When the room went dark, she heard her name. It wasn't for the first time, either. The first time had been a year ago, or maybe longer—and she had heard it in just the same way. Almost like a reminder, or perhaps a warning.The voice had sounded crystalline. It had felt both far distant and upon her, like a sound absorbed by heavy snowfall— a voice pure and sharp as a bell. The sound of one's name in the dark carries a weight that simple utterance of a name doesn't bear in the light of day. Like when her lover whispers her name up close to her ear, in the afterglow of love-making—weightless. Tingling. Released. But this was not that. The voice had struck the silence with recognition. Afterward, she had lain perfectly still, listening. Waiting. Had she dozed off and dreamt of someone saying her name? Was the voice male or female? Only moments had passed since it resounded in her consciousness, but she could not say for sure. No— it was definitely female. It was familiar. Yes, she had heard it before. Last time, the voice had said "Wake up." She had frozen in her bed then, terrified. But she had gotten up that night, and stayed awake for hours after checking the apartment, the breezeway, the balcony. Her roommate had been away that night— just like this one. She would force herself to get up this night too. She would not lie frozen in terror. She would act. In the pitch-dark room, she wished she had replaced the burnt-out bulb in her bedside lamp. Better yet, though, to flood the room with overhead light from the switch—bright light to dispel whatever heaviness gathered in the corners of her room. These thoughts came to her in rapid-fire succession. She sat quietly for several moments, listening for movement, breathing, utterance. She only heard the neighbor's Pekingese yap, just once. Maybe someone was outside. But the voice hadn't come from outside. It had come from... She threw off the sheets and ran for the light switch. The overhead light flared, spilling brightness into every corner—except the closet. One of the closet doors was ajar. Had she left it that way when she hung her robe on the hook before bed? She couldn't think straight. She couldn't remember. Her breath was quick and shallow. She reached down through her dread, pulling up the courage to move, then darted across the carpet to the french doors. Flinging them open, she tugged the string that triggered the overhead bulb. Light filled the small space as the little bulb rocked like a pendulum. The rows of blouses and skirts hung still. Nothing beneath them but her shoes. She swept her hands through the longer garments—dresses and coats. Thinking quickly, she balled up her fists and pushed her arms into one corner of the closet—then the other. A couple of blouses fell from their hangers in the tussle, revealing a blank space. There was nothing there. No one to fear. She stepped cautiously out of the closet and moved across the room, through the door, into the shadowed adjoining space. She switched on the lamp beside the sofa. Her cat, Shadow, curled on the ottoman, lifted his head sleepily. Seeing him that way made her feel a little better—less alone. For good measure, she checked the living room, kitchen, bath. The front door was locked and chained as she’d left it. The windows were closed, the slider bar secure in its track. She exhaled for what felt like the first time in five minutes, expelling a nervous laugh. In the lit room she felt ridiculous. She remembered how she'd dismissed the voice the last time as well. Like on this night, she had heard it shortly after turning off the light and lying down to sleep. What had it said? Her name. The voice had said her name—and then "wake up". An edict uttered in a sing-song tone, as if reminding her of something. What was it? Where did it come from? How could it sound both far away and right beside her? What could it want?The voice was surely in her imagination, though she couldn't understand the meaning of it.She sat down on the couch and thought of calling her mother. But then she'd have to explain. She didn't know how to explain this... this what? Visitation. Nightmare. Ghost? Dismissing it was her attempt at bravery. If she was honest, she wasn't sure if it was her bravery or absurdity that was funny to her, but again she had to laugh.&nbsp; She also had to work in the morning; she would go back to bed. It was true that she didn't like to be alone in the night. Her thoughts troubled her when she was alone in bed. It was too quiet, and she feared someone would bother her. It was also true that she preferred living alone. But she knew it was not safe for a young woman to live alone. She checked the locks, turned off the lights in the rest of the apartment, and slipped back to her bed. For a moment of doubt she stood at the foot, then turned to flip the switch and close the door to the room.Safe in her bed, she distracted herself with thoughts of tomorrow—lunch plans, errands, the upcoming weekend at the beach. Maybe she would tell her friends about the voice, see if anyone else had ever experienced a voice in the dark."More than once," she whispered aloud. She softened into her pillow. Her body breathed into the down comforter. In the distance, she heard the faint tinkle of her wind chimes on the patio. Just a little breeze, she thought. The face was beautiful but severe. The eyes were liquid pools of light. A face sharp with features, like a fairytale creature—or a hedge witch. She did not see it at first but rather felt it near her face. She felt the words up close just as she slammed open her eyes. "Ellen! Wake up!" It would be many years before she did—many nights before the meaning found her. But she would never forget. L.E. LaForge, Oct 2025

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The Sleep Sprite

LELaForge

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The Sleep Sprite (short story)

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Lola Norbury

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