Chapter 1

Ellen sat quietly at her computer. The clickety-clack of her fingers on the keys and the faint baritone whirr of the tower were the only sounds to interrupt the silence. Occasionally, her phrenetic tapping on the keyboard would need to be interrupted as she referred to her books or performed an internet search.

This paper needed to be turned in the next day, and by golly, it was going to be a masterpiece.

Unfortunately for Ellen, though, the hypothalamus of her brain was all too aware of the time and began its conspiracy to prevent her from accomplishing her task. It manifested itself as the occasional eye droop that Ellen attempted increasingly in vain to ignore.

As she struggled to maintain consciousness, she noticed a curious sight on her screen. A small message box had appeared there. The customary bing that accompanies such messages had escaped her diminished attention.

I know why you feel the way you do.

It was an odd message to receive, and was entirely unexpected, but it still hit close to home. Sure, she rationalized, all teenagers feel strange in some intangible, angst-riddled fashion. Nobody over thirty understands and all that jazz.

But what she felt was not the random, unfocused pining of a typical teenager. This she knew.

In fact, the reason she was still awake had not so much to do with wanting a perfect grade as it had to do with a secret she carried deep within.

She was terrified of sleep.

Months before, she had first noticed a strange sensation during that brief period of time between wakefulness and sleep. Initially, she dismissed the phenomenon as some odd aberration caused by a bad piece of pork or some television show. But it started happening on a more regular basis.

At the point where she allowed her thoughts of the day to disperse and started surrendering to sleep, she felt sensations that had once been merely odd, but were beginning to grow worrisome. They were not entirely unpleasant most of the time, but were growing increasingly intense. They were also extraordinarily difficult to describe.

At first, she felt something akin to a vague feeling of warmth that she quickly dismissed as being caused by a busted thermostat. She would wake up and reflexively throw off her bed sheets, even though it did little good. It was as though the heat came from inside her. Strangely, and most alarmingly, she discovered that she almost longed for that feeling. It was akin, she surmised, to the feeling of a drug craving - she knew she shouldn't want it, but the desire was overpowering at times.

The other thing that worried her was the presence - that was the only word she could think to describe it - that waited for her. As she started to fall asleep, something that seemed to emit light beckoned to her. A light that was not a light. Whatever it was, it was... alive. It... pulsed. It contained a tangible energy. A life force. An intelligence.

Ellen was terrified of it. And that was why she still sat awake in her room, ostensibly attempting to get a leg up in her classwork, but really trying to stave off the inevitable moment when sleep overcame her resistance. At least, she discovered, if she fought kicking and screaming against sleep, she didn't feel the odd sensatins nearly as strongly, even if she did have a nightmare or two.

In fact, it was during one of her most intense nightmares that the strangest thing of all had happened. When she woke up the next morning, all of the furniture in he room had been rearranged. It took a clever bit of explaining on her part when her mother had walked in to wake her and gaped wide-eyed at the mess.

And now there was the nondescript message that stared her in the face. It filled her with a mix of apprehension and hope, coupled with a healthy dose of caution. She had, of course, heard of a few too many cases of internet stalking cases that went horribly wrong. But she could not let the potential opportunity completely pass by, so she came up with the only response that made sense.

Who r u?

She was now very much awake. The surge of adrenaline caused by the mysterious message overcame any need for sleep.

I know why you see a strange glow that nobody else sees. I am here to tell you that you do not need to fear it.

Ellen's hackles rose significantly. This was no random message. Someone out there knew her most closely guarded secret. She had not told anyone – had she? – about her strange feelings because she was afraid of being called a loony. Afraid she really was a loony.

She could do nothing but repeat her previous query.

Who are you?

She waited impatiently for the reply. As she looked down, she noticed her hands were shaking. She was sure, now, that the person at the other end really did know about her, but she was also still very apprehensive. It still, as far as she knew, could be anybody.

Now you know that I am for real. I am afraid I cannot explain more here, but we know about you because you are not alone. Visit me at 323 Crestview Terrace and I will be able to explain more. We will be there tomorrow at 6:00 pm. I recommend you tell noone that you will be here. The world is not ready for us yet.

