* * * *
Harsh sunlight poured into the room, heating it and illuminating the dust particles floating in the air. The birds sticking it out through the harsh Wisconsin winter sang out, or perhaps they were just complaining, their screeches and chattering reaching Hunter through his closed and locked bedroom window.
Hunter lay in bed, not feeling refreshed but bone-numbingly weary. As he’d predicted, he had not slept at all the night before but had lain awake, listening for odd sounds that never came. In the morning he fell into a fitful sleep, stirring as nightmare imagery took hold: yellow eyes, the fall of a shadow on his parents’ terrified faces, disembodied laughter.