You hear something creaking under the floor boards tonight, as you lay there and daydream about the red butterfly.
You see it fluttering across the Golden road when you try to sleep at night. It's difficult to shut your eyes without seeing it. Sometimes you feel it, crawling on your skin, crawling across the backs of your thighs, the backs of your hands.
You feel it's wings flutter against your flesh, but when you feel for it in the dark with grasping hands; nothing is there.
It's a vicious cycle you don't want to repeat again tonight, so instead, you listen to the floor boards.
One of them is broken, you know it is, you hear it creaking. You can feel the wind flowing up from it.
Even though. Even though, no light ever shines in from the day, of that broken board.
Only an endless sea of eyes that glow purple in the dark, with too big smiles and gnashing fangs, waiting to eat you?
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