She could hear them laughing and bickering amongst themselves — the four Turtles, their voices raised as they sat in her living room. She wasn't sure how they had gotten back into her home, but it didn't seem to matter — they were here now, and she felt a warm gladness at the thought.

And suddenly she was there too, in the same room with them. But she seemed to be separate from them, watching as they spoke amongst themselves and occasionally shoved each other. There was a mistiness, a distance between her and them that she felt she couldn't cross, no matter how much she wanted to. So she stood silently, her hands clasped in front of her.

Then three of them were gone. They didn't fade away or even blink out of existence — it was more like they had never been there in the first place, even though she clearly remembered they had been.

The only one left was Don, who was crouched on the floor with his head bowed and his knees drawn up to his chest, as if he were in pain and trying to hide it. He didn't look up at April as she approached, even though she knew he was aware of her presence. She could see him so clearly at this distance — every whorl and spot on his shell, the faint movement of his mask tails in the wind, the shift of his muscles under his green skin.

And suddenly her apartment had changed as well — the walls were darker and harder and without windows, and the only light came from a single bulb in the middle of the ceiling.

"Donnie?" she said at last, reaching out a hand. "Are you okay?"

He looked up at her then, and she was shocked by the bone-deep sorrow in his eyes. Sorrow, and what looked like betrayal, raw and painful.

"No matter what," he whispered, "I want you to close your eyes."

And then she woke with a gasp.

For a moment she wasn't sure where she was, her eyes still filled with the sight of Donatello's face. Then she sat up slowly, the book she had been reading sliding down her stomach.

Her bedroom was filled with warm, soft light from the lamp on her bedside table, which she had left on when she dozed off. Outside her window, the world was dark and clouded. Rain was running down the window in little streams, and she could hear thunder rolling across the sky.

Cold chills slid over her skin like damp, clammy hands. Something about the dream stuck in her mind like an autumn leaf clinging to a window, making her feel that something had gone horribly wrong. She knew the Turtles were all right — she had seen them just a few hours ago, and they had all been fine. Including Don. Especially Don.

Her face flushed as she remembered the firm warmth of his shoulder and throat against her face, the way his arm had effortlessly supported her. Enough thinking about that, she told herself sternly.

Still, her hand slowly moved towards her cell phone. She would call them first thing in the morning, just to make sure they were okay. Leo, probably — he tended to wake up the earliest.

April sighed, and sank down under the covers. She needed her sleep now, more than ever — she had a big day planned tomorrow, and couldn't afford to drowse off the way she had during movie night. She shut her eyes tightly, and tried to clear her head.

But then she heard something creak outside her door.

Instantly her eyes snapped open, and she felt hairs prickling on her arms. Without thinking, her hand slipped underneath her bed and groped around for the baseball bat she knew was there.

It had been a gift from Casey from the year before. He had expressed worry about her living above a store alone, and had insisted she take one of his bats in case a burglar broke in again. April had scoffed at the time, but now she was fervently grateful she had taken it.

Her heart was racing as she crept towards the door, making sure to avoid the creaky spots on the floor. If she was facing a burglar armed only with a bat, she wanted to make sure she had surprise on her side. Gripping her bat even more firmly, she threw herself against the door, knocking it wide open.

For a moment she saw nothing in the darkened living room beyond — just the angular shapes of furniture dimly jutting out against the shadowy walls. A flicker of lightning from outside briefly lit up the room, casting inky shadows across the floor. She lowered the bat slightly, her green eyes roaming across the room as they adjusted to the darkness.

And then she saw it — an impossibly tall, angular figure, seemingly spun out of solid shadow, standing in the middle of the room. It was completely still, so that a more casual look might have mistaken it for just another shadow. But there was something about it — a bone-chilling coldness that seemed to radiate from its narrow body.

And it realized April had seen it.

Then it moved in a quick, jagged motion, almost as if it were vanishing from one spot and instantly reappearing in another. Its body was flickering now, as if it were made of black fire, and its faceless, eyeless head was turned towards her, intent and unwavering.

Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a bird desperately trying to escape its cage. She raised the bat in fingers that would have trembled if they hadn't been gripping the wooden club, and quavered, "D-don't come any closer."

It looked down at her again. As if to mock her, it jerked and moved closer again, stooping lower as if staring her in the face.

"I said get away!" April shouted, her voice rising almost to a scream.

More silence, except for the crack of thunder that sounded above the stormclouds. Then it reached out towards her, with a long, bone-thin, jointless arm that seemed to uncurl from the main part of its body, with fingers like burning twigs. And that coldness — the bone-deep chill that radiated from it — was so piercingly intense now that April swore she could feel frost forming between her joints….

With a cry, she swung the bat with all her might.

She didn't expect it to actually do anything — not to a ghastly specter dredged up from her worst nightmares — but the bat passed through the shadowy creature's arm as if it had been made of water. April felt a brief, insubstantial resistance against her swing, followed by the bat almost flying from her hands.

The shadowy specter seemed to rear back, its arm dissolving into nothingness. She wished she knew what effect she had had, but its lack of a face — even a blank one — told her nothing.

Then it seemed to simply evaporate into a fine dark mist, which dissolved as well into clear air, leaving only a chill in the air to show it had ever been there.

April sank to to the floor, still clutching the bat tightly to her chest. For a long time, she didn't move.