You Don't Believe Me

When I was five years old, I was scared of these entities I saw in my room. At night, I'd feel them hovering over me. I'd muster my courage and get up to ask my parents to chase the "Shadows" out of my room. I didn't know what else to call them. They'd oblige me, but only because I was frightened and it made me feel better. Not because they believed me.

One day, I looked down one of the hallways in the house. The end was always dark. We used it for storage. Something stood there, staring straight ahead and smiling. Cold chills ran down my small spine. I told my mom, "There's a demon in the hallway."

"No, there's not," she responded, chuckling.

I looked at her. "You don't believe me, Mom?"

I never forgot that day, and wonder if it was one of my "Shadows" coming around to smile at me. My parents never did believe me.