By Alexander Penney
Stirred from my rest, I glance around my barren bedroom, frozen in place. A soft wind feeds in through the cotton curtains and the scent of deep autumn draws my attention. In the corner of the room looms a figure hunched, facing away from me.
I call out for help, to free me from my rigid form. With face lowered, the form turns and approaches me, a wheezing breath mixing with the night gust. The creaking of floorboards and bones sends a shiver down my immobile spine as the shadowed visage lowers directly above my head.
Staring back at my own sunken eyes, I try to scream, but my voice is buried in my chest. With a grin, the other me raises its hand and with two fingers closes my eyelids.
* * *
Alexander is an occasional writer and musician. During the day, they work as a Social Worker in NYC. In their downtime, they dabble in poetry, fiction, and music that ranges from confessional to the mystical and all-around surreal.