The night is full of mysteries. They sit there waiting for us to uncover them if we dare. For all of my life I have been taught of the hazards of the night, yet something pulls at me. In the end I must wonder if the day is really the dangerous time. After all, the night’s dangers are clearcut, but the dangers of the day are hidden. Rae wrote this in her notebook, wondering what kind of story it might turn into. She glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands were distorted by her sleepy eyes, but she finally made out the time as 12:53. Much too late for her to be awake on a school night, yet what could she do if her hand wanted to write? Actually her hands wