• the faint tapping against wet glass. disjointed beats played against my agitated heart. my heart throbs blood, pulsing warmth across my neck and to my wrist, where i hear you trying to talk to me through the tapping of the glass. the light from the window shines through moonlit speckles of dew, the remains of a late afternoon shower. only the trickling remains audible. it dabbles on soft and forgoing, though the sound is cut by the abrupt knocking. though the knocking is gentle, it is not friendly. it's intention was to stir you from slumber, and to instil the air with fear. Nothing can prepare you for what it is you see when you look up. It's identity is hidden well within the shadows of your mind. you don't even have the capacity the materialise the false image of what is you hear. a sudden vibration, pulls you from a place a fear, into one of terror. you notice that your phone is ringing beneath your sheets, but it is not making a sound. it has been put on silent. you submerge deeper under the covers, and search for your phone. when it is found, it shows an unknown mobile phone number. still ringing, ringing, ringing... you let it go to voicemail. beneath all that is soft, warm and safe, you still hear the faint tapping against the glass. "please go away" you whisper in the most pleading of voices. there is no response, the tapping still continues...

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