Prissy Protich Does Not Imagine Things In The Dark

Prissy Protich does not imagine things in the dark.

She doesn't imagine the white cloth in the corner of her eye as she passes the hallway to get a glass of water from the kitchen, nor the same cloth as she breezes out of her room right by the bathroom.

She just runs down the stairs as fast as her legs can manage to test her speed, is all.

Prissy doesn't imagine the face pressed up on the screen door of the back room,

does not imagine the presence in the garage when the lights are out.

The steps on the thick staircase and creaking of the stairgate when no one appears is just a figment of her mind, too.

She should know, after all,

It's her hand that's colder than ice.