Turning over trying to get back to sleep I ignore the dull ache in my throat, I don’t feel like getting up right now. My alarm clock casts a dim glow around my room with the flashing red numbers that read 3:26 am. I have to wake up in two and a half hours anyway so I might as well wait. Groaning I turn over and lean against the cold plaster walls, its 97 degrees down here but I still can’t sleep without a blanket. The fan that I had sitting in front of the TV was set on high and still it wasn’t enough to keep the room from being a couple degrees off what one would imagine hell would feel like.

Giving up I throw off the blankets and walk barefoot across the uncarpeted floor to reach the staircase on the other side of the basement. I thump up the stairs uncaring of how much noise I’m making at the ungodly hour I just want to get a drink and perhaps a couple million pounds of ice and go back to bed before I have to wake up for work. I should have signed up to work nights on the weekends. Waking up at six every day was getting really old. I either had to be at school or I had to work an eight hour shift. Either way I had to drag myself out of bed and drink about three cups of coffee with heavy cream and splenda so it didn’t taste like I was drinking what amounted to a liquefied gym sock.

At the top of the stairs I can hear the sound of the TV in the living room being played way too loud. Leave it to my brother to pass out in a food coma watching something like ghost busters at 2 o clock in the morning. I grab the remote out of his unconscious hand and turn the volume down. I know if I turn it off he’ll wake up yelling that he was “watching that”. It’s a never ending cycle. The sound of the ice machine kicks in and I’m reminded of the task that I came up here for. I stomp into the kitchen slightly irritated that I got distracted, and in doing so lost a good five minutes of sleep.

Opening the fridge door I wince as the bright unnatural light hits my dark adjusted eyes. Grasping the 2 liter bottle of artificially flavored diet coke I pour the drink into the pre-frosted mug, chilled from a night in the freezer. I lift the glass and its icy sharp tastes hit the back in my throat. It’s cold and sweet and wonderful on the summer night. I grasp the mug like a child in both hands and proceed down the stairs determined to get at least another hour of sleep before the shrill sound of my alarm drawls me out from my warm cocoon of sleep and dreams and into the real world of work and harsh reality.

The first step feels like someone had covered it with ice. It was slick and artic on my bare feet. Shivering as I continue down the steps it only seems to grow colder, wasn’t it just like a zillion degrees down here? And what is making the steps feel so slippery? The coke that moments ago felt cool and refreshing now feels heavy and sour in my stomach. I just want to curl up in my room and try to sleep away the stomach ache I feel coming on. I reach my room but the doors closed and the lights on. I don’t remember closing it and I certainly wouldn’t have turned the light on.

I inch open the door and peer in threw the crack. The animal sitting at my desk is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. The lavender skin has the texture of leather and even from here I can smell the distinct animalistic sent that seems to be radiating from this thing. It turns slightly to the left and I see the creatures face, gasping I drop the mug witch shatters and takes away any chance I had of not being noticed. I’ve been seen.