I kept trying to figure out how to get myself out of the situation I was in. Every night, I would stay awake and stare at the hands of the clock, willing them to move past 12am, so that I could forget about what I did. I could not stop thinking about the poor guy bleeding to death in the middle of the street. My mind kept telling me that it was not my fault, but my body’s response said otherwise. Maybe I wouldn’t have killed the poor man if I didn’t sleepwalk. The question kept passing through my mind: was it my fault? Did that poor man deserve to die? I kept asking myself those questions as my eyes filled with tears. Feeling the need to cry, I wondered why these things happen to me? Why me: am I not human, too?
At school, I tried to forget what I did but my thoughts would not leave me alone. I kept seeing the face of the man I had killed; in my sleep, in my friends, in my classmates, and in my teachers. My friends started to run away from me because they thought I was a weirdo. I was also bamboozled by the situation I was in. All I could think about was the poor, dead man who was killed by the beast inside of me. I started producing poor grades in school, leading my parents to take me to see a shrink, as they also noticed an abnormal change in my behaviour.
I stared at the psychologist as he asked me questions that would make me confess. When he finished talking, I started to feel a little better, but as soon as I stepped out of the room, it all came back to me. All my feelings became like thin ice; they cracked under pressure and I had serious meltdowns and nervous breakdowns. I was breaking down like an old car.
My parents suggested that we move to another town to start a new life. I did not mind that since I no longer had friends. On our trip, all I saw were happy people with big smiles, but I could only see a sad face when I saw myself in the car window. I told myself to let it go. I started a new life, regaining my confidence and making new friends. I forgot about my problems for a while, until the night of terror. I woke up holding a blade that was pointed at my little brother’s throat. I was sweating and breathing heavily as I covered his mouth, but he screamed anyway. I ran away from home to live on the streets.
I started having suicidal thoughts until I heard a voice in my head tell me to turn myself in to the police. Rather than killing myself I headed straight back home and I told my parents what I did. It was the end of my future.
It was the end of the somnambulist killer. My family and neighbours stared at me while the police took me away for murder. All I heard were sirens and my mother’s cry: it was the end for me.
Tell us: What would you do if you realised you had killed someone whilst sleepwalking?