Usually, he could see every curve of the teenage girl living across the sheet. He lived the fantasy of every adolescent boy. But he wasn't living the fantasy tonight.

It was in the early hours of the morning. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, a figment of his imagination or perhaps the whiskey he drank. He tried to convince himself that he had drunk his way to tipsy, and that there was no shadowy figure lurking near the window. For a while he succeeded and laid down as sleep attempted to come and get him. Yet sleep wouldn't come.

A new mixture of fear and curiosity made him sit up, letting the covers fall to his waist revealing the beginning of a muscular chest. He stopped his head at the edge of the window frame.
"Just one look. If nothing's there, I'll just go to sleep," he whispered to himself.
Even the little bit of reassurance didn't stop him from having that moment of hesitation. He pushed himself to look out the window and when he did, he saw nothing. He thought he was safe.

He laid back on his pillow but saw a shadowy figure projected on the wall. He tried to tell himself it was a bird or something of that variety. That seemed logical and possible. He settled back down under the covers, adamant on getting some sleep. He heard a maniacal laugh and the hairs on the back of his neck stood alert and ready. 'Figments of my imagination, figments of my imagination,' he chanted in his head. Tonight's mantra. He put himself fully underneath his covers with a pillow pressed to both ears, blocking out all noise, real or unreal.

It worked for a time and he did get some sleep. But it wasn't long before he was woken up by the whisper of his window being opened, and newly added weight on his bed. Something stood over him and soon hands wrapped around the boy's throat.