I’m looking for something. I know it’s in that room. I just don’t know yet what it is

The thing with houses at 3 a.m. is that they’re dark. And full of sounds you don’t seem to notice during the day, like the humming of electronics, like creaking of the stairs. Like something scratching just outside.

It’s not that the dark or the noises bother me. It’s just that each sound makes me freeze and hold my breath, because it sounded so loud to me, what if it wakes my sisters, or my mother?

There’s a reason I’m doing this at three in the morning, instead of sleeping like a normal person who spent the entire day entertaining strangers and is going to have to do it all over again tomorrow.

My bed is calling my name, but the room at the top of the basement stairs is calling louder.

I’m not sure what I’ll do in there, once I get inside. Touch the dark, polished wood desk. Sit on the chair and feel the cracks in the leather. Run my hands over the ornaments and instruments, look for… for…

Something.

I’m looking for something. I know it’s in that room. I just don’t know yet what it is.

There’s a sound from outside, the hum of a car engine. For a moment, the front hallway is splashed with orangey light. Our street is a quiet, residential one, but I guess people can drive whenever they want to, right?

Nothing to worry about, Yair.