a dangerous thing
Dave York x F!Reader
summary: your boss, Dave York, reminds you of a broken mirror - a fractured man living between two different worlds… you just never thought you’d get pulled into the cracks
word count: 5.1k
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, dark content ⚠️ modern Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde themes/AU, canon adjacent, power dynamic/imbalance (nanny & employer relationship), secret relationship & infidelity (both Dave and Carol have separate affairs), possessive & obsessive!Dave, stalker behavior, violence & threat of violence said in passing, feelings & themes of fright, brief scenes/references to monster!Dave, dreamlike state moments & questioning of reality, use of petnames, smut (p in v, fingering, somno, dubcon, finger sucking, light gagging, one use of pussy pronoun, dirty talk), blood imagery, minor character death, light horror vibes & imagery, morally gray!reader, angst, canon compliant death (?)
a/n: this is my entry for the FEATURED FRIGHTS challenge [Dave York + Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde] huge thanks to @quinnnfabrgay-writes for hosting & letting me join! So I completely understand this fic won’t be everyone’s cup of tea & I kindly ask if it isn’t please simply scroll away [divider credit & thanks to the ever talented @saradika-graphics]
It all begins innocently enough. Stolen glances, brushing hands, lingering too close next to each other…
You simply shrug it off as a cautious boss keeping an eye on his employee, after all you’re both nanny and tutor to Mr. York's daughters.
But soon it evolves into something more, something tugging at your gut fanged and hungry.
When Carol asks you to help with the laundry, you find yourself alone in the basement’s laundry room.
As you start throwing clothes into the washing machine, you catch a whiff of the scent you’ve noticed around the house, one that beckons to you a dangerous siren’s song.
The beautiful intoxicating smell of Mr. York’s cologne burns you, a deadly sin. Hints of it have fluttered off the jackets he hangs on chairs or whenever he passes by before heading to the office.
Greed strikes you fast like a viper. You cautiously grab his shirt and smell it.
Immediate disgust and embarrassment flood you. Internally you argue it’s just to admire his cologne. But once that rich scent fills your senses, your mouth waters.
Then as you turn around to grab a laundry basket and pretend this ever happened, there he stands.
Dave York leans against the railing of the stairs. The light from upstairs casts a looming shadow over him.
You didn’t even hear him come down.
His sudden appearance startles you so much you almost scream, but the embarrassment and pure dread instead swallows you whole. He must have seen you.
Dave, with arms crossed over his broad chest, simply stays quiet observing you almost methodically.
You open your mouth to apologize and beg him not to fire you. But then your boss nonchalantly turns and walks back upstairs.
The rest of the day you prayed and hoped he didn’t say anything, that Carol and him didn’t fire you on the spot.
But a week passed, then a month.
And nothing. Not so much as a comment or look from Dave…
Then the man dressed in black emerged.
—
You remember that first encounter vividly.
Carol had a girl’s trip out of town, and Dave was away for work.
Or that’s what you thought.
After the girls had fallen asleep upstairs, you made use of the York’s comfy and lavish entertainment room.
Outside the weather stormed, coating the night in a gloomy spooky vibe. You decided to watch an old classic scary movie.
The 1941 film plays softly in the background while scrolling through your phone. Ingrid Bergman says something, and you glance back to the television.
There in the reflection of the tv glass you spot a silhouette standing behind you and the couch.
Inhaling sharp, you’re about to turn around, maybe even use the remote as the quickest makeshift weapon -
When a hand immediately darts out to grasp your shoulder.
You swallow back a scream.
“Shhh…” Mr. York’s voice, lower than you’ve ever heard, emerges.
While your heart still races, you’re at least grateful it’s not an intruder.
“I t-thought you were away on business-”
He shushes you again. His hand that was on your shoulder now slithers across your chest.
Dave whispers your name, cradles it in a dangerously tender darkness.
Your heart jumps again, a frantic prey animal not knowing what to do.
His hands are warm, callous, and larger than you ever imagined. One runs up to your throat delicately tracing at your skin and the other traces against your jaw.
His thumb runs across your chin then up your lips.
This touch is electrifying.
You should stop him, but you don’t want to.
From behind the couch he leans forward closer to you. Pressing his face into your hair, Dave inhales and then groans.
All of this should have petrified you. You wanted to say how this isn’t right, that he’s married and your boss.
