Something steps in front of the window, and it is large and thick. Bulky. It blocks the glare from streetlights and passing cars.
Panic. Fear, like a fist clenched around your brain. The fear of the dark, the unknowable. Your eyes search. They find nothing.
Your fingers fumble. They grip the string, then—
Light. A different kind from earlier; softer, duller. A pathetic dome. Barely enough to fill every corner and crevice. Your bedside lamp is on.
All you can do is look around your empty bedroom.
