Only small sounds permeate the already too-thick air during that long summer night. Fond sounds of a sleeping dog, and the static of a television buzzing without a connection. Soon, they are all about to wake.
I sit on a beam, my feet dropping down beneath me as I peer between my toes at the serene place beneath me. If only I could keep it that way. But no, this is what I must do. This is who I am.
My black dress and hair blend in with the night, and soon it’s time. I tilt my head back, giving way to shadow and allowing my physical form to morph into what is now simply a shape. Moving down the walls and across the floors, I seep into the cables of the television, winding up its copper wires and into its mainframe. Moving about, I know the game is about to begin, so I maneuver everything within to spell out what I want onto the screen of the TV.
The clock strikes twelve. The game has begun. And as the small boy old enough to read sits up from his place on the couch and rubs his sleepy eyes, I slide out between the wooden beams of the home, pleased with my work.
Soon, the boy will stand as straight as a rod. The remote will drop from his hand. He will run up to his parents, terrified as only four words in unmistakable blood glares on the screen of the television:
“Welcome To The Freakshow”