My stomach growls as I quietly pad down the stairs for a midnight snack. In the kitchen, I carefully pour the cereal into the bowl of milk. I add the spoon. It glints in the moonlight, reflecting the full moon in a cloudless black sky. As I bring the bowl to my table, the spoon bangs against the side of the bowl, making hollow clinking noises. The chair scrapes against the tiled floor like sharp nails against a chalkboard. It creaks as I sit down. I begin eating, and the cereal crunches like the snapping of bones under a heavy weight. The summer air is warm, but cold sweat covers my back. I sneak downstairs for cereal every night. What is different today? A cold breeze causes me to shiver. The curtains over our kitchen sink are fluttering like the flimsy rotted hair of a long dead corpse. I must have forgotten to close the window, but burned clearly into my mind is the slam of the window as I pulled it down a few hours ago. Floorboards creak under a heavy but agile creature. Other than the creaking, there is only the sound of the rustling leaves echoing through the silent ghost of a neighborhood. I catch a whiff of blueberry muffins and see a white flash of sharp incisors before I feel a heavy beast slam into my side and knock me down. I scream as the creature's teeth sink into me.