The ceiling shifted —
shadows thick as tar
pouring down the walls,
reaching for me like they’d been waiting.
A cough.
A sneeze.
A knock that didn’t come from the door I was staring at.
I said “Come in,”
but no one came.
That’s when I knew I’d been left behind.
Boots dragged across the floor.
I didn’t flinch.
Why bother?
They weren’t here to be stopped.
Then I was in my grandparents’ home —
or the memory of it.
Christmas lights glowed warm,
but the air burned cold.
Everything was just slightly wrong,
like a dream wearing the skin of my past.
She appeared,
and vanished faster than I could speak.
The silence after was heavier than her absence had ever been.
An office.
A nameplate knocked to the floor.
The shadow stepped in and whispered,
Don’t let her leave.
But it was too late —
she was already gone,
and so was I.
The figures came for me then.
Not rushing —
just certain.
Their smiles were hunger,
and I didn’t move when they reached out.
I prayed once,
softly, like a man not expecting an answer.
And when none came,
I understood —
this was my answer.
The abyss opened its arms.
And for the first time in months,
I felt no need to run.
No urge to fight.
Only relief that I wouldn’t have to wake up tomorrow.
So I leaned forward.
And let it close around me.