Open your eyes in the middle of the night
and catch a glimpse of the shadow from
the streetlight outside your window run for cover.
Listen for its footsteps as it creeps down your hallway,
taking shelter in the cupboard at the top of the stairs.
You want to get up and investigate,
but that fear you feel is immaculate.

You slip into your dressing gown and open your bedroom door;
the creak of the hinges tumbles into the darkness
as you try to catch your breath from escaping into a scream.
The door of the cupboard is ever-so-slightly ajar
and you know there is nothing in there,
just a bunch of towels that have never been used in years,
but that little whisper rises in the back of your head
that something else has made a home in there.

You put your trembling hand on the handle,
trying to avoid looking into the black coming through the gap.
Do you open it quick or take it slow,
allow what might be inside a chance to escape?
You don’t know what to do and tonight you’re alone.
The low grunt of a floorboard behind you.
Old hands as ancient as the universe rest on your shoulders.
She turns you around and you stare into her eyes,
your life reflecting in them.
The door creaks open behind you.
There is no point struggling, there is no subtext.
Take it in your stride.
Take it in your stride.