There's something dark in the corner of my room.
A figure, all black and hazy, with no eyes. Barely a shadow. My imagination.
I force myself to walk over and open my bedroom door. I don't look at the figure. It'll go away if I ignore it. So I ignore it, flip on the bathroom light and brush my teeth.
The sounds in the house are tenfold. Rain rattles on the roof, and with each rattle my gut tightens. I look straight into the mirror, straight into my own eyes, and ignore the infinite blackness beyond the bathroom door.
But that blackness creeps toward me as I stow away my toothbrush. Vapor curls round my heels. I whip around and the shadow is inches from my face. A sharp gasp hisses through my teeth.
I step back but my feet don't move. My body loses balance and I hit the floor hard, my head cracking against the linoleum, the impact sending black and white blotches across my eyes. Dizzy. When I sit up the world drifts lazily to one side and my eyes unfocus.
The dark spills into the bathroo