A small boy sat in his room, his blanket pulled up over his head and a small flashlight in hand while a book was perched on his lap. His eyes darted from left to right as he read with surprising speed, before turning the page and repeating the process. His parents had long since gone to bed, and he was the only person in the house who was awake.
Sometime later, the boy found himself getting far too hot for the blanket to remain over his head, so he quickly threw the material off and continued reading. Another half an hour passed, and through his imagination, he barely registered the soft creak of a floorboard by his door. The boy glanced up, keeping his torch on the book and staring out into the darkness. He wasn't completely sure why he didn't shine the light in the direction he was looking. He figured that the shock of noise in his quiet home breaking him out of his trance had simply obliterated rational thinking. It was late, after all, and as the night trickles along the brain becomes more and more sensitive to the surroundings.
Figuring his paranoia was the sign he should finally rest, he closed the book and clicked his flashlight off, before laying his head to the pillow and closing his eyes. He was about the drift off, when the right side of his bed dipped ever so slightly. Being one foot in the waking world, he merely grumbled and rolled to the opposite side of the bed.
It wasn't until he felt harsh breathing on the back of his neck did his eyes fly open and his muscles seize. With his sudden awareness, he heard a quite whisper.
"Have you noticed me, yet?"