But it felt so good.
Especially when he slipped his thumb into your mouth making your eyes roll back.
Like the first time tasting something sweetly divine, so forbidden, tasting him sinks into your senses and makes you ravenous.
That night, gripping his hand over your mouth, Dave finger fucked you so good your legs felt like jello and you wondered if you could even make it up the stairs.
If only you knew that first night would unleash something unholy after that.
—
Soon, flowers start arriving at your apartment. Grand beautiful bouquets so glorious they make all your neighbors and your friends jealous.
The note is always the same, simple.
Thinking of you
-D
You figured your address must have been on the information you gave the York’s when they hired you. You tried not to think too much of it.
Until you wake up and discover Dave’s fingers brushing against your legs.
He found his way into your apartment.
You’re caught in a tangled mixture of emotions, horrified and a bit concerned, yet on a blistering edge of lust. He must have been touching you long before you even woke up because you find you’re already so wet.
The first night Dave crept into the guest room you slept in at the York’s home you told him he had permission to touch you even when you slept.
You just never thought it could mean this.
“You left the front door unlocked, gorgeous.” Dave whispers. “Can’t be doing that.”
You forgive him, even find yourself thanking him when he kisses you fiercely, folds you in half and lets you see stars you didn’t even know existed.
But the next morning he's gone, a whisper in the wind you can’t even hold onto.
All that remains are the flowers now wilting, their petals dried and littering your floor.
—
This Dave, the other Dave, as you call him in your mind, walks out from the closet to step toward your bed quiet as ever.
His hands dance across your skin, running up against your tights, teasing and delicate. Then his fingers trace across your lips, until your mouth opens letting them slip inside. Closing your eyes, you immediately suck and lick at the salt of his skin. You’ve become intoxicated off the taste of him and fear you can never go back.
Dave is supposed to be away at business, but he’s here instead.
“How’s my sweetheart doing?” His voice crawls out low and deadly.
Your arms don’t have to reach for him long before he’s diving into you hungered and possessed.
In the light of day among his family, he’s cordial and brief with you. But in the darkness, it’s like a part of him is unleashed.
“Yeah this pretty pussy, all mine. Sounding so wet just for me.” Dave coo’s whispering into your ear.
“Yeah,” clawing at his back, a wrecked sob escapes you hearing his words.
“Yeah?” He mimics you as he seems to thrust in even deeper. “Love seeing you fucked out like this, knowing I made you like this.”
Then his voice slowly melts into a growl against your neck. It sounds distorted, not normal or human.
The next night he sweeps you into the bathroom attached to the guest bedroom.
Gripping the cool sink, Dave now rails you from behind. A pair of his boxers he shoved into your mouth are a makeshift gag while he effortlessly pounds into you.
Leaning forward, he moans, inhaling the scent of you. He bites, takes whatever he pleases and whatever you give.
Glancing up to look at the sinful sight of you and him committing one of the oldest sins, Dave already looks back at you from the sink mirror’s reflection.
You swear a flash of golden yellow gleams in his eyes, a flicker of a flame threatening to consume his gorgeous chocolate eyes.
Then his fingers dig into your hips and feel as if at any moment claws may pierce through your skin.
You come hard, dizzy among the transcendental fog.
But guilt soon cuts through the lust and begins eating away at you festering, demanding. Months with Dave have built up a calcified shame in your heart.
You adore Carol. You’ve become so attached to the girls, Alice and Molly.
Yet you live between your devotion to them and a special type of adoration to Dave.
It’s sickening, the worst of all sins.
You feel as if you’re being cut in half.
Until you overhear Carol talking on the phone one afternoon. She talks about one of the single dads she’s become close to at her PTA meetings, how she wonders if the friendship with him counts as emotional cheating, and that the guilt comes in waves yet leaves just as fast.
When you join her to help at one of the girl’s soccer games you see the man in question, Frank. He’s wholesome, handsome, and unbearingly kind.
There’s a chemistry and connection brewing between him and Carol. You even see it.
When you catch Carol giggling, almost flirting with the single dad, her face falters. But all you do is smile understanding.
One night, after the girls are asleep, she shares a glass of wine with you.
There in the dimly lit kitchen, it’s simply two souls letting their guards down.
“It’s just… it’s been so long since Dave and I have been intimate. And I know I shouldn’t be talking about this to you as your boss, and I’m so sorry if this is completely unprofessional,” she gushes apologetic.
