You hear a rustle to your right and know you are finished. But then Watson hisses louder than ever before and whatever is around you vanishes. Watson’s eyes are wide and frightened, staring at a place right above your feet. You try to catch your breath and fail, resorting to hugging your cat tight.

Suddenly, she yowls and struggles to get away. One claw leaves a particularly deep cut on your chest; you jerk and let her go. She disappears down the hall and you realize you are alone again.

As alone as you can be with a bunch of monsters out for the kill.

You hear a ghostly chuckle, and you dart after your cat, but you cannot see her. Instead, you catch something moving out of the corner of your eye. You scream, but it was only a shadow. You decide that you have to get out, maybe stay at a friend’s house for the night. You run for an exit, calling for Watson. She doesn’t come.

As soon as you get close enough to see the door, your neck jerks backward. The monster has grabbed you by the hair and is dragging you toward the kitchen. You struggle. You kick and scream, but your feet connect with nothing. You scream louder. Ice is shoved into your mouth, but you can’t see who put it there. It melts quickly and starts dripping down your throat. You choke and sputter until you can almost breathe again. And then you hear it.

It is whispering your name. The words are scratchy but soft. The air thickens with a rotting smell. Soon, you are suffocating. But before you pass out from lack of oxygen, the monster releases your head and slams your body into your counter. You feel the bruise form on your rib, even as you are slammed into it again. The monster’s invisible arms are thick, strong. You cannot get away. You yelp from the pain that is now rocketing through your body. Yet you continue to shatter against it.

For a moment, the pressure recedes. You are sobbing with relief as the hands grab your neck. You are shoved forward. You hit something. The corner of the counter. It pierces your side, and you scream. In terror, in pain, in the longing for relief. You want this to be over. You need to go on living your life as it was before this night.

The solid corner breaks your skin. Your shirt. The blood. But it won’t stop. Again and again, you’re slammed against the counter. Whatever is behind you is hissing in your ear, whispering your name over and over again. Until you come to hate the name your parents gave you.

Your vision starts blurring at the edges, and the monster senses it. It releases you, lets you crumple into a pile on the floor. You don’t test the reprieve;, you just lie on the cold tile. More of your own blood pools around you, sticky and warm. You breathe in the strong stench of the blood, if only to realize you are breathing. You weep silently, knowing that whatever is in your house is still here. And you slowly stand up, facing the room.

You are done with the games. You are not some food to be played with. “Come get me,” you call. “Tell me what you want.” There is no reply. If you are going to die, you will go down with a fight. You lose your patience and scream, “Come into the light, you coward!” Suddenly your

kitchen windows open themselves and a burst of frigid air, too cold for the night air outside, slams into you.

“I am not a coward. I have chosen you because I was thirsty. I need to feed.”

The words surround you. You feel them rather than hear them, absorb their vibrations. You shudder.

“Let me go. Please.” You even consider falling to your knees to add to the effect. But you still feel the chilling laugh rattle in your bones. It mocks you, steals your hope. You are nothing. “What are you?”, you whisper.

“I am everyone’s companion. I am always around, outside of the light. And I am always hungry. Your fear. Your terror fills me, but it never satisfies. No, for that, I need blood.”

You don’t understand. You are scared, sweaty, panting, ragged, bloody. You are walking death.

Before you can answer, a shadow rises in front of you, splitting into different limbs and snaking across the wall, a vine creeping along the ground. Then, it takes the shape of a mirror, its surface shiny and glassy. When you look into it, you see a familiar face. Your own, staring back at you. And then, as you watch, your body stretches and warps, takes on a grotesque, distorted form. Your eyes fill completely with black; your skin clings to bone as it pales. Your reflection lifts one hand and wiggles its fingers at you, though each falls off with the movement. Blood oozes and dirt rains from your skin. You rub your real hands along your body, searching for truth. The mirror you smiles, a cold grin that would not look out of place on a murderer. And you realize what is wrong.

You are possessed by the monster.

You stumble back, only held up by the hand you are running from. You pull away and then there are ten hands, a hundred, a million. They hold you in place, allow little room. You sink down to the floor and cover your ears, burying your face in your knees. Still, the face of the other you invades your mind.

Do you know what I am now? I am the reflection in the mirror, winking back as you turn away.

I thrive in the shadows. I haunt from the darkness. I taste your fear.

So there is only one thing left to do. Run. Run faster than the creature. Escape. Live.

It senses your plans, though, and laughs. “You may try,” it sneers. And so you run. Through your house, looking for Watson, looking for an easy escape.

The back door. It is close. But before you get to the door, you pause, a hesitation that has catastrophic effects.

You sense the monster. It is in the room blocking the door, watching, waiting. It will strike. You cannot let it.

You look around the room. It is dark, illuminated by the full moon’s light. But there are things there. You can feel them. You know it is playing with you. And you will not entertain.

With a brilliant flash of light, the monster’s playthings are revealed. They are all children’s toys. They are your toys from years ago, but now alive. There are jJack-iIn-tThe-bBoxes hopping closer, clowns grinning maliciously. A broken doll utters “Help me” over and over and over. A monkey toy claps its hands, making the attached cymbals chime. They are all approaching. Your back presses against the door, and you look behind them, watch their shadows on the wall. And then, a foot from you, every toy in the collection stops. They stare, motionless as your back is to the wall. The monster moves out of a shadow, away from its control center.

It is a dark figure, this time illuminated by an outside street lamp. Its top half looks human, with long arms hanging, yet its bottom half looks like a dark cloud floating your way.

I am shadow. I am your deepest fear. I am your death.

The toys vanish, and the monster disappears back into shadows, but you know it’s not over. You jump at a sudden wail from the kitchen. You run in, ready to save your cat who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You skid to a stop in the entrance.

Watson is sitting on the counter stained with your blood. The monster’s form lurks behind her. You hold out your hand and cluck softly. Watson lunges. She tears at your mouth before you can get a grip on her. You grab her scruff, ready to rip her off. But a feeling washes over you. It feels like a fog is washing over your skin, moving from head to toe.

And you’re now the monster.

You feel everything the monster does. You feel the hunger, long for blood. Your mind is taken over, making you want this. Your body slowly changes from human to shadow. You disappear into the darkness. Watson yowls and darts away. You watch her go, laughing softly to yourself. There are only so many places for her to hide.

Your nose jerks to attention. You smell blood. You smell dinner.

You smell the neighbor waking up.