he knows how to get in your head.
he walks up to you, in the middle of the night. you start, and throw yourself out of bed; he holds his hands up and apologizes. you get your gun from the side table drawer, the one you keep for emergencies.
'go on, shoot me,' he says. you point the gun at him, fingers trembling, eyes dry from sleep. should you shoot him? you don't know. he looks so innocent; and besides, he hasn't done anything. you start to lower the gun, and he smiles.
that's it. put down the gun. i haven't come here to hurt you.
you put down the gun. his voice is so reassuring.
you're tired; so tired. that bed looks so warm, doesn't it?
it does, but you don't want to admit it. you're focused on him. the gun clatters to your feet.
you're so sleepy. it's way too early to be up.
you find yourself nodding slowly.
he steps forward, into a shaft of moonlight. you expect his eyes to glint, but he has none. his mouth curls a little when you notice, and you see that he has no teeth, either.
i'm not here to hurt you. i'm just going to leave-
he doesn't have fingers; his body is skeletal and white. you swear he looked normal when you woke up and you're starting to panic, now -
shhh.
deep breaths. you clutch a hand over your chest, and sink to your knees. you're gasping. something has grabbed your lungs and wrenched them from your chest. but the man hasn't moved.
has he?
you look up and there's nothing in front of you but the white wall and its hangings. you try to take some reassurance from the pictures on your desk, but the moonlight has bleached them, and now it looks as if he is in every photo.
a hand around your waist. cutting your cake as a child. playing tennis with you.
do you see me, sweetheart?
you throw your head back to scream, but the sound shivers back into your stomach. you catch a glimpse of him standing behind you. his eyes are sockets now. his nose is gone. his skin has rotted away.
sweetheart, i won't hurt you.
somehow, you believe him. something snakes its way into your hair, onto your shoulder, around your waist. your ribs clench; your bones creak, your muscles yank. you can feel bony fingers all over you, but he hasn't moved an inch. he's still standing in front of you, hands up, brown eyes wide and pleading.
your heart yanks from your chest.