Write a story

There's somebody standing in the corner of my room.

I can't tell if he means me harm or not - he's not doing anything. He's just standing there.

I'm not certain if he knows that I'm here. Maybe he isn't certain if he's here.

I can't quite bring myself to approach him; I know I should do, I'm a scientist at heart, I should be testing my experience, the environment. Verifying what I think I'm seeing, what I'm perceiving.

But I'm also a coward at heart; a self-preservationist, a vulnerable young woman. With a strange man in her bedroom.

I should be frightened, shouldn't I?

I mean, I am frightened, obviously, but not unduly; I'm not terrified, just a little wary.

He isn't doing anything, that's the thing. I think I'd be less wary if he were actually...well, doing something. If he were approaching me. If he were preparing himself. If he were speaking.

But he isn't; he is a hulking shadow, standing, looking. Just...looking at me. Not reacting. Just looking.

I don't think I can move.

I don't think he can, either. Maybe that's what it is. Maybe he's always been here, and I've just never seen him before.

Maybe I can't move now because I've seen him.

Maybe a needle slipped into my arm without me noticing. Maybe I've been smothered with that lacy pillow that I hate. Maybe the sky has fallen.

Maybe I'm the one interloping into his room, standing in the corner.