It’s dark. It wasn’t like he really needed to see anyways. The darkness scared him, though. It felt like it was pressing down on him. Claustrophobia was inevitable. It wasn’t so much fear of the actual darkness, just what might be in the darkness. He shivered and pulled his blanket farther up to his chin. It provided a strange sense of comfort.
In one hour, it was nine o’clock.
Ten o’clock
Eleven
Twelve
One.

The paranoia was keeping him up. He was an insomniac in the worst of ways. The house creaked. Once, twice, three times.
No one’s on the stairs, he told himself
No one’s in the house
No one.

He prayed for a bit. He pulled the pillows close.
Two o’clock
Three.

He was past fear. His wandering mind circled above him. Sighing, he turned on his side and hung his arm off of the bed. The darkness swirled around him, his wide pupils making non-existent shapes in the blackness.

His hand grew warm and heavy. Something was holding it, but it was too late to feel scared. His chest felt slightly heavier, then his stomach, then his thighs. Almost like a cat was curled up on top of him. He smiled. It was comforting. Turning with another sigh onto his stomach, he was cloaked with a starry black ink and fell asleep with the universe on his shoulders.