The Midnight Snack

12 o' clock at night.

11 steps down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"10 in all! yum!", I lick my lips as I load my plate with biscuits from fridge.

9 chairs around the table, I settle into one of them.

8 biscuits gone, am eyeing the rest of them warily.

7 minutes past twelve, the mellow light from the open fridge flickers.

6 times I ignore it until it gives last weak spark and dies out, billowing darkness spread around.

5 times I hear that, the low groan of wooden steps as they creaked under some weight.

4 long candles on a holder I found, all of them lit and headed hurriedly to my room, my covers, my safety.

3 of those candles I had wasted as my hand trembled so badly, the last one I raised slowly above my head to the ceiling, hearing a soft, chilling hiss from there.

2 eyes were closing down on me, of luminous piercing grey, with the coldness of a grave and emptiness of the dead. Fast.

1 second later I materialized, a flimsier, grayer version of myself trying in vain to wake the girl lying there on the floor, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, as if petrified.

To wake the girl who had just had her hearty midnight snack. Her last one...