Moulded panes from nightly condensation, the windows drip and shudder. Outside the cold encircles and reaches in. Wrapped up I hug the blankets closer, covers pulled tighter and tighter still. But the coldness seems trapped and clutches at my toes.
Muffled sadness carries through the house in hesitant tones.
Eyes and hands watch and wait. I have checked twice already and am almost sure there is nothing there. But then what is it that hides beneath the bed ready to grab your feet if you step too close? This place is strange to me.