It seemed brighter and the shadow of the window was larger. Was the moon coming closer to the earth?
I could hear Angieâs soft, rhythmic breathing beside me.
Michael was snoring.
I laughed quietly to myself. A low, nasally, grumbling sound came from his side of the room like low thunder. Poor Michael, he always thought he was so perfect. Now I finally had something to tease him about. All the way home I could imitate his buzzsaw snoring. That would help the trip go faster.
His wheezy inhalations got worse, became thicker and deeper like he had suddenly developed a really bad cold. He wasnât going to choke was he? Didnât some people die from snoring too loud? Or too long?
Or was it they forgot to breathe?
Gradually I realized the snoring sounded more like deep, throaty growling.
Not coming from Michael at all. But beyond him.
Outside the window.
A dark shadow was creeping slowly across the wall. A twisted, bulky shape edged up to the windowpane, blocking the moonlight. The silhouette grew larger. I tried to move my neck, to look towards the window, but all the strength had been drained from my body.
Boards moaned as if something huge had leaned its weight on the outside wall, trying to get closer.
To see what was inside.
Then I heard a sharp scraping noise like a nail being drawn against glass. Digging a deep groove.
I still couldnât budge. A cold Arctic mass of air crept into the room and was freezing me in place, slowing the blood in my veins, the thoughts in my head. I was trapped, helpless. I just stared at the shadow on the wall.
Angie wasnât breathing anymore. At least I couldnât hear her.
âAngie?â I whispered, my voice hoarse, my lips sluggish. It was hard to find the air to speak. âMichael?â
They didnât answer. I tried to move my arm, to jostle Angie awake. I could only edge it slowly towards her, an inch at a time. It was becoming very hard to concentrate. I felt, oddly enough, like sleepingâthat all I really needed to do was close my eyes and rest and everything would go away.
I knew I couldnât surrender to this drowsiness. It was a sleep that would leave me in darkness forever.
My heartbeat slowed. My eyelids grew heavier. I didnât seem to have the energy to stop them from sliding shut.
The house creaked. Even more weight was leaning on it now. The low rumbling outside the window grew louder.
With a huge effort I moved my hand an inch to my left and touched Angieâs arm.
She was ice cold.
âAngie,â
I whispered.
âAngie, wake up.â
No reaction. Not even a whisper. And I couldnât find enough strength to shake her. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. I blinked and my heavy, tired eyes stayed closed for what must have been a minute.
When I opened them again I could hear a soft sliding sound.
The window was being opened! I was sure of it. Slowly, quietly opened.
Then came a wet, hollow breathing. My limbs, my chest, everything had stopped working. I couldnât even feel really frightened except inside my head. I had to keep myself awake. Somehow.
The window slid higher, letting in a chilling breeze.
And with it came colder and colder air. Not outside air, but something far different, from another age, another place. Air from cellars a hundred years old. From dark caves. From the deep, undisturbed chambers inside burial mounds. Heavy with the scent of dirt. It spilled into our room.
Every time I inhaled, my lungs grew emptier so that I needed more air.
My breathing slowed.
My eyes closed again.
It took all my willpower to open them, to stop the sleep from settling in on me.
Now there was no moonlight Only darkness. Whatever was outside the window had blocked it completely. It must be huge.
Then came a cracking sound of boards slowly being broken as the window frame was tested. The shadowy shape was too big to fit through that space. And yet it was forcing itself inside.
I knew
I could hear Angieâs soft, rhythmic breathing beside me.
Michael was snoring.
I laughed quietly to myself. A low, nasally, grumbling sound came from his side of the room like low thunder. Poor Michael, he always thought he was so perfect. Now I finally had something to tease him about. All the way home I could imitate his buzzsaw snoring. That would help the trip go faster.
His wheezy inhalations got worse, became thicker and deeper like he had suddenly developed a really bad cold. He wasnât going to choke was he? Didnât some people die from snoring too loud? Or too long?
Or was it they forgot to breathe?
Gradually I realized the snoring sounded more like deep, throaty growling.
Not coming from Michael at all. But beyond him.
Outside the window.
A dark shadow was creeping slowly across the wall. A twisted, bulky shape edged up to the windowpane, blocking the moonlight. The silhouette grew larger. I tried to move my neck, to look towards the window, but all the strength had been drained from my body.
Boards moaned as if something huge had leaned its weight on the outside wall, trying to get closer.
To see what was inside.
Then I heard a sharp scraping noise like a nail being drawn against glass. Digging a deep groove.
I still couldnât budge. A cold Arctic mass of air crept into the room and was freezing me in place, slowing the blood in my veins, the thoughts in my head. I was trapped, helpless. I just stared at the shadow on the wall.
Angie wasnât breathing anymore. At least I couldnât hear her.
âAngie?â I whispered, my voice hoarse, my lips sluggish. It was hard to find the air to speak. âMichael?â
They didnât answer. I tried to move my arm, to jostle Angie awake. I could only edge it slowly towards her, an inch at a time. It was becoming very hard to concentrate. I felt, oddly enough, like sleepingâthat all I really needed to do was close my eyes and rest and everything would go away.
I knew I couldnât surrender to this drowsiness. It was a sleep that would leave me in darkness forever.
My heartbeat slowed. My eyelids grew heavier. I didnât seem to have the energy to stop them from sliding shut.
The house creaked. Even more weight was leaning on it now. The low rumbling outside the window grew louder.
With a huge effort I moved my hand an inch to my left and touched Angieâs arm.
She was ice cold.
âAngie,â
I whispered.
âAngie, wake up.â
No reaction. Not even a whisper. And I couldnât find enough strength to shake her. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. I blinked and my heavy, tired eyes stayed closed for what must have been a minute.
When I opened them again I could hear a soft sliding sound.
The window was being opened! I was sure of it. Slowly, quietly opened.
Then came a wet, hollow breathing. My limbs, my chest, everything had stopped working. I couldnât even feel really frightened except inside my head. I had to keep myself awake. Somehow.
The window slid higher, letting in a chilling breeze.
And with it came colder and colder air. Not outside air, but something far different, from another age, another place. Air from cellars a hundred years old. From dark caves. From the deep, undisturbed chambers inside burial mounds. Heavy with the scent of dirt. It spilled into our room.
Every time I inhaled, my lungs grew emptier so that I needed more air.
My breathing slowed.
My eyes closed again.
It took all my willpower to open them, to stop the sleep from settling in on me.
Now there was no moonlight Only darkness. Whatever was outside the window had blocked it completely. It must be huge.
Then came a cracking sound of boards slowly being broken as the window frame was tested. The shadowy shape was too big to fit through that space. And yet it was forcing itself inside.
I knew
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