Us? Who is us? She tried to reply but whoever had sent her the message was already logged off. All she had left other than the creepy, cryptic, and yet prognostic messages was the screen name of the sender, "EyesInside." That, too, seemed prognostic. In fact, it was far more apropos than any description she had ever thought of before. It felt as if she could see inside herself.

And now she knew she was not the only person who could.

Chapter 2

Ellen could feel her heart racing as she walked up the driveway of the address she had been given. She pulled her jacket close to her as she strode up the walkway. The place, as far as she could see in the darkening sun, was an unremarkable house in a seemingly quiet neighborhood. She didn't see very many people milling about outside, which was not unusual given the chilly weather and late hour.

The overwhelming thought scampering about her head as she approached was: what the hell am I doing here?

Something lay on the other side of that door, and her psyche repeatedly blasted her with images of the worst possible scenarios. Was there some crazy guy in there who sent random cryptic messages to teenaged girls to try to snag one by chance? Was she going to be held prisoner? Raped? Murdered?

She couldn't remember exactly what the person had told her in his messages, but she did remember that, at the time, she thought he was too specific in his description of her for it to have been random. But now she was not so sure. Did he really say what she thought he said? Her mind scrambled to recall his exact words and was repeatedly distracted by thoughts of horror.

I really should turn back now, she thought. As the thought entered her head, she was suddenly bathed in light and jumped with fear. For a moment she felt as though all her fears were about to be realized as her eyes dazzled from the unexpected brightness. But after her panic subsided, she realized she had set off the motion-sensor porch lights. The night was still as calm as it had been.

She hesitated an instant more when she decided she was going to trust her instincts. She was about to turn and run, not walk, away from this house of horror when she heard a sound coming from the door. It was opening. She froze in place as the door swung open to what she was now certain was going to be her death. She was the deer and the hallway light emanating from the doorway was the headlights of the oncoming vehicle.

It seemed as though the door took forever to open. She was unable to breathe as her eyes widened at the emerging image of the person on the other side. When she did see him, she remained frozen. She was also very confused.

In the hours since her mysterious messages from the previous night, she had been forming mental images of the person who had sent them to her. They formed and reformed throughout the day until they settled on a middle-aged man with sun-darkened skin and a touch of gray in his otherwise black hair, along with a knowing smile and a baritone voice with an accent that was faint and difficult to place.

What she saw was a gawky, gangly fellow not much older than her who wore a pair of old jeans, a plain red tee shirt and unkempt curly black hair.

"Ellen, so glad you came!" The voice was a trifle squeaky and carried a tone of genuine friendliness, if not confidence. She imagined he probably got beaten up a rather lot in his younger days.

Her mouth, still dry, barely worked itself enough to form the word, "hi."

He looked down, still with a smile that now seemed more apologetic than friendly. "I don't blame you for being nervous. Truth is, it's hard for us to trust people with what we know. If I could have said more last night, I would have. Sorry about that."

"Who are you?" was all she could think to say.

"I don't think I can put it in words, really. I can only promise it's going to be a very – interesting evening for you. Please, come in." He stood aside and raised a hand to gesture toward the inside. Ellen could see movement and noticed there were other people inside, though she couldn't make out any details. Her feet were still frozen to the asphalt as her brain screamed out to her that she should run as fast as she could. The man – no, the boy – standing at the door certainly didn't look threatening, but she knew nothing about who was inside, and had no desire to look closer. Not yet.

His hand dropped to his side and he looked embarrassed for a moment. "I'm sorry. I know you're scared." He could certainly see it in her eyes. "I haven't even introduced myself." He walked out from the door and Ellen tensed as he approached. She still could not make her feet move. "My name is Tom. Tom Devlin." She looked hesitantly at the hand he extended to her and was almost surprised that it was, indeed, a hand and not talons.

She slowly met his hand with hers. "Ellen Jefferson," she said weakly, though she slowly found herself becoming more at ease with the young fellow before her. She was only mildly startled when Tom convulsed with a quick shiver.

"Ugh, freezing out here. I can understand if you still don't want to come in, but I'll die of frostbite in my tee shirt, so if you don't mind." Tom quickly and clumsily ambled back toward the door with his arms huddled together.

Something beyond that door could be the answer to so many of Ellen's questions, she thought. She was taking a huge risk, she knew, but despite herself, she started walking toward the door.

After all, she was cold.