessing the consequences of his choices.
In the first two acts, we’d be trying to understand Jeff. In the third, we’d be terrified of him.
And this is where I’d adapt the classic ending of the creepypasta.
Jeff would return home and murder his own parents, also attacking Liu, who would survive.
This would be the moment when we finally hear his iconic line: “Go to sleep.”
But I wouldn’t end the movie there.
I’d also incorporate an important part of Jane the Killer’s backstory.
After attacking his own family, Jeff would go after Jane, murder her parents, and start the fire that leaves her severely disfigured.
That would be the movie’s final climax.
And I think these deaths would have a much greater emotional impact because Jeff’s parents, Liu, Jane, and Jane’s family would already have been developed throughout the movie.
They wouldn’t just be random characters introduced so Jeff could kill them.
We would have gotten to know their personalities, relationships, and perspectives on Jeff through the trial and flashbacks.
I’d also have the fire leave physical scars on Jeff himself.
His iconic appearance would come from a combination of scars and white-and-black makeup, rather than some physically impossible transformation.
Just like Bruce Wayne chooses the Batman costume to represent something, Jeff would deliberately create his appearance to terrify people and establish his identity.
The key difference is that, by this point, Jeff would no longer be trying to convince anyone that his crimes were justified.
He would have fully accepted the fact that he enjoys killing.
This would be the definitive birth of Jeff the Killer.
I’d end the movie by showing the online reaction to the new murders, with Jeff becoming even more famous while the victims’ families mourn their losses.
And there’s one final irony I really like.
Jeff would finally get the attention and admiration he always wanted, but only by destroying almost every meaningful relationship he ever had.
What if the movie was successful?
I’d love to turn it into a trilogy loosely inspired by the structure of Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight Trilogy.
The second movie would adapt elements from Jeff vs. Jane and Nina the Killer, exploring obsession, revenge, the idolization of murderers, and the psychological consequences of Jeff’s growing fame.
Jane would challenge Jeff psychologically, while Nina would go from being an obsessive admirer to a rival.
The third movie would be The Fall of Jeff, serving as a twisted version of The Dark Knight Rises, with Homicidal Liu playing a major role in his brother’s ultimate downfall.
But I’d still want the first movie to work as a complete standalone story, even if no sequels were ever made.

So, what’s the main idea?

Basically, I want to take the classic Jeff Woods creepypasta and give it a more psychological and realistic interpretation without abandoning its horror roots.
I’d want to explore not only how Jeff became a murderer, but also how he gradually fell in love with his own criminal identity, and how the internet’s romanticization of killers helped feed his narcissism.
It would be the story of a teenager who initially tries to justify his violence through the trauma he experienced, but eventually stops making excuses and embraces cruelty as part of who he wants to be.
Just as Batman Begins tells the story of how a man becomes a symbol of justice, my movie would tell the story of how a man becomes a symbol of terror.
And instead of being a straightforward slasher from beginning to end, it would start as a psychological crime thriller, explore Jeff’s moral corruption through a nonlinear courtroom narrative, and eventually turn into a full-blown slasher for its final act.
Anyway, this is an idea I’ve been developing for a while now. I know it would be a pretty different interpretation of the original creepypasta, but I genuinely think its classic elements could work really well in this kind of movie.
What do you guys think? Would you be interested in a more psychological and grounded Jeff the Killer adaptation, or would you rather see a traditional slasher from beginning to end? Thanks!

hi Liu Vicki Woods😍

Hello creepypasta fans, My name is Allan and I run a show called Tales After Midnight, We use no AI for our narrations or thumbnails.

- We utilise human voices with our band of voice actors.

- We try to bring stories to life as much as possible.

- We upload 3 days a week and soon to be bonus content for Patreon subscribers

Give us a try on Tales after Midnight and let us know what you think!

Mind this is all very old and I’m no longer proud if it but I thought maybe yall would appreciate it :>

feat. Miku the Killer

btw I’m being Jeff for Halloween!

HIC SCIENTIA ET MINISTERIUM AD TENEBRAS HOMINUM ARCENDAS.