You laugh waving her off.
If she only knew.
“But I just… I get lonely.” Carol sighs, so human and torn.
Maybe you’re the real monster. Maybe whatever Dave is, whoever Dave is, doesn’t compare to the true fiend you are.
Because you reach across the table and squeeze Carol’s hand reassuringly.
“You deserve the same support and treatment you give him, there’s nothing wrong with feeling human.” You tell her earnest.
She pats your hand with thankful soft eyes.
The guy, Frank, and his kids come over often. The girls love his kids so the hangouts become frequent. So much Carol even gives you a few days off.
“I can watch the girls, it’s fine! You work so hard anyway, enjoy the rest.” She urges.
Those few days off are spent tangled in the sheets as her husband absolutely fucks the life out of you.
The next week you show up a bit early to the York’s and stumble upon Frank coming down the stairs.
Embarrassed and giving a weak hello, he politely shuffles out past you to the door, the dictionary textbook example of a walk of shame if you ever saw one.
Carol is no better. Slept in bed head, sex hair, she tries to covertly hide the hickies across her chest with her cozy robe.
“I’m glad you had a good weekend. You deserve some fun yourself,” you smile like a wolf in sheep’s clothing and earnestly tell her there’s no shame here. Her secret would stay safe with you.
After all, if only she knew you were holding similar secrets and covering up hickies just like she was.
—
You don’t see Dave for a full week.
He and Carol have mentioned that he worked for the government. Sounded strange, intriguing. You tried to ask him about it once during a soft moment of pillow talk. His face fell, dark and somber. He told you to never ask about work again.
So you never did, simply let the curiosity stay boxed away and accept Dave might just be a man made labyrinth of secrets.
The girls have gotten big into playing hide and seek, a trait you wonder if they get from their father.
They aren’t allowed in Dave’s office when he isn’t home, but they’ve been known to break a rule or two. So out of caution you head into the room to see if one of them decided to be brave and hide in here.
The workspace is pristine, orderly and clean. No sign of either girls. But you check under his desk just to be sure.
On the way up you accidentally bump your head against the desk and hiss.
Something rattles and then a soft tumble follows.
When you glance down, the side wall on the inside of the desk has fallen open.
Immediately you freeze. It’s a secret compartment.
And what fell out are a few plastic medicine bottles.
They’re unlabeled, unassuming, but the medication inside is startling.
Brilliant neon liquid with a strange glow swishes around.
One container is already half finished.
Your throat closes.
You weren’t supposed to find this. But what the fuck is this?
Little giggles approach, a sign the girls have grown tired with your bad attempts at seeking.
So you scramble putting the meds back where they came from and slide the compartment back.
But the unnatural neon liquid haunts you.
Carol shoos you home, Frank must be coming over again especially with the girls going to her parent’s for a grandparent’s trip. You should be excited about the free weekend, but your mind is caught in a fogged mess.
You look up what you can.
Some results say it could be party drugs, but nothing looks close to what you saw.
Then you find a post on Reddit, briefly discussing it.
I’ve heard about it a secret drug the government tried to use… like mad scientist super soldier shit to heighten performance or whatever sounds a lot like that
Someone replied asking what happened.
Got discounted, the side effects were fucking batshit and that’s saying something if the military said it was bad
The answer unleashes dread.
No… that can’t be it.
This is just an unfortunate rabbit hole you’ve fallen into. So closing all the tabs, you try to forget everything you saw.
In the middle of the night you wake up -
And find Dave sitting in the center of your bedroom floor.
Jolted by pure fright, you flicker on the lamp sitting on your nightstand. The soft amber glow filling the room now illuminates ominous.
“Forgot to lock your door again,” he says softly, his back to you, yet doesn’t even turn around.
You haven’t heard from him in a week. Now here he is, and all you can think about is that strange liquid.
Glancing over his shoulder, Dave extends his hand towards you, a beckoning dream.
“Come over here, sweetheart… I’ve missed you.”
Maybe out of some distorted ache of longing or maybe a twisted sense of fear, with newborn doe like wobbliness you make your way over to him.
Instead of pulling you into his embrace, Dave leans back, drawing your hands around to almost cradle him.
You’re the one holding him, a comforting cage.
It’s intimate in a way that rips your heart open.
