5 Thursday, 3:34 am

Every Thursday at 3:34 am, I always hear a parade outside of my home. A ceremony of death, not for me, but my sweet relationship with my bed and my dreams.

It's hard to explain. There is a vast number of people, and they always chant their eerie song, and without fail, they will still appear every Thursday at 3:34 am. There is no rest day for them, nor a break, always in time with the schedule. They will be there. The chants they perform weekly will be sung. And the parade-goers will be in an uncanny, perfect unison, and not even once will any of them miss the mark.

The saddest thing about this is how I would react to their annoying display. I would be there, covering my head with a pillow, not doing anything but shiver on my bed and cover my ears in fear of the sound they make.

It feels like their voices with their melody is a binding rope that entraps me within the confines of my fear. This parade would go on for about half a minute outside of my home. Like a helpless child, I won't be able to do anything, not even a protest or a complaint. Funny enough, this is the first time I acknowledged this to myself. This utter weakness to defy their Thursday torture.

My room is on the first floor, and my bed is beside a window. My house is beside the sidewalk, so I can hear and see anyone who would walk on them as I lie down the bed. I purposely made it like this, for I enjoy observing people. It gives me ideas, a new perspective, a strange sort of hobby. Furthermore, doing this always cures my writer's block. Whenever I need new ideas, the window would give it to me.

Can you see now why this is such a problem for me? I lack the power to ignore the sinister chanting of their morning parade. For almost seven months, I've been hearing them to the point of memorizing the flow of their chant. It begins with a high pitched tone, followed by a booming sound from the men in the back, a soft humming from the women in front, and it will all end each week differently. This week it ends with them humming the rhythm of The Prayer.

I know what you're thinking, why don't I move my bed away from the window instead of complaining? That's a good question and a piece of sensible advice. I do thank you, but I won't do that. Maybe it's just my ridiculous stubbornness, but ever since I was a child, I've been sleeping near a window. The nostalgia I get every time I sleep next to a window, although I get the visit from the ominous parade, is enough for me to stay. Call me silly, but my decision is mine to make.

Instead of doing something reasonable, I would cover myself with a blanket as I sleep. I say that word loosely, for I never get enough sleep these days. I'd want to blame them, but that would be stupid of me to leave my irrational logic of the picture.

My blanket became my shield. My harassers on parade won't see me from the outside, and I won't see them from the inside. My problem now is how their loud chanting wakes my precious sleep without fail. Hearing them go on about with their song is undoubtedly an enormous hassle. I would shout at them, get mad, get angry, rampage on the streets, and cause a scene until they stop appearing if the circumstances are ordinary.

But there is nothing normal in any of this. There has to be something supernatural involved in my hesitation to act! But I don't know how to justify these claims.

Every time I hear them coming, my body stops moving. The paraders' song paralyzes me. Or perhaps it's because my fear nails me down my bed, with my eyes wide open. I feel my body trembling, my feet getting weak as if this enigma is sucking my soul itself. Perhaps the thought of losing the walls dividing us is enough to pin me down.

It's been a while since they first began. Seven months is not something to underestimate. The commitment of these people to this parade is overwhelming! But for what purpose? At first, I thought it was a ritual, but I was too tired to check back then. When it happened for a second time the next week, I couldn't handle it anymore. Not because it's annoying but because it leaves me trembling in fear. I buried my face in my pillow every time I slept on Wednesday evenings since then.

I grew so tired of them I cursed Thursday mornings. All because of their loud, obnoxious chanting.

Obnoxious, I'd say, but is it really?

Their chants are not at all creepy; it's not even annoying. If it is a ritual, then it sounds nothing like a prayer or a sutra. It resembles the rhythm of a pop song. The melody of the song is upbeat, but I find its disturbing tune as somehow melancholic. The vibration of their voice, the perfect sync of the singers involved with the eerie aura it gives off every time I hear it. It's a unison of people whispering that creates a shout!

When the sound of their chant enters my ear, I can feel the hair on my nape rise. I can hear noises outside coming from their song, but my room remains silent, and still, I couldn't even hear an echo. It feels as if the sound comes only from the outside and nothing from the inside, nothing at all. Not even creaking or thudding, not even the sound of the wind or ringing of silence. The deafening silence filled my room.

The window is closed, there is no ventilation inside, but I can feel the cold breeze touching my skin like a raspy hand of an old enemy. It feels as if the people responsible for this parade trapped the morning breeze inside of my room, and it's making me freeze to death every time they come. Every time they chant, I feel like I'm in a soundproof freezer. The air will turn heavy, so heavy I can't bear it. Every time I try to inhale, it turns into a wheeze. I feel like I'm begging nature to give me air like a deranged drug addict.

It's so weird, I always hear them, but I still can't decipher what they're trying to say. It's not English, but I believe it's a Western language, I'm not sure. The language they used is just so weird. It's like a mix of German, Spanish, and maybe a bit of Dutch? The articulation seems to change every word as if they are mixing all these different languages.

