I

A shadow moved through the house in the early hours before dawn; slipping up the stairs as silent as the breeze, and under the bedroom door as easily as the air. Upon the bed, a woman was sleeping, having only just nodded off a few moments before. She was just beyond the barrier in the realm of slumber, but not so far that she was not aware of something coming near; as though she felt the chill of the shadow cross her brow. Little trembles spread across her back, and she shifted uncomfortably beneath the sheets. In the dark, she swam toward the surface of her dream, before she got too deep. A cold weight was suddenly upon her as someone seemed to lean over the bed. Margaret Kimball’s eyes suddenly shot open.

At first she saw nothing in the black but the silhouette of her bedside table, and the dark lump of the book upon its surface, next the the outline of the lamp. It was probably still warm, as it hadn’t been all that long ago that she put the novel down and switched out the light. The room about her was silent—almost oppressive in its still. Margaret rolled over, and stared toward the corner of the room, where the darkness clung its thickest. As her eyes adjusted, she almost thought she could see a figure there; cloaked in shadow. She couldn’t see much more than an outline of a body, but the pale image of a high forehead above deep intense eyes seemed to catch her attention—for a moment only, then it was gone. Margaret gasped, but then shook herself free of the thought. Whatever had been there, she was sure it was only a left over image from some dream she had been about to have.

Margaret reached over for the glass of water she always kept on the night stand, and took a swallow. She replaced it carefully in the dark, then positioned herself comfortably back upon the bed—this time on her back, so her face would be toward the dark corner—just in case. A few moments later she closed her eyes—but opened them again just as quickly.

It was there again, the figure. This time Margaret knew it was not some nightmare reflection. A man stepped out of the corner of the room and walked steadily toward her. He was dressed in somber grey clothing, and covered in a cloak or heavy coat of an elder style. Brooding dark eyes stared out of a stark white face, framed by longish hair. There was something familiar about the image, and she shivered, though she could not think of where she might have seen him before. He stepped toward her, then gracefully around the other side of the bed, toward the night stand where he seemed to vanish into the air.