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It was going on 2am and Greg Richards had not yet fallen asleep. It might have been due to the heat, it was the warmest day of the year and that carried over into the night. And it was dark…almost no light at all, just that sense of edges and walls. It all lay across Greg with palpable weight as he lay on the bed at a slight angle, covers askew exposing his naked six foot frame to the night.

There was a simple bump that, more than sounding, pulsed the air…and then a slight floorboard squeak. Both were normal in this old house, it had its share of rattles and squeaks after all. But neither was quite in place, neither reflected the proper signature of oak or plaster. Knowing this, Greg turned his head to the left to see, for lack of a better expression, what might be coming into view.

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