In September I left Burlington to move back to Austin, Texas. We drove down over the course of four days, arriving to the first place we have been able to call our own in nearly three years. It, of course, felt good, but I have a way of losing that steam fairly quickly.
The last time I lived in Austin, two years prior, I was going through a number of difficult life changes. In fact, nearly two years ago to the day (as I write this), is when Elizabeth watched "me" wake from a dead sleep, look at her, say "I'M BORED" in a different voice, and fall back asleep. My anxiety eventually hit an all time high, as far as I am concerned, with panic attacks creeping up nearly daily. Granted, some situations I was dealing with were difficult, but I can not recall ever being so utterly crippled by anxiety before that, even in far worse moments of my life. I am explaining this to give a bit of context, and potential explanation, to what comes next.
I read recently that statistically, people have a difficult time sleeping in a new place the first night, then an upward trend of comfort in their surroundings occurs from the second night onward. My trouble sleeping is well documented throughout my writing, but comfort is rarely one the issues. I did not feel comfortable in the new place. I was up all night. Staring. Listening. Sounds I couldn't identify (I chalked them up to being errant rodents, but come daylight I could find none of the tell tale signs of them). Shadows acting less like objects in the wind, and more sentient. Of course, the mind is a mischievous child. You can't trust it, especially in the dark. I felt watched. I felt something curious. I don't claim to be an empath, or anything of the sort, but that first night, that is what I felt.
There was an alarm on the the back door. We were diligent about making sure the house was entirely locked down. Coming to a new neighborhood, in a city where we had previously been held at gunpoint, we don't take too many chances in that regard. The alarm was a motion sensor that when tripped, emitted a sharp, braying tone over and over. It tripped near 1:30 am and we both shot upright. Investigated. All doors still locked. No signs of intrusion or rodents. Back to bed. Two hours later it happened again. I had fallen asleep and when it went off the second time I nearly jumped out of bed and yelled "Hey!" in an attempt to frighten off who or whatever was in the house. Again we investigated. Again we found nothing.
Night two was no better. New sounds. New shadows. We killed the alarm. If it was malfunctioning then it was useless, but it seemed as though even if it was functioning properly it was useless if I could never find the culprit. I barely slept. My back began to ache.
Day three my back was excruciating. Standing upright was next to impossible. I was eating painkillers throughout the day and then in the middle of it my first panic attack in a few weeks. Elizabeth talked me down, and I went to bed.
Each night I began taking Advil PM. Numbed my back and knocked me out, but it was difficult to keep under. Repeatedly I would wake up. Hear a clacking noise in the kitchen. The living room. The attic. See a shadow peering in the bedroom, and then sliding back into the kitchen. I was in pain. I was under-slept, I was filled with anxiety. Hallucinating was definitely an explanation.
We have been here two weeks at this point. I have run out of Advil PM. I take large doses of melatonin to help keep me down, but I am still waking up around 3am each night to sounds I can't identify. To a weight pressing down on the attic door. To a shadow peering into the bedroom. My panic attacks have become daily. At one point I fought the melatonin and forced myself to stay awake thinking "Go away, you are not welcome here," repeatedly. It was exhausting. In the morning, relaying the story to Elizabeth, I told her I felt "threatened", though, I don't remember feeling that way now.
Last night, Elizabeth and I were awakened at nearly the same time, though we both perceived things entirely differently. I heard something in the attic. A weight that must have been smaller than a person, but larger than a rat or squirrel. Walking around. Clacking. The weight of the attic door occasionally pressing hard enough to click the lock repeatedly. I, at some point, fell back asleep, despite being wholly attentive as it was happening. Elizabeth however woke to what she called "something communicating". She described laying in bed and hearing clacking in the kitchen, a moment passing, and then a reply of similar clacking from the living room. She said it happened a number of times. She did not experience what I experienced.
The reason I brought up my troubles with Austin the last time I was here is that I wonder if I am experiencing a sort of emotional flashback. A variety of PTSD.
However, Strieber also had some trouble in Austin.