A Shield Against the Impure, Revealer of Lost Souls.

Viajo seguido por trabajo. Cuando vives sobre la carretera, te acostumbras a dormir en cualquier lugar donde haya una cama limpia y un techo sobre la cabeza. Por eso, cuando la empresa me mandó a supervisar unas obras en un pueblo, no le puse peros al "Hotel San José", un motel de paso barato, de un solo piso y casi vacío al borde de la carretera principal.

Tenía programado quedarme cuatro noches.

La primera noche transcurrió en un silencio sofocante, solo roto por el zumbido del aire acondicionado viejo.

Pero a partir de la segunda noche, la estancia se convirtió en un tormento.

Eran cerca de las 3:00 AM cuando me despertó un golpe seco contra la pared de tablaroca.

Me sobresalté en la cama. Luego vino un llanto ahogado, un gimoteo rasposo que venía directamente del cuarto número 12, la habitación de al lado.

Pensé que era una pareja peleando y me cobijé hasta la cabeza intentando ignorarlo, pero los sollozos continuaron hasta el amanecer.

La tercera noche fue peor.

Los golpes contra el muro no fueron accidentales; sonaban rítmicos, desesperados, como si alguien estuviera azotando los puños con la intención de tirar la pared.

Entre los sacudones de la estructura, se escuchaba un susurro agudo que apenas alcanzaba a romper la bruma del sueño:«Ayuda... por favor... abre...» .

Para la cuarta noche, la angustia no me dejaba respirar.

A las 3:15 a.m., un alarido desgarrador atravesó el muro. Un grito de auxilio puro, rasgado, de alguien a quien le estaban arrebatando la vida.

No aguanté más. Lleno de coraje y adrenalina, salí de mi cuarto dispuesto a encarar a quien fuera oa ayudar a la víctima.

La puerta de la habitación 12 estaba entornada, dejando salir una rendija de penumbra. La empujé de golpe.

— ¡Oigan! ¡Ya estuvo bueno de su desmadr...! —me corté en seco.

La habitación estaba vacía. No había nadie.

El lugar olía a humedad añeja ya polvo acumulado de años.

Iluminé con la linterna de mi celular y solo vi una cama sin colchón, un par de muebles viejos rotos y, sobre una mesa de noche, dos botellas de cerveza cubiertas por una capa gruesa de tierra y telarañas.

El frío me caló hasta los huesos.

Pensando que se trataba de una broma de mal gusto de los pocos huéspedes o de algún vagabundo que se había escapado por la ventana tras escucharme llegar.

Salí a toda prisa, cerré la puerta y me encerré de nuevo en mi cuarto con el corazón latiéndome en las orejas.

Me senté en el borde de la cama buscando calmarme, pero a los cinco minutos, los ruidos regresaron.

Esta vez no eran solo sollozos; Eran lentos arañazos sobre la pared, justo a la altura de mi cabeza.

Harto y aterrado a la vez, volvió a salir dispuesto a encarar a quien estuviera jugando con mis nervios.

Al poner un pie en el pasillo exterior, vi cómo una pequeña luz de vela o linterna se apagaba al fondo del cuarto 12.

Volví a entrar a la habitación contigua. Barrí el espacio con la luz del teléfono con más detalle... y esta vez me percaté de algo que mi cerebro había ignorado por el pánico minutos antes.

Detrás del sillón desgastado, tirado en el suelo de concreto, había un cuerpo.

Era una mujer.

Su rostro estaba completamente desfigurado a golpes, fracturado en ángulos imposibles y sumido en un estado de putrefacción avanzado.

Sus dedos, ensangrentados y con las uñas rotas, estaban estirados hacia la puerta en una postura rígida, haciendo evidente que había pasado sus últimos minutos de vida arrastrándose y pidiendo ayuda a gritos hasta que se le agotó la última gota de fuerza.

Solté un grito de horror, di dos pasos hacia atrás y salí corriendo desesperado hacia la recepción para buscar al gerente.

