To this day Paul has no idea what it is about 1.45am. He just knows that there is something that wakes him up, not quite a noise, not quite a movement.
But one night remains set in his memory. He had come home at around 11pm to an empty house. His parents were away on holiday and the 20-year-old was tempted to stay out with his friends, but he just wanted to get a good night’s sleep.
The summer night air was stifling. He went straight to bed, opening the window wide to let in what little breeze there might be.
Paul lay on his stomach as he always did, covered only with a sheet, and within seconds he was fast asleep.
And then, he was suddenly wide awake. The room was still and silent. He had no idea what had disturbed him. He felt no traces of grogginess to indicate that he had been asleep. And yet, when he turned his head, the alarm clock on the bedside table said 1.45am. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep but he was wide awake. Something was not right but it took him a few seconds to realise what it was.
There was silence. Not the normal hush you would expect at that time in the morning but rather a thick vacuum, as though all the normal sounds of garden, traffic and wind had been sucked out of the room.
Paul twisted his head around just far enough to look at the window beyond the end of his bed. The window was still wide open but there was not a breath of air ruffling the curtains. Nothingness.
In spite of the balmy summer air, a cold shiver ran down his spine
And yet outside it seemed to be almost dawn. Perhaps the alarm clock had stopped. He turned his head to look at the alarm clock but it had disappeared.
What was going on? He stared at the bedside table. The clock had not fallen onto the floor. It had just vanished.
Paul lay still on his stomach, struggling to figure out what was happening. And then he felt the sheet being pulled off him. It slipped down a few inches and then stopped. Had it been a blanket, he would have perhaps been able to blame the movement on its own weight dragging it down. But this was just a sheet and the sensation was certainly not of something slipping. If he had any doubt, it was dispelled within the next few seconds.
In spite of the balmy summer air, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He is not ashamed to say that he was terrified. From the moment the sheet started moving, he did not dare turn round, terrified of what he might see. His skin tingled with the sensation that there was something behind him. And the sheet was tugged down a bit further. He was frozen in terror, not even daring to breathe.
What was happening?
And then with a sudden sigh of relief, he realised that it was probably just his cat. Of course, that was it. The cat would often sneak into his room and snuggle up on the bed... The door was shut but perhaps she had somehow managed to climb in through the open window. He almost groaned with the pleasure of finding a logical solution. He got out of bed and padded across to the door to let her out but as he opened the door, the cat slunk in, rubbing up against his legs as she walked.
He looked at her, unable to accept that his logical solution had suddenly been deflated. The cat leapt onto the bed and was about to snuggle down on the rumpled bedclothes, when she stopped suddenly and looked at the sheet, which was now in a pile at the end of the bed.
Her ears pricked up and she bared her teeth. Without warning, she jumped off the bed again and disappeared through the door.
Paul was transfixed by the sight of the sheet, expecting it to move again. He has no idea how long he stood there. Eventually he took a deep breath and strode over to it, trying not to let his imagination drag him along on its flights of fancy. He took one corner of the sheet and tugged it off the bed in one brusque movement, throwing it high into the air.
And there was nothing there.
Paul felt absolutely foolish. The fear started to ebb away and he checked the whole room, in the cupboards, under the bed. Nothing.
He got back onto the bed and decided it was warm enough to leave the sheet on the floor. No harm in being careful. He lay down, suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline rush of the past minutes drained away.
And then he noticed his alarm clock. It was on the bedside table again. He stared at it uncomprehendingly. The time was 5.15am. Three-and-a-half hours had passed since he had felt the sheet pulled off him.
Paul has never mentioned the story to his family and they still live in the house in Mdina. But he still often wakes up at 1.45am for no apparent reason.
This is the 21st in a series of short stories The Sunday Times of Malta is running every Sunday. It is taken from The Unexplained Plus (Allied Publications) by Vanessa Macdonald. The first edition was published in 2001 and reprinted twice. It was republished, with added stories, as The Unexplained Plus. The Maltese version of the book, Ta’ Barra Minn Hawn (Klabb Kotba Maltin), is available from all leading bookstores and stationers and from www.bdlbooks.com.