Not to mention it sounds a little bit muffled, it's almost impossible to understand. The unknown of the paraders rang their synchronized

That's why I always imagine them to be wearing masks of some sort. Thinking that way heightened the fear to a certain degree. It feels as if their voices crawl inside of me, drilling through my nerves, and punching my heart until it breaks my ribcage.

One day I decided that I am tired of it. The chanting, the morning hassles; I am tired of feeling my demons right beside me. As I pull all the remaining courage that may or may not exist in my system, I decided the only way to put an end to it is to face them head-on. I woke up at 3:30 in the morning and waited for them to appear. Facing my fear, I sat on my bed, gazing at the window with a watch on my wrist as I waited for thirty to turn into thirty-four.

That was the stupidest decision of my life.

I saw it. There are at least forty people there.

They all wear the same green clothes, and they all have the same hairstyle, undercut. I was also wrong; they are not wearing masks. No, it was so much worse than a costume. Their eyes shut, and they are all grinning as if they had just seen the funniest one could ever encounter in their lives while they continued their chanting. Chanting that turned muffled because their face looks disfigured. I mean, their faces its... their smiles, everything about it is so weird. As if something, an invisible entity is stretching their cheeks to form the vilest smile I've ever seen.

It seems like an invisible hand is pulling the skin of their faces from side to side.

Have you tried stretching your lips while singing a song? That's how they sound to me! Pair that with an ominous chant, and you got yourself a recipe for a perfect harbinger of fear!

It will have been nice if that's the end of it.

They pass by slowly. Very, oh, so very slowly. One small, very small step at a time. Baby steps every half a minute or so. And the direction of their gazes pointed in one direction.

They are all looking at me.

I've realized that their eyes are actually open, contrary to what I believed when I first thought it was close. No, something is stretching their faces from every side to form this fake-looking smile forcefully, and it caused their eyes to appear as if they were not open. I'm confident because I've seen how they try to open their eyes in vain. They're forcefully trying to open their eyes to get a clear image of what I look like, so they all raise their eyelids by pulling their eyebrows upward in unison. I can feel it in the way their head locked in my direction, but their bodies remained still. It's so extreme, some of them would probably snap their heads to secure their eyes at me.

It's terrifying. The debauched paraders of my deepest nightmare are now in front of me, glaring at me with their eyes that had a terrifying shade of red. Their eyes... I thought it was bleeding! The redness of their eyes is unlike that of a stoner. Their eyes look as if they envelop it with their blood.

They caught me in their spell once again. I cannot move. I sat there looking at these nocturnal chanters as they gazed at me with their distorted faces. I sat there with my jaw dropped and my mouth wide open as I saw them pointing at me as they chanted their song. It feels as if they're judging me with their half-open eyes, and the only thing I could do is sit there paralyzed as I look at their heads turn to look at me. I'm feeling nauseous, I want to run away but I can't.

I'm stuck.

I could not stand it any longer.

By the time the parade ended, I had rushed out of my room. I couldn't help myself but puke. I wasn't even able to reach the bathroom and vomited in the living room. It was already 3:51 am when I realized that disgusting excrement had covered the entirety of my carpet.

An hour later, I decided I should stop using my room on the first floor. Maybe I won't be able to see the paraders anymore if I move upstairs. Heck, I bet I wouldn't even hear them once I'm up there.

I used the smaller room upstairs and used it as my new room. That room is supposed to be a guest room because I don't like using it, but the trauma those people brought me is enough for me to use it anyway. That morning just snapped me off my misery. At least I still have a window here.

It was already Monday when I finished moving my things. I asked my neighbors if they're aware of these people, and they all just looked at me, confused, others even laughed. They don't believe every word I said. One of my neighbors also said she's always awake at 3 am and never had she seen such a ludicrous thing ever happen in our neighborhood. My other neighbor even joked that maybe I'm just reading too many horror books.

I guess it sounds like a story to scare off children, but then what did I see that morning? What were the things I've heard for the past seven months? Or the uneasy feeling I have every time they come.

Am I going insane?

I contemplated that, and as I do so, I fell asleep.

I woke up hearing people murmuring outside. When I opened my eyes, I saw the same people in the parade with their stretched faces clamoring in my window as if they were trying to barge in. They all push forward; their faces almost get flattened in my window. They laugh with intense vigor, their spit staining the glass, their teeth scratching the surface. The horrid men all pushed forward but not with their body, or their hands, or their feet. They're pushing forward through my window using their faces.

I look at them with fear and not a hint of anger or happiness. The one in front of me looked me in the eyes and laughed louder as the man pushed his face harder on my window. I can see their nose gets flattened until the bridges of their nose break. I don't want this. I just want to be left alone; I wish to have some peaceful sleep in my god damn fucking room! What is this? Why is this happening to me? Why me?

"Take her. I want all her memories shredded." I heard a muffled voice say from a distance. "Bring her to the train with the woman we got from the mountain!"

I screamed as I heard my window crack.