Ian hates silence. Silence traps him. He always hums for a while before going to sleep. Ian has a cold. His vocal cords ache. He can’t hum. His phone? Dead. He hears something. Deep, laboured breathing. From under the bed. He looks to the side and screams.
Two eyeballs stare back at him. A muscular arm rolls around. But it is the cracked skull lying half-hidden in the shadows that terrifies him most.
Ian wakes up with a start. Sweat drips down his temples. His heart thuds loudly. Was it just a nightmare?
