When I got home from Michael’s, my apartment felt as if a window had been left open in the middle of winter. The chilled air seemed to be creeping in from an undisclosed source.

The apartment looked as it always did: cramped, cluttered and poorly lit, but there was this unmistakable stillness in the air. It felt as if all the oxygen and sound had been sucked out, like airlocks being opened up in a spaceship.

I walked down the corridor into my room. I saw the dark outline of something in the corner of my eye and immediately pivoted over to the left.

Nothing.

I turned on the bedroom light, terrified by what might be illuminated.

Nothing.

I sat on my bed, totally exhausted. My sleepless nights had turned from boredom to maddening fear and paranoia. I had the distinct feeling that if I didn’t do something soon, I’d pass a point of no return and become permanently insane.

I wasn’t sure if it worked like that, but the feeling itself was enough to scare me. There was another part of me that was frustrated by my irrational fears. When did things become so unbearable?

I tried to distract myself by starting my hours-long process of attempting to sleep. I made my bed as comfortable as possible, closed my blinds and started a hot shower. I went to the bathroom and turned on the lights. I saw a flash of something behind me in the mirror and turned around, startled.

Nothing.

I ignored it and began brushing my teeth. As I applied the toothpaste onto my brush, I heard what sounded like a low-pitched growl.

I slowly turned around to face the running shower behind me. I felt my hands go numb with fear, so that my toothbrush slipped from my fingers onto the bathroom floor.

Behind the opaque shower curtain was something very tall and large, staring at me. The thing had horns like a ram’s, so long that they twisted and curled above the curtain rod. I heard the deep exhales of something entirely inhuman.

“Samuel,” a demonic voice said in what sounded like an Oxford-English accent. “You really need to see someone.”