“I know Carol’s having an affair with that car salesman.”
Frank.
But Dave's casual comment startled you in its simplicity.
“Thought about getting rid of him.” He says as if discussing the weather.
His words make you choke, turn your blood into ice.
You gently shush him, settling and comforting, leaning to kiss the top of his head. He smells faintly of a smoke you can’t pinpoint.
“We’re no better.” You cautiously remind him
“I know,” he replies sighing, letting his hands run across the arm you have slung across his strong warm chest.
“Grateful at least he’s good to her and that she’s happy.” He adds genuine.
It’s strange hearing Dave, who’s having an affair with you, patiently discuss the man who’s having an affair with his wife.
Swiftly, silently, he turns in your arms and looks up at you.
At times you think about how his beautifully rich chocolate eyes have flashed a brighter brilliance, an almost eerie yellow. Now they’re pitch deep as the bottom of hell.
“But it’s because I have you, right?” He mutters
You nod immediately.
He leans forward to curl himself against your chest, snuggling into you.
“You’re mine, and I’m yours. All of me is yours.” Dave whispers.
That night you dream there are two of him.
Dave York - one man, kind and polite, clean cut in his crisp button up shirts, and the other man dressed in all black.
Both demand their hands on you, consecrate their entire attention solely on you. Covetous, ravaging, running across your body with the urge to consume and possess.
The simple tie wearing Dave is tender and kisses you like he would a wife, sweet and soulful, like you’re made of glass that only he can hold.
While the other him, the other Dave, who seems steeped in shadows, bites at your skin like he could devour you whole down to your bone marrow.
You’re sandwiched between them both, caught between the jagged lustful edge of these two puzzle pieces.
Soon they both start to blur, and you can’t tell which is which.
Then the dream morphs. Your body burns too hot, heavy and disorienting. A strong strange clawed hand curls against your neck lifting your face.
There both Daves stare at you with void sunken eyes. Their faces are now monstrous.
A scream threatens to rip from your throat.
Then, the panic immediately whips into a dizzying sudden wave of pleasure again.
Your body shifts.
You’re pulled out from the dream when teeth tug at your nipple.
Wearily you wake to find Dave lying half on top of you.
His eyes reflective of that strange ochre gleam glance up at you. Still fully resting against your body, except this time he licks and sucks at your tits, your sleepshirt ripped wide open.
He stares at you recognizing you’re awake. With ease he simply returns to worshiping you. As your eyes roll back in melting ecstasy, you surrender to him.
Once you and him are spent, Dave falls right back to sleep peacefully nestled inside you while lying against your neck.
A sudden image flashes in your mind.
During a semester in college, you took an art history class. You particularly think of one painting you studied.
Fuseli’s The Nightmare.
So vivid in its dark composition with the demonic creature curled on top of the sleeping figure…for some reason you can’t help but think of that now.
—
Dave begins staying home more frequently, more than usual. Carol smiles effortlessly. The girls are ecstatic.
A twisted monstrous part of you had expected him to act differently during the day.
Yet he doesn’t.
No form of acknowledgement towards you, only simply addresses you as the babysitter, or nanny, as if nothing occurred.
But you know this is the result of sleeping with a married man, especially as his employee.
You made your bed, now you have to lie in it.
Yet the text messages sent between you and him are downright filthy. When you show them to your best friend the night you go to dinner with her, she even looks shocked and blushes.
But you tell her how hot and cold Dave runs, how capricious his changes are. She shrugs.
“Men are like that. Maybe he’s part werewolf, like he’s got two sides to him.” She jokes, wiggling her eyebrows trying to ease the situation.
The image of neon liquid swirls around in your mind.
All you can do is weakly laugh.
—
Dave doesn't visit you for a full week. Doesn’t even text or respond to yours.
So you ignore him the same way he’s been ignoring you and throw yourself into helping with the party.
Halloween is a huge tradition and celebration in the York household.
The party they throw is a full on weekend event. Decorations coat the house festively and brighten your spirit even being around Dave.
The first party is a fun trick-or-treat event for the girls and the rest of the neighborhood kids. Then once the kids have gone to bed, the real fun starts for the grown ups.
Carol begged you to stay and enjoy the evening. Your costume is boring, a simple witch with a cute pointy hat Molly and Alice had picked out for you. But you’re glad you dressed up and decided to stay.
