Struggling against his bedsheet bonds, the sensation of falling jolted him awake. Once again, he had tripped running from his life; the alcoholic father, the stalker on his path home, the bullies at Willfield High, the responsibilities, the stress, the judgment. Sweat ran down his forehead as he climbed from underneath his checkered comforter. The almost pitch black darkness heightened his senses.
    “Johnny?” his mom called in a hushed tone from the hallway. His locked door separated him from the world at night, when he felt he was most vulnerable. It was as if this was a routine now; John woke up with a scream and his mom, Linda, lulled him back to sleep. “J, hon,” she pleaded, “ just go back to sleep. It’s just a dream.”  Her satin slippers shuffled across the hardwood floors, and her bedroom door closed with a soft thud. Assured that she had fallen back into her slumber, John commenced his now nightly routine.
    The lanky seventeen year old paced his darkened room, until his pent up angst controlled his movements. He dashed to the window, locked and covered with a long, dark blue, draping shade, and checked that it was still intact. “Of course nobody had broken in,” he thought to himself.
    “How do you know?” a dark, masculine Voice countered to his left.
    “Obviously nobody did,” John replied.  “We would know. The window would be open.”
    “It could be in the closet,” a shrill, feminine Voice suggested to his right. John crossed to room to his closet in long, anxious strides. He threw the closet doors open in one swift motion.
    “No. See? Nobody’s--”
    “Did you check under the bed?” the masculine Voice returned.
    “Yes, but--”
    “Or behind the curtains?” the feminine Voice added.
    “We’re alone--”
    “How about behind the mirror?”
    “They could be watching now!”
    “Or laughing!”
    “Or even videotaping!”
    “STOP!” John screamed. The Voices disappeared just as fast as they were conjured by John’s mind. He sat alone on his shag carpet, searching the floor frantically for his bear. The bear, which he had kept hidden for most of his life, is kept in such a secret place that nobody except him even knows of. It’s his prized possession, his most understanding and comforting friend. The stuffed bear had cotton coming out of every nook and cranny, yet John never worked up the courage to throw it out.  This bear was always there when John needed to make stuff go away: his dad, the tears, the videos online, and now the Voices.
    Heavy footsteps and frantic breathing filled the room as the grandfather clock chimed two in the morning in the hallway. The comforter was torn from the bed, and books were strewn across the shag carpet on the floor. He climbed onto the squeaking bed frame, ripping sheets from the mattress in search of his treasure. He looked up, desperate, and a small flicker caught his eye. Down on all fours, John stooped low like a lion about to pounce. The bed frame  squeaked as the teenager’s weight slowly shifted to the ground, gaze still fixed on the tiny beam of light protruding from the wall. He reached his point of interest and stopped. John sat on his knees like he was a small child again, waiting to be protected from the monster hiding in his closet.  Head c***ed to the side, body leaning over, John just stared.
    “How peculiar! Why don’t you go and touch it?” a british accented Voice sneered. “It won’t bite, now, will it? Or are you too weak to even try? Hmmm? Which one is it? Weak, or are you the coward everyone at school thinks you are? Go on. Touch it. I dare you. I bet you won’t. I bet--”
    “OKAY!” John screeched, and the emptiness he felt behind him signaled that the Voice had left. One shaking finger reached out, as if acting on its own accord. Gently, it blocked the light source, and left as quickly as it had come. A fist quickly connected with the sky blue wall, causing dry wall to go crumbling to the floor. The action was repeated and more light flooded the dark room. John punched, kicked, screamed, scratched, and clawed at the wall; each motion more frantic than the last. The result of his actions was an aperture just big enough for him the scoot through.
    Slowly, he slid on to his too skinny stomach, army crawling into the ominous opening.  Curiosity fueled his actions, yet he was sure he did not want to know the outcome. The bright light blinded the teen as he got to his feet, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Sky blue walls greeted him first, along with a shag carpet. Dark blue draping shades covered the window and hid the contents of the room from the outside world. The bookcase, the desk, and the closet were identical to the room he had just exited. John was light headed, and felt as if he was about to faint, until yet another thing caught his attention.  A light brown tuft of fur stuck out from behind the bookcase. This made the boy freeze, since nobody had known the whereabouts of the bear except him. He bolted to the bookcase and freed his only friend, hugging it tightly only to drop it in surprise. A wall, a massive collage of pictures, covered the ceiling of this imposter room. John turned in circles, attempting to take in the extent of this massive collection of photos.
“Who had done this?” John questioned to himself. Then, a Voice, one he had hid and blocked out for so long, came flooding back to him all at once.
    “Hi, friend,” the Voice spoke, chilling John to the bone. He stood completely still, but he could almost sense as if the presence was circling him. Still staring at the ceiling, John listened with a sense of fear enveloping him. “ I told you I was right, yet you never tend to listen to me, do you? You blocked me out, since deep down I was your nightmare. I consume your thoughts,” the raspy Voice of an old woman continued. “ You thought you could get rid of me. You thought you were better off without me. Well, look at where you are now. I could have warned you, but I was banished from your brain. Now, kid, look at these pictures. A teenage boy brushing his teeth, unsuspecting to another in his presence. A sixteen year old child, learning to drive without his father. A lanky teen, lashing out in school. A poor, helpless soul, unsuspecting to the world. Let me back in, John! I promise I will be better,” she rambled. John shut down his mind as an attempt to stop the thought crippling Voice. He could feel her try to take over his thoughts and control his actions. To escape, John did the one thing he knew he could. He ran away. He ran out of the duplicate room, into the early morning air. He ran away from the Voices, the problems, the stresses of life. His heart pounded, he lungs burned, and his legs were cramping, yet John knew that he had to keep going. The teen sprinted down the worn path, almost reaching freedom, when his leg was quickly yanked away from the ground. Suddenly, the sensation of falling jolted him awake.