He's in all of us. He knows our minds. He can see through our eyes. He's an outcast living in the inside - the ghost of society.
Enter the dark and tragic life of the lowly James Johnson as he trudges forward as an office drone in a boring textile...
Word of the day: Poltroon. Someone who is a coward. Like me.
Right. So, I wish I could tell you I turned around and investigated the stranger under the staircase. But I didn't. My whole body stiffened, my fingers webbed out, the fine hairs on my back shot through the fabric of my office clothes, and my feet escorted me back up the stairs at a surprising speed.
I crashed through the door and slammed it behind me. My back was pressed up against it and my eyes were burning from my sweat. Catching my breath, I slowly turned around and with shaking hands, locked the door.
Maybe, just maybe, it was all in my head. But I knew it wasn't true -- a voice like hers lives in one's mind long after she has spoken. It was unique without being scary; rough without being masculine. It wasn't the actual tone of her voice that scared me, but merely the fact that there was a voice that spoke to me from the darkness.
Apart of me wanted to visit her again, another wanted to pretend it never happened. But who was I kidding? Even though I did scare easily, I was also a lover of mystery and curiosity.
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