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the small room it overpowers everything else, even the faint traces of traffic in the streets below and the occasional sounds trickling in from beyond the confines of my bedroom.  A headache has settled behind my eyes and is making me nauseous.  That damn ticking only makes it worse, as if the clock is counting off the gongs throbbing through my temples.  I move my arm from across my forehead, my eyes focus on the low ceiling overhead and a hint of him at the edge of my peripheral vision.  Folding my arms over my chest like a corpse, I draw a deep breath and slide shut my eyes.  Returning to the darkness is easier somehow.  I hear the floor shift as he moves deeper into the room, hesitating just inside the doorway.  He is looking at me now—I can feel it—waiting to be acknowledged.  My mouth is bone dry and I know sitting up will only make my headache worse, but I do it anyway.  With one quick heave I swing my feet around and settle into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.  I rub my temples, look at him, then look away.  He just stands there staring at me with those sad eyes.  He looks…not sick exactly, but…he doesn’t look like himself.  Pale.  He looks pale and pasty, like he hasn’t slept in a very long time.  I finally ask him what he’s doing there.  He smiles, and it’s the saddest goddamn smile I’ve ever seen, and says he came to say goodbye, that they allowed him a few minutes to come and say goodbye.  It’s only Bernard…why am I so frightened?  Because he’s no longer alive, or because I sense he’s not alone?  I clear my throat, reach for a small cup of water on the nightstand and take a quick sip.  I nod to Bernard and tell him I’m sorry about what happened.  I try to explain just how sorry I am but he smiles that sad smile again and holds up a hand like…like he’s telling me there’s no need for explanations.
    I know the others are nearby, and just the thought of them stirs a terror in me the depth of which I have never before experienced.  Tangible, choking fear, the kind I don’t want to explore because I know it is bigger and stronger and deadlier than I can ever be.  Like some monster in a box.  If I let it out, it’s over.  I keep talking, babbling now in the hopes that maybe this will quell my terror.  Again, Bernard holds up a hand, so this time I stop talking.  I notice his hand is dirty, the nails a bit too long and caked with soil.  He tells me he came to say goodbye and that he has to go.  He kind of sighs and leans against the doorframe, like he might fall over if he doesn’t.  I just stand there stupidly by the bed, watching him, not sure what to think.  Then…they come.  They just file into the room from behind him.  My palms are sweating and my heart is thudding so hard I can hear it smashing against my chest.  This is my bedroom and I don’t want them here, I don’t know any of them, they—they don’t look familiar to me at all.  There are four of them; three men and one woman, and they all just walk in like they belong here.
    Bernard tells me it’s OK but I’m so frightened.  They scare me, these…people.  They scare me because I know what they are.  They never say a word, they just stand there staring at me with their black eyes, and Bernard never explains, but I know, I—I just know what they are and why they’re there.  Bernard smiles again, but this time his lips crack and crumble like hardened clay, leaking blood and saliva and dirt in one hideous string of drool as his eyes turn cold like the others.  I hear a scream but it dies quickly, strangled to silence before I realize it’s my own.
    I turned the shower off and braced my hands against the porcelain, head bowed, body dripping as the drain gurgled and swallowed.  My heart was racing but I felt that if I could just lie down for a while I’d sleep for days.  As the last of the water and soapsuds vanished down the drain, I forced open my eyes and pulled