“Oh, hey, don’t put a spell on that.”
A sweet lovely voice jumps out and you turn.
The guy was someone Carol introduced you to earlier. He’s a coworker, and she even excitedly whispered that he was single, a well hearted attempt at matchmaking.
“Don’t worry, no spells tonight.” You grin.
You quickly remember his name is Richie, and he’s rather sweet. He’s a basketball fan and seems genuinely interested when you tell him about the new book you’re reading.
He’s good company, especially since you’ve rarely seen Dave.
You know he’s here. He went trick or treating with the girls earlier and looked like absolute sin as Classic Dracula.
His hair slicked back, the sharp dark gothic costume accentuating his shoulders?
It’s awful that someone so frustrating can be so devastatingly gorgeous.
The guy you’re talking to, Richie, is dressed as a zombie. The make up and blood he has on him is actually pretty impressive.
“What do you mean costume? This is how I normally look.” He jokes playfully insulted, making you laugh.
A strange sensation crawls across your skin as if someone’s watching you.
Maybe it’s the paranoia or the few drinks you’ve had, but you shrug off the feeling.
When Richie glances at his phone trying to show you a picture of his cats, you look up.
There, across the mass of people in the backyard, Dave stares unflinching at you. He makes no sudden moves or even seems surprised you’ve caught him staring.
It’s simply you and him.
Richie perks up quickly and sharply you turn away, eager to see his pets. You stay by his side chatting the rest of the night. You even get a bit giddy when you happily give Richie your number.
Once the party settles down, you bid Carol goodbye and don’t even bother looking for Dave.
She urges you to spend the night but you want some space, not that you need to tell her that.
It’s a quiet uber ride back to your apartment.
You settle into the night and unwind.
In your bathroom finishing up your nighttime routine, someone says your name, breathes it out like a creaking ghost.
In the middle of your living room you find Dave. Blood covers his mouth and hands, more is splattered all over his costume.
At first you think it’s a bad Halloween prank.
You fiercely snap at him to knock it off.
But then when his eyes, filled with a strange clouded yet wild daze, show no sign of noticing you panic settles in.
Now you’re thinking he got into a fight or that he’s injured.
Still in his Dracula costume you rush Dave into your bathroom to wipe the blood from him. He’s catatonic letting you move him around like a quiet ragdoll.
“Dave… Baby, please talk to me, are you okay?” You ask, trying to stay calm as you can.
Dave’s dazed eyes finally see you and gain a flickering new life. He smiles sweetly and sleepy like you just woke him from a nap.
“Hi sweetheart,” he sighs dreamily, looking at you.
There’s too much going on. Your head buzzes as if it might explode or maybe your body will.
So you simply focus on cleaning Dave.
You strip off his costume, begging him to take a shower.
“Only if you join me,” he mutters dark, adamantly.
Strong built arms keep you tight locked in his embrace under the steam making it harder to wash him but he still lets you.
You shove all bloodied clothes into a trash bag and walk around aimlessly trying to think of what to do to them.
Dave comes up behind you, scaring the absolute shit out of you when his nose brushes against your shoulder. He places tender kisses wherever he can.
“Don’t worry about it, honey…I’ll take care of it. Always will take care of everything.”
He tugs you back to bed.
When Dave kisses you, his lips feel like a creature trying to crawl his way into your skin.
And what scares you is that you would let him.
The next morning Carol texts you that Richie is missing.
Your stomach drops, but you don’t want to assume the worst. You text Richie hoping to hear back, to hear anything.
But only silence greets you.
The worst arrives when the news breaks that they found Richie’s body a week later.
“Must have been some sort of wild animal that attacked him… he was mutilated so badly,” Carol says through the sobs.
You cry too as your mind only thinks of a strange glowing liquid and Dave’s bloodied mouth.
—
You need to leave him. You should leave, stop this mess you’re sinking deeper into.
But when he has you bouncing on his cock, has you growling now, feeling like you want to claw your skin off and consume him the way Dave’s consumed you…
You wonder if you really have become a monster too, and it’s too late to leave now.
Shakespeare was right, hell is empty and the devils are here.
The strange being now sitting in the middle of your room seems almost human.
Strange bone like spikes protrude from his bare back as if the creature’s spine has been constricted. His hands are more claw-like, gaunt and distorted.
You should scream, should be losing your fucking mind.
