It was two o'clock in the morning when they came. Doors were torn apart, discarded, and left in their wake as they entered the households containing sweet, untouched flesh. The steady thump of their footsteps echoed everywhere, down the streets and alleys, and soon into the houses of those asleep. Screams chorused through the night like an alarm clock erratically going off, but failed to wake anyone ahead. That was the only warning.

Chuck burst upright, sweat glistening from his face like a glazed donut. His hands were shaking, but he did not know why. The night light glowed from the corner of his room, emitting a soft, green wave of color that smoothed the room into peace, as if saying no monsters here. The only noise was his loud, haggard breathing that rasped through the room, threatening to disturb his only roommate who lived across the hall of their apartment. Chuck habitually stood up from his bed, glancing around making sure everything was in place, nothing disturbed or taken by an unknown force that irrationally hid at the back of his mind.

Everything was going to be okay. Just another nightmare. Another fricken nightmare. His hands were still shaking, the rough calluses reminding him of the job he had to wake up every morning for, construction. He rubbed his arms together, feeling the tension coiled around his surprisingly built shoulders. Building things kept the nightmares at bay and soothed his life into the steady pounding of his hammer that expertly piecing together pieces of wood like a jigsaw puzzle.

"Chuck?" Morgan must have heard his stamper. The door creaked open and Morgan's furry head popped through. "Is everything alright? Not the nightmares again Chuck. I told you you should've seen the therapist man."

Chuck shook his head calmly, though his breathing still came out in short gasps of air like he had ran a marathon. His voice came out hallowed and uneven, "It happened again Morgan."

Morgan's hand smoothed his beard, glancing around the room with his arms outstretched, beckoning for the mysterious force that Chuck feared to come out, teeth raised, and fight him. "Where is he Chuck? Where is this...guy."

Chuck lowered his body back on the bed, knees crunched in a fetal position as his masculine hands clenched with fear. "Check the window."

Morgan gave an exasperated sigh, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed the shaded window. "Not this again. You and I have seen too many movies, buddy, and I think it's beginning to get to your head."

Chuck's eyes narrowed. "Check the window." Morgan caught his gaze and shrugged his shoulders in a confusion of defiance.

"You need to trust me, Chuck. There is nothing, and I repeat, nothing, outside that window. It's what my therapist used to tell me. You give power to your imagination if you do what it tells you to do. Now it's telling you to open the window. Well Chuck, I'm putting my feet down here, metaphorically and physically. There is nothing outside the window, nothing."

Chuck began to shake, like there was an earthquake coiled inside his body, hiding away from whatever was outside the window. "Do it, Morgan. DO IT."

Morgan shook his head in defeat and walked over to the window, grumbling about doing this every other night. "Okay, Chuck. You win. Again. But like I've always said, there is nothing outside the window. Nothing." His hands quickly grabbed the blinds and threw them apart.

Facing Chuck, he opened his mouth, "I told you Chuck. There's nothing outside."

Chuck didn't answer, his mouth gaped open like a fish out of water. He let out a startling croak.
Morgan frowned, "What is it Chuck. Stop with your imagination buddy, you're only giving it power.
But Chuck couldn't reply, his eyes bulging out of his head as the tremors rocketed through his body.
"Chuck? Are you there? Chuck?"
Chuck pointed toward the window with one shaky finger, arced like a hook and throbbing with fear, unable to say anything.
Morgan turned slowly, figuring that one of the shadows had spooked him to a shriveled mess. "For the last time Chuck, there is nothing outside the win..." Morgan froze and stared.
Dark silhouettes of corpses marched out onto the streets below, like a marching band destined for hell. Thousands of them littered the streets, their clothes were tattered and ruined, but they still marched on with a purpose, one single purpose. To eat.