Him
By David Wing
He sat there in the corner chair and watched.
I could feel him, his eyes staring through the black and through the blanket that covered my body whole.
I shivered and shook and later I would cry.
The shadows that had lain languid across my bedroom floor now encroached with purpose. My skin prickled as the cold finger tips pushed under the sheets and edged ever closer, faster and then slower but ever forward and ever to me.
When I could stand it no longer I pulled the sheet with venom and lunged forward, at him, at HIM.
