Chapter 1

The gentle tick-tocking of the clock upon the mantelpiece was the only offer of company in the dead of night. As I sat, clutching fingers in the green leather armchair of the lifeless lounge, it was all that my senses would dare examine, for the rest of the room dwelled in shadow and silence that begged for the presence of a sleepless corpse. Mindful of my own tirelessness, the thought of sleep teased like the proverbial carrot on a piece of string, forever out of reach, but the taste tickled the tongue as if it were really there. The thought could only make me hungrier the more it lasted.

I had to remove myself from the illusion, and so I rose to weak feet, a threat to the lounge that its comfort was no longer required to keep me appeased, that I was strong enough to keep the grasp on my own destiny. I could walk from the oak door to the other side. I could free myself from the shadows of that lifeless lounge.

But the room rebelled as I knew it would. The windows burst open with the onslaught of a violent wind, inviting the once-resistant curtains to a lively waltz. The door I so wished to pass shook, shuddered and shivered, a growl like a rabid dog, but I was confident in my ability to tame such a savage beast, so I crept forward and away from the green leather armchair. Trembling fingers cuddled the doorknob and soothed its aches, calming the shaking door to nothing more than a stutter.

That small victory was short-lived. The gentle tick-tocking of the clock upon the mantelpiece withdrew its offer. The wind that divorced the curtains from the window retreated to the trees in cowering. Cowering from the beast that remained centre-stage in the frame of the window, haunting in portrayal and purposeful in intent. The long black appendages untangled, the shedding of a spider long cocooned, prickled fingers crossing the barrier to the lounge. I did not see the face. I did not see the mouth. I only saw fingers upon the walls and the shadow of the beast, and that was enough.

I mustered the strength required to pass through the quietened door, and made certain to close off the boundary with a firm twist of the lock when my passage was secure. Surely, there would be somewhere safe from the beast that lurked outside.

The muffled tip-tapping of my feet upon the polished floor was a welcome rival, a familiar foe whose threats were so worn down with time that it had become a peaceful struggle, but likely would less familiar foes watch from afar and pick a perfect occasion. Never had I been so alert as I ascended the stairs. Never had I been so frightened as I tip-tapped through the maze of silhouettes and statues, for a shadow hid in every one, and every shadow was a plague in the night.

Yet my path was free, for I could see ahead the place where I lay when problems were all that seemed to be. So enthralled to meet the door, I no longer cared for the tip-tapping, and I ran without care, without fear, because fear was not something that existed there. It was mine. It was safe. It was good.

I stepped inside and secured the door with pleasure. No beasts to find, no shadows to hide. Just me. Alone.

A sofa to view the television, and video games to hoist a heavy mind. The bar to house the poisons that so elegantly would chase away such monstrous beings. All accompanied by nothing other than the thum-thumping of the heart that sang within my chest.

So safe. So sound.

But no home was secure. No bed was without a shadow beneath for the monsters to reside.

And indeed, my room was no longer impervious, for I had let them in when I so carelessly leapt through the doorway. And this time, I had been so foolish to turn the lock and seal my own fate.

The television flickered once. Twice. The black of its sleep became the black of a hole so deep into the ground that blackness couldn't compare. There the monster unfurled, pleased to have found its way into my comfort. The fingers wrapped around the frame of the television, creaking, cracking like husks tormented and twisted. A head arose, blackened and indistinct, not the face of a mother's child or of some godly entity. A faceless face. A reflection of an empty shell.

I could look no longer, so repulsed and desperate for ignorance to rid me of the ghoul that dragged itself into my reality. For comfort I would look elsewhere, to the bar that housed the poisons that chase the beast away. But there, sitting on a velvet stool, a waiting patron, the monster beckoned again. Echoed laughter, once a message of the shelter of a passing conversation, drifted to my ears, a memory of the subtle origins that foretold of the being's nightmarish presence.

And alone, I had no defence, no aid to stop the oncoming. From afar the clock would mock, tick-tocking once more to the beat of the blackened footsteps that approached to engulf me, to wrap spindly claw and gnashing maw around my beating chest. And as I collapsed back to the ground, I could only recall the sound and the sight, the monster trying to break in, the danger of the open door. The claw that cuddled the contents of my face, a deceivingly subtle touch to the major senses as it worked to tear my chest asunder and rip out the very essence of my being.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

"Marco."

Suddenly I could take control. I reached up with bloodied hands to grasp at the heavy air, to lift myself away from the monster that restrained me to the polished floor.

"Marco!"

I leapt up from the floor and threw away the restraint! The ghoul effortlessly crumpled and retreated away from my feet. But no longer was I home. No longer was there a bar, or a dead television set. What I saw was a window, hidden partially by the fabric of thin curtains. Moonlight poked through the gaps, casting still shadows across the floor.

"Get them away!" I cried out, pulling my knees to my chest, still so alert to the danger…

"Marco! Snap out of it!"

Jake?

I was not truly there. The mansion was history. I was back in Yellowstone, back on a springy mattress. The duvet had been flung away, and I was left shivering in the bitter cold air.

Jake had a hand on my shoulder, and his stare was unrelenting. "Dude, wake up!"

"I'm awake," I insisted. "I'm awake.