Sometimes when you’re alone in the night, the silence seems to creep up on you. Its cold fingers thread themselves around your neck. It burns your skin, the cold fingers. Every little sound echoes, like the memory of a distant past resounding in your mind. The wind plays with a broken latch somewhere. The shadows dance in the flickering light, as other forms emerge from them. Two-dimensional images that seem to inch closer to the corner that you sit in. You unconsciously move back into the wall. The door rattles. The wind’s whistling seems louder now, singing a haunting tune. You get up abruptly and put on some loud music. Anything to make it stop. Your heart beats faster now. You keep glancing at the phone urging it to ring, but it stares back silently. You need the comfort of his voice to caress your soul. But you’re all alone. All alone.