Exactly 40 years ago, I was 10 years old. My father had left my mother and me a year earlier. We lived in a two-story house by the edge of the forest, and to make ends meet, my mother had started working as a cleaner. She was a strong and loving woman. She did everything she could to give me a good life. My father's absence echoed in the silence at our dinner table.
Why had he left? Was it because of me? I didn't know... But deep down, I blamed myself. There had been a few times before when he hadn't come home for weeks, but this time... it was a different kind of silence. Eventually, we got used to this loneliness. Our dinners became enjoyable again with conversations between my mother and me. That is, until one year after my father left.
That day, as usual, I was having dinner with my mother. How could I ever forget that meal? The menu was a child's favorite: French fries and meatballs. As always, my mother and I talked about how my day went, how my lessons were, and if I was struggling with anything at school. Meanwhile, I was watching cartoons on TV. Suddenly, strange crackling noises started coming from the television. After a few seconds, they stopped, but the crackling returned intermittently.
I got up immediately and went over to the TV. After hitting it a few times, the noise stopped. I turned away, but the crackling started again. Frustrated, I shrugged and turned back—only to notice a character from the cartoon looking right at me. His eyes seemed to have moved out of the screen, staring at me motionlessly. I closed my eyes for a moment and opened them again—the character on the screen had returned to normal.
"It must be because of the crackling," I thought.
But I was wrong. When I hit the TV again, everything was fine, and I sat down at the table to enjoy the meatballs left on my plate. Everything had returned to normal... or so I thought.
After dinner, I did my homework as usual. My mother washed the dishes and then joined me to watch TV. Later, it was time for bed. Since my father left, my mother had developed the habit of falling asleep in front of the television. My room was upstairs. After hugging my mother and wishing her good night, I went to my room.
My bed was placed against the wall in the middle of the room. To my left, there was a nightstand and a lamp for reading. Reading had always been my favorite habit. Even though I was only 10, unlike my peers, I was fascinated by world classics. My favorite author was Dostoevsky.
My teachers, friends, and family always described me as a quiet, introverted, melancholic child. Although I had grown closer to my mother after my father left, aside from her, I was lonely. Right across from my bed stood a large mirrored wardrobe. That wardrobe always scared me at night. Before going to sleep, I would nervously climb into bed, avoiding looking at that huge mirror. Fortunately, books came to my rescue, and I would fall asleep while reading them. Later, my mother would come in, turn off the lamp, and place the book I had been reading on the nightstand.
That day, as usual, I was lying in bed reading. This time, I had The Brothers Karamazov in my hand. The book had deeply affected me because I saw myself in Alyosha. I had read about 10 or 15 pages and was lost in its magical world when the lamp next to my bed flickered on and off. I reached out and touched the bulb lightly with my fingertip, and it returned to normal. After reading a few more pages, my tired eyes surrendered to sleep, and I fell asleep with the book in my hand.
In my dream, I saw my father—the last time I saw him leaving the house. Of course, back then, I didn't know he had abandoned us, but in the dream, I was aware. I called out to him, but he didn't hear me. He hadn't closed the door properly as he left. The creaking of the door closing slowly drowned out all other sounds. The noise was so loud that my eyes started to open, and I began to wake up. I stared at the darkness on the ceiling for a while.
My mother came into my room, took the book, and turned off the lamp. At that moment, I heard a sound. Yes, the same creaking sound from my dream—the door creaking—but quieter this time. Still, it was the only sound breaking the silence in the dark. I shivered, and all the muscles in my body went rigid. I began to lift my head slightly from the pillow. My head felt so heavy that it seemed like minutes had passed before I could raise it. Then, my eyes locked onto the mirrored wardrobe door right in front of me.
The wardrobe door began to creak open slowly. My heart raced, every muscle tensed, and with wide-open eyes, I stared breathlessly at the mirrored door. Each passing second felt like hours. As the door opened wider, the darkness inside deepened. Just as the door was almost fully open, it suddenly slammed shut with a loud noise. I don't remember how I got to my mother's side. I woke her up. She asked:
"Did you have another nightmare?"
I couldn't tell her the truth.
"Yes. Can I sleep with you tonight?" I asked.
She agreed, and that night, we took our first step into the night when everything began.