But you can’t. Maybe this is your punishment, or you’re just too petrified to do anything else.
“Dave?”
The creature doesn’t respond.
A clicking growl like noise answers you. The creature turns his head to reveal familiar eyes golden shaded and shimmering as they look at you.
You feel a chain like tug in your soul and know it’s him.
Slowly, you lower yourself to the floor moving cautiously towards him.
He’s fast or maybe you surrender because suddenly you’re gathered in the creature’s arms. In his hold, you can’t even see his full face and strangely that feels worse. His claws drag up your legs, purring and cooing, petting you.
Until his claws snag on your skin. Blood thick as tar and in a decayed color oozes across your ripped legs.
Then your eyes snap open.
A dream.
It was just a dream. The way your heart rages hard in your chest, it was an awful nightmare.
Wearily you get up to grab a glass of cold water to just settle yourself down.
Standing in the dim light of your kitchen you glance down.
Faint scratches, barely there marks drag up your legs as if someone, something, did scratch at you.
You lock your front door just in case.
Heading back to your room, you close your closet like a petrified child wondering if the monster really will come out.
The next morning, the closet door is creaked halfway open.
—
Dave goes silent for a month.
Carol isn’t that worried.
“His work takes him to so many strange places. This isn’t too unusual for him.”
Of course she’s not worried, and you can’t blame her. She’s enjoying her affair and doesn’t even know her husband is having one.
You text him as much as you can.
But nothing.
Only the haunting silence.
—
His death comes quiet, like waking up and seeing snow fell overnight.
Apparently during whatever mission he was on, he suffered fatal wounds. Your stomach feels sick when you hear it from Carol. You and her cry together, the girls are a wreck.
The house becomes haunted in a way you didn’t know it could.
At the funeral you feel as if you’re seeing a new man. You didn’t know Dave worked special ops or was CIA. You even overhear people whisper about how he might have been an assassin.
A part of you wonders if you ever really knew the true him.
So you let the piece of you that grew attached to this broken mirror of a man fall into the ground when they lay his body to rest.
You curse Dave York, every version of him.
—
After the burial, when the grief is finally starting to find its way into boxes and packing up Dave’s belongings, you steal two things.
One is a bottle from his hidden desk compartment and another… is one of his shirts.
Carol doesn’t see. At this point she might not even care.
But the liquid, you have to know the truth. Maybe it’s some sort of fucked up form of closure but you want to know.
Your best friend’s husband is a pharmacist and takes a look at the bottle when you come over.
His eyes go wide and even a bit suspicious.
“This isn’t even on the market… where the fuck did you get it?” He whispers confused.
You knew it was something bad.
After further investigating, he tells you that the drug had a terrible side effect of intensifying primal desires and repressed emotions. There was even a study of it causing metamorphosis to genetic structures.
“Meaning, and I’m not even fucking joking, but at the worst case the military was afraid of this turning their soldiers into feral monsters.” He told you with the most devastating sober expression.
The grim truth smacks you hard.
Dave had to have been on this, drinking it.
Piecing together this and the shattered image he left, you suspect Dave turned to this in order to stay in whatever job he was in.
This explained everything.
His behavior, the way he seemed to be two different men, the nightmares that now feel real.
It all sends you into a spiral. Yet you’re grateful for this sick twisted sense of closure fitting a relationship with a man like Dave York.
All you have left is the anger and grief.
And his shirt.
You’re constantly smelling it. You justify it’s all part of the healing process when you shove your face deep into the fabric, inhaling as much as you can.
The realization comes fast. You’re acting exactly like Dave did whenever he was with you, inhaling you in as deeply and wildly as he could.
You keep smelling the hints of his cologne, searching for him, until all that’s left is an unwashed white button up, a ghost in its own right.
Whenever you turn off the tv, you almost now half expect, half wish, to see Dave’s silhouette in the glass reflection.
Then, late one night, after you’ve gone to bed -
A strange scratching noise comes from inside your closet.
It rouses you out of sleep, and you wonder if it’s just maybe something outside.
A slow creaky call of your name immediately snaps you awake.
The closet door you know you shut before you went to bed is now ajar.
Something, someone, stares out from the darkness inside.
Instead of two pairs of yellow eyes watching you it’s only one… as if the other is missing.
A clawed hand reaches out from the abyss, beckoning to you.
