Reflections Of Angels

The Shadows That Come In The Night

Dec's headache had come back. He had woken up fine the previous day, gone to work fine, had gotten mad at someone at the bar and developed a searing pain right between the eyes. He'd gone to bed hoping it would go away, but it hadn't; in fact, he wasn't sure that the dark wasn't making it worse, more persistent. Now he was hyper alert, lying awake in bed in the wee hours of the morning; which for him was more like the middle of the night, as to make his day work with the bar, he usually slept until noon and worked until midnight, having a good chunk of the afternoon to himself and the kids.

Of course, this only worked if he slept. This had to be stress, had to be; it was all too much. After this, he was fully expecting an early grave.

The night around him was filled with so many colours; so many he somehow hadn't been aware of before. His room was awash with different shades; inky black, deep grey, dusty black, void-like black; creating the shapes of his room, a strange, ethereal, shadow version of the world.

The more he looked, the more he realised- they were moving. Slowly at first; spreading up like ink from the surfaces and crevices, twisting and warping. And then they became shapes; hands, they were hands, reaching out towards him in the dark. They whispered in his ear, secrets, so many secrets; he felt their brush on his skin, and then he felt the weight of forms in the bed besides him-

-He turned on the lamp.

Everything was normal. There were no hands, no whispering, no shadow people. His room was not a mysterious land of darkness; indeed, it was benign once more. Nothing.

He wasn't convinced- he was going insane!

And that is how Mina found him, down in the kitchen at the crack of dawn; an erratic mess, all lights blazing, anxiously making sandwiches.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

"No!"