I had only been in the flat a few weeks when I first heard The Feet.

It was night-time, and I had just returned home from work.

I dropped my bag and jacket on the floor in the hall. I didn’t even turn the light on.

I just stumbled through the flat through to my room and collapsed, face-first, onto my bed.

I lay there, not sleeping, the evening storm of drinks orders and bills and clearing tables rattling around the inside of my eyelids.

When, suddenly…

I rolled over, staring at the ceiling, at the unbelievable sound punching through it.

Was this a sleepwalking neighbour? A pacing midnight snacker?

I was still trying to figure out the whats and the whys, when the pacing…multiplied.

One set of steps became two sets of steps and then…more

I lay there, under the incessant stomping, unable to discern how many people, and how many feet, had suddenly begun walking around upstairs.

…upstairs.

This was a top floor flat.

The people upstairs, The Feet, were in the attic space.

Was I overthinking this? Was it even real?

I lay in bed, beneath the thundering of The Feet.

It’s not like I could go upstairs and ask them, whoever they were, to stop. There were no stairs. Even if I were awake enough, or brave enough, to climb into the attic and confront The Feet, I didn’t have a key…maybe this was why.

I rubbed my face. I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep.

I rolled out of bed and walked through to the kitchen.

There was quiet as I made myself some tea to try and calm myself down.

Maybe I had imagined the whole thing, maybe this was a sign that I needed to find a new job that wasn’t evenings, and wasn’t in a bar.

But then…

The Feet followed me. The stomping felt more pointed, violent, malicious.

I forgot about my tea and ran back to the bedroom.

The feet followed me.

I sat on the bed, starting to panic. This couldn’t be real, could it?

What did they want? Why were they doing this?

I went out into the hall and grabbed my bag, searching for my headphones, the big, noise-canceling, over-ear headphones for drowning out the cacophony of the night bus or the raging sea of a weekend crowd on the other side of the break room door.

I dived back into bed, pulled the duvet over my head, the headphones over my ears, and disappeared into the darkness.

I lay there, in the comfort of the dark, with calm, familiar sounds in my ears, gently encouraging me to unclench my jaw, my arms, my legs, my chest. I had already been tense before The Feet, and it took a while before my body would let itself be coaxed out of the safety of its fear.

I felt myself breathe, gradually slowing. I felt like I was floating in a gentle sea of sheets.

I don’t remember falling asleep, or taking my headphones off, or kicking the blankets off, but I slept.

The next day was a day off. I went to the park. I sat by the edge of a pond and watched the ducks.

The Feet did not return that night. I lay in bed, not sleeping, expecting them, expecting the coming rush of going back to work the next evening

The next day I quit my job.

The Feet did not return.