The rain pattering against the tin roof did little to help her hear where it was or what was going on. Every once and awhile the wood would creak, making her heart leap out of her chest, but no matter, it would continue to race on until it finally stopped altogether.

Her breath came out in a wisp of cool air in front of her face, distracting her for only a moment. She looked down at herself, taking in how dirty she really was and how her hairs stuck straight up, almost painfully so, from the cold. The rags that hung lifelessly from her body would do her no good against mother nature. She’d have to find a way to keep warm soon, or else….

A footstep caught her attention. It gave out a steady creak from the floorboards just in front of her, half a second before the beast of a man came into view. Its metal mask covered all of its face, keeping it well hidden and protected. The eyes glowed like a fire in the night, already training on her form in the corner. It shouldn’t have been able to see her as she was tucked safely behind some barrels, hidden by the shadows.

Its heavy boots took another step, leading it inside and out of the downpour. Water droplets raced down its coat, not bothering to stay very long lest they offend the beast and ran to the floorboards for protection.

Another light, yet loud step in her direction. Those glowing eyes kept trained on her, intensity radiating from its form. It shouldn’t be able to see her. It shouldn’t be able to see her. It shouldn’t be able to see her.

As if the stare alone had been too much and burst her heart into two, he woke from his dream, sitting straight up in bed. His wife laid next to him, oblivious to her sweat-drenched lover.

He slipped from the covers, shakily making his way downstairs for a glass of water. While it would have been wise to turn on a light to avoid an almost bad fall down the stairs, he couldn’t risk it. The dark posed threats, but the light posed an even deeper threat. It’d give him away.

He didn’t know why he dreamed of being the little girl, why he’d dream of being in an old, rotten, most likely abandoned town somewhere in Asia if the neon signs in foreign writing were anything to go by. He didn’t know who the man was, why he always seemed - or perhaps, in this case, she - referred to him as an ‘it’, as if he couldn’t possibly be human.

The man never managed to get close and some nights, he never appeared, but he was always there. They could hear him moving around.

Like a whisper in the back of his mind, he always heard her. The whimpers, the shaky breaths, the blood rushing like a freight train, the pounding heart. He heard her, even though she never spoke a word, he heard her speak.

He’s here...