In the Night Time

You sit, hunched over your computer, finally putting the finishing touches to the piece of work to whom you’ve donated the better part of your evening. The glass beside you that was once full is now dried up and long forgotten, and the plate of food you finished hours ago is furnished with nothing but a few crumbs.

The sun has set and the blue dark hovers at the edge of your circle of lamp light, and you shiver slightly as your body at last registers the cold. You hit save on your work and close your computer down, rising slowly from your chair as bones and muscles and tendons scream their reluctance; you are stiff and it aches, but you must retire to your bed. It has been a long day and your eyes begin to hang, and you can feel the bags being carved into your skin. Time to sleep.

Quickly you undress, goosebumps prickling your flesh as the cold of your room nips at it. Hurriedly you scurry between the sheets and vibrate violently with shivers as you wait impatiently for your bed to warm up. The air feels thick in your lungs and breathing is less easy than it should be but it rights itself soon enough and, as you curl your toes inwards and out, you slowly start to doze.

You do not dream, not yet, because less than an hour later your bladder is full and you must leave the sanctuary of your bed. As you stand, the full force of gravity hits you and you waddle, rather than walk, your way to the bathroom. The feeling is so intense you cannot focus on anything else until finally, you reach your destination. Relief washes over you and you sigh contentedly, flushing and washing your hands. A brief glance at the mirror reminds you of what all of your friends keep saying: you need to sleep more. You look tired.

You begin the journey back to your room, shuffling tiredly as you yawn broadly and stretch out your whining arms. Just as you go to rub your sticky eyes you notice, just out of the corner of your peripheral, a light underneath the closed door to your study. That’s funny, you think, I could have sworn I turned the computer off properly.

The door opens with a creak - something it has never done before - and falls away from you slowly at your touch. Your apartment is cold, but this room is freezing. The dark is darker and the cold is colder, and the light from the screen isn’t the ordinary warm glow that you’ve grown fond of. The wall at the far side of the room is ablaze with it, your many books casting jarred and ugly shadows of black against the grey glare. Something about the light engenders a sense of unease at the back of your head, standing the hair at the nape of your neck on end.

Slowly you pad around the side of the desk, swallowing futilely through a dry throat. Panic keeps itself at bay in your stomach but fear starts to ebb in your eyes as you round the desk, and you cannot hold back the scream that escapes your lips at the image onscreen.