<-- Hungry. Gr. -->

For some reason, it always hits at around 1:15 a.m. Always.

Hunger.

And for some reason, nothing ever sounds good. Gr.

Well, the other night I was in my room, trying to ignore my paranoia when the hunger hit. Just as it always does. Except this time it hurt, it hurt sooo bad, and I just had to get something to eat. So I grabbed a flashlight off the floor of my bedroom and felt my way to the top of the stairs, careful to turn it on only when I was about halfway down.

The shadows, they were everywhere. I suppose they're there during the daytime, too, but not the way they are at night. At night they're alive. They dance, they wink, they grin, they whisper, and their goal is only to torment you.

They want to be known.

And they want you to be scared.

I tried not to look, forced myself to stare straight ahead of me on my way to the kitchen. I felt frantically for the lightswitch, flicked it on and watched the light drown out all the shadow monsters in the kitchen. But I could still feel them, all around, in all the other rooms.

Finding a bag of croutons and a container of yogurt, I headed back for my room. This time might have been worse, though. This time I turned off the lights, but I didn't turn on my flashlight knowing the shadows would come back. They always do.

I sprinted. Literally. I sprinted for the stairs and up them, the whole time the darkness was alive, it was an object that could be felt and stroked, it was someone and that someone didn't like me. Always just a step behind is that suffocating feeling. That feeling that the night seems to have an abundant supply of.

That night, the darkness was watching me.

Croutons and yogurt never tasted better.