It’s voice, withered and grey, spoke from the darkness of my backseat, four simple words: “It was your fault.”

In the rear view mirror, a face in the dark stared back at mine.

I’ve long learnt to live with It.

I watched the children as they ran about the street that night; it was halloween, and the whole neighbourhood was celebrating. There was the warm glow of home-made jack-o-lanterns; the joy of a tight-knit community. And of course, plenty of sugar.

Billy loved halloween.

Although dim, the lanterns were numerous; the ample light they provided confined It to the backseat of my car, for It could only exist in darkness. However, it was the pale light from my console I had to thank, for truly keeping It at bay.

“Watching… from a distance,” It spoke, It’s jagged, yellow teeth flashing through the darkness. It’s long, twisted neck filled the cabin. “Is that all you can bear?”

Living in light; I slept in even the dimmest nightlight’s shine, for it always waited, breath held, for It’s chance.

Darkness held the promise of ragged teeth, sunken into my neck; of my body, devoured.

In darkness, It waited to feast.

And in my sleep, It waited. In the shadows of my closet, the darkness of my hallways, the void beneath my bed: It was there. Waiting, for a chance to move.

“You killed him,” It said. “You deserve this.”