May 29, 2015 6:30 AM | Joel Couture
It's dark. The house is supposed to be abandoned. But you hear it, footsteps creaking against worn floorboards above you. Is it the house settling? You wish it was, but you feel something in your guts, instincts stirring, churning your insides. You know something is there. You can feel the thing's presence, tracking every heavy thump on the floor overhead. You wonder if it can hear you, too. If it's listening to you murmuring to yourself, trying to comfort yourself with your own voice as the shadows clutch you tight. But you already know that it can hear you, and that it is coming your way. Slowly, slowly coming your way. If only you could see it. If only you weren't blind.