Shadows swaying,
Swift sliding hooves
That have stepped here before.

Creeping on creaking floors
That let slip the secret that you are not the only one awake, breathe.

A pause, a hesitation.
A stammer.

Shadows shriek against the cold moonlight, towering tall above paralysis in a bedsheet quaking under the black mass. An intruder.

No.

What was once theirs is no longer, but they will not settle without vengeance. They want it back. Now. Give it back. Selfish monster.

Can you not hear them weeping?
Most are deaf to the cries of the dying, not our problem they say. They scribble this out of manuscripts when revolution is at hand.

Why are you shivering, poor child? The dark is not one to fear but one to admire for no other force withstands the beams of the burning star quite as well as the shadows that you so hastily distance yourself from.

Retreat. Back another night. The child cries, you have survived this night. But soon the hooves will be heard, harsh raps against the wood, the creaking a shriek in the night. The moonlight won’t save you- why bother screaming?