It is dark. Darker than a night without stars, darker than the blackest black, darker than anything you can possibly imagine. No sound emits from outside of the window that I cannot see. Not a cricket creaks, not a firefly bats its wings, not a pin drops. It is quiet and dark. The only sound is my own uneven breathing. I lay, in my bed, under my covers, eyes wide open, trembling. Because they are coming. They’re on their way right now. There’s no way to stop them. There’s no way to slow them down. No way to run or to fight them off. All I can do is wait. A shot of coldness surges through me. I feel icy cold on the inside and out. Silently, they move swiftly through the streets, their long, pale feet pad on the concrete noiselessly as they approach. White glassy eyes are wide with eagerness. They breath in and smell the sweet, innocent, scent of fear. Sweat trickles down my face. It tastes bitter, like fear. They’re on my street. They’re at the door. They’re in my house. They’re down the hall. My door creaks open. They’re in my room. There’re at my bed.
….
And then I wake up. It’s morning. I look out my window. And I know they will be back.