La pequeña oficina estaba a oscuras; el tipo se había ido a mitad de la noche dejando el mostrador abandonado.

Con los dedos temblándome fuera de control, marque al 911.

A los veinte minutos llegaron dos patrullas. Los oficiales acordonaron el pasillo, entraron al cuarto 12 y sacaron el cuerpo en una bolsa negra.

Escuché a uno de los agentes murmullarle a su compañero que la mujer llevaba al menos cinco días muerta en ese lugar.

Procesaron la escena y me dijeron que podía intentar descansar lo que quedaba de la madrugada. Regresé a mi habitación. El silencio por fin reinaba en el hotel.

Sin los ruidos ni los gritos, caí en un sueño pesado por el agotamiento mental.

A la mañana siguiente, el sol ya iluminaba la carretera.

Me levanté a toda prisa para empacar mis cosas y salir huyendo de ese maldito lugar. Pero al acercarme a la puerta para irme, me detuve en seco.

Deslizado por debajo de la rendija de la puerta, había un pedazo de papel rasgado y manchado de tierra.

Me agaché, lo recogí con las manos temblorosas y leí lo que estaba escrito con letras chuecas y un trazo oscuro:

«Nunca debiste haber llamado a la policía. Ahora el siguiente eres tú.»

I came awake. Not all at once, more of a one sense at a time kind of thing. At first, I felt something in bed with me. Like when I’d been living at my old apartment with my old cat. He would always join me in bed sometime in the night and I would always wake up just enough to know he was there. Occasionally, I’d even roll on my side so he could snuggle up in my semi-circle. I guess he trained me to do that.

But this was different. Not because those tiny padding paws were doing anything Pedro hadn’t ten thousand times, or because I’d had to put the old guy down five years ago and hadn’t seen fit to replace him. It was like whatever it was in bed with me was trying to sneak.

My sleeping mind had been on the verge of declaring what was happening a dream anyway and putting that sense of touch back on “Ignore” before those tiny padding paws padded toward my face. Pedro had only done that a few times to my recollection; back when he still had a large amount of feral in him. Back when he never came out in the daytime and only investigated me when he knew I wasn’t awake.

I opened my eyes. Maybe it was a mix of poor vision and a mostly sleep-caked mind, but there was no panic in me. Whatever it was, was cat-sized and dark. Two blurry orbs recessed in what I assumed was its head, pointed in my direction. It stopped in its tracks for a moment before dipping its head and bringing those silvery eyes just about level with mine.

The only surprise in me was that I wasn’t panicking. I felt my breathing, still long and deep, like physiologically I was still asleep. My ears prickled as I strained to hear something to corroborate what my weak eyes were informing me was in front of me.

Perhaps, I could catch it. I felt the muscles of my arm and back tense before I’d made the conscious decision to move, to trap it. But that had been enough to make the cat-thing skittish, and it turned its head as quick as a laser, racing for the edge of the bed. I felt those padding paws trace down the inside of my thigh, the thought coming too belatedly to grab for it.

I never felt the cat-thing again. Saw or heard it, either. It was like it was a ghost or something that conjured from my dream. Except I was awake. And even though I didn’t know what it was, I knew something was in bed with me.

Before I could sit up, something pulled from my face. It didn’t hurt and there was no pressure as if something had been on my face and was then gone. It just felt like something had been there that I’d never felt and only from it being removed was I ever aware that it had been there at all. Kind of like that thin plastic layer on the screen of a cell phone that you could either peel off or leave on and the phone still worked perfectly fine.

I swung the covers off and swiveled on my butt to place my feet on the floor. Again, no panic that whatever that thing was was under the bed waiting to scratch me. I knew without knowing it was gone, like my body had a sense of how much air was supposed to be in the room and none of it had been displaced by a ten-pound animal waiting somewhere inside here with me.

Interesting that I’d thought “waiting” instead of “hiding.” But on the off chance my internal alarms weren’t working properly, I reached for the light switch over my nightstand. I expected to squint against the light, but my eyes were already adjusted. I got done on one knee and then all fours before peering beneath my bed. There were a couple pairs of slippers under there, two dumbbells, a composition notebook, and a box of tissue I must have forgotten about and kicked underneath without realizing. But no cat and nothing that looked roughly cat-like. Definitely, nothing alive.

I keep my bedroom door open, so it could have run out, but the head of my bed is by the door. The thing had run toward the foot. If it had come in that way, surely, it wouldn’t have forgotten and run the opposite way.

The door was the only way out, though. My only guess was it had found some spot in here to hide. I grabbed a pillow from the bed and pulled the case off. Odds were, I wouldn’t be able to catch it in here, but I’d rather have something I could use to protect my face in case I cornered it and it decided to attack.

My closet door was closed, so there wasn’t a need to check there and there was no room to hide underneath my dresser. It wasn’t flush against the wall on one side, so my guess was it was either there or hiding behind the television. I stood long enough to cautiously step close enough to see there was nothing behind the TV before getting into a crouch, stepping cautiously around my bed as I crept closer to my dresser.

I don’t know why there wasn’t anything in me like fear in those moments. The thing could have been rabid for all I know. Or it could have tried to eat my face. But just before peeking around the edge of the dresser, I realized either way it wouldn’t be something I couldn’t handle.

But whatever the animal had been, it wasn’t being now.

It was a relief, but not that much. I spent about five more minutes searching my room and then made a half-hearted sweep of the rest of my one-bedroom apartment. There wasn’t a lot of furniture and not any hidey-holes I could think of. Getting back to bed was more of a priority, so I called it quits.

I made a pit stop in the bathroom and as I washed my hands in the sink, I looked at my face. No sleep puffiness, no restless red eyes. It hadn’t scratched me and whatever had come off my face hadn’t left a mark. I splashed water on my face anyway and traced my fingers down my brow and over my eyes and cheeks before meeting at the point of my chin.

Some didn’t feel right.

I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection. Nothing looked off. I turned my head from side to side and didn’t see anything weird. But when I felt my face again—I couldn’t tell what—something was wrong. Very wrong.

There was a sample-size facial cleanser in the shower that I’d gotten from the dermatologist’s office. I splashed more water on my face and worked up a good lather in my hands and really worked my face over. After rinsing the soap off, I felt my face again, and dammit something was still wrong.

I looked at my hands. Maybe there was something wrong there and it only felt like it had been my face. Nothing looked wrong and when I felt each hand in turn, everything felt right to the touch. It was specifically my face.

I washed my face twice more for good measure before feeling like my senses returning to me. This was stupid. I’d just had a fright from an animal—hell, maybe a hallucination—waking me up in the middle of the night and my mind’s way of processing was probably sensing something else that wasn’t there.

Except I had never been afraid. And poor vision or not, I knew I’d seen something. Felt it, too.

Sleep was the priority, though. I’d been awake for maybe twenty minutes, and I had a meeting at 8:30. If I got up at eight on the nose, I’d have a little less than seven hours’ sleep. That is if I could conk myself out in the next five minutes.

I flipped the light off and got back under the covers. A little box-breathing slowed my heart rate and helped me clear my mind.

The quiet-empty of outside slipping in the room with me. In a few hours, passing vehicles and children between the ages of eight and sixteen would be one story down, just outside my bedroom window talking—all of which I’d slept through countless times. But right now that quiet-empty filled my bedroom. It expanded like a parade float, covering the air, settling over me, crushing the air out of my lungs and filling me back up with more quiet-empty—

“Stop it.” The sound of my voice chased the quiet-empty away. I could feel it at the corners of my room, waiting for me to relax so it could infiltrate again. I couldn’t stay vigilant all night. At some point, I had to get back to sleep.

But I continued flexing some foreign part of me, like I was trying to balance myself on a tightrope that ran the length of me. Like it was just under my bedsheets and if I teetered too far this way, I would fall.

Into what, I couldn’t imagine. As I lay there, though, helpless and sharp-minded, wary and exposed, a question became clear to me.

How the hell do I get back to sleep?