It was a late night. It was always a late night when it came to work.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsNX5wpjFMn
Then again, it didn't compare to the dead, pitch-black house as Adam stepped inside, tossing his coat onto the rack.
It fell on the floor, but he'd pick it up later, unless Eleana complained about it and fixed it tomorrow before he did. Adam did one last futile look outside through the peephole before locking the door, welcoming in the darkness.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCUoRGuQZlr
In his forty-five years living in this house, never had he felt the blanket of pitch black leech the life from him. Maybe it was the way the trees shaded them from the sun. Or maybe it was the flickering lights in the kitchen, the same ones his wife constantly told him to change.
He couldn't. Something stopped him, like a string he couldn't see wrapping around his body. Nonetheless, he laid his shoes on the mat by the door, took a deep breath, and stepped inside to his room.
Eleana was there, wearing black-rimmed glasses larger than the book in her hand. At the sight of Adam, she did a quick glance, then hummed dismissively.
"Hello to you, too," Adam said. Normally, a fight would brew like an espresso, but today sapped the energy from his voice, feeding the tension in the air. Perhaps, in the morning, they'd embarass themselves in front of their daughter again, but tonight? Rest was much needed.
He was in bed, the darkness swallowing everything but the moonlight outside the window. Sleep tempted him through every drop of his eyelids, but the spasms in his heart forced him to stay awake.
It was a quiet storm barreling through. A storm of dread and suspicion. He heard it whisper like wind against the glass. He felt the sheets covering his feet shift, or maybe it was just a trick of the mind?
Yes, exactly that. Adam had been surviving this week on pure caffiene and adrenaline. He didn't know left and right at this point. Maybe the random wisps of air was just Eleana, or their beloved Corgi, Rascal, hogging the space in-between them.
And these weird pin-prick sensations against his spine? The comforters slowly shifting away from him? Maybe Rascal, too. He loved tearing anything he could get his hands on. Still, Rascal's breath didn't send Adam fainting off the bed, and there wasn't a mess of hair anywhere, either.
Adam groaned, rubbing his eyes for the third time that night. He must've been sick. Either him, Rascal, or both of them.
After a soft sigh into the void, Adam got his phone, put the flashlight on, and navigated the hallway, stepping inside the bathroom.
A quick switch of the light told him everything. Those sunken, mud-colored eyes stared back at him in the mirror. His beard was more matted than Rascal's after a roll-around in the grass. More wrinkles than his white, long-sleeved shirt settled in his face, and no amount of caressing would get rid of it.
Adam groaned, dropping his hand back onto the countertop. Maybe he could use a day off, but how could he email his boss at the witching hour?
Maybe early tomorrow, he could make up an excuse that he was sick, and by the look of it, he could be really sick, hearing and feeling things that weren't there. Even walking back after his facial examination didn't stop the chills riding his back.95Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjevhfGoF78
Sleep. He just needed more sleep. A few minutes, an hour, he didn't care. Anything to stop hallucinating.
Anything to get rid of those eyes in the corridor, tracking his every move even as the door blocked them.
ns216.73.217.14da2
and then Add to home screen.