It's late at night. You're in bed on a cold December night. The soft sound of your fan, the socks on your feet , the soft comfy pajama pants, a light tank top, and a big warm blanket. All these things accompany you tonight, but they won't save you, when you're the most vulnerable. A soft tap at your window, a soft scratching on your closet door, both barely audible, but audible enough to drive you mad at whether or not those sounds are real. They'll progress as the night goes on, they'll get louder and faster. When they stop, you'll be the most vulnerable. A soft whisper. A light touch on your shoulder. A frigid breath smacks you in the face, smelling of the crypt. Your heart skips a couple beats, your breath held. Don't open your eyes, or you'll become very, very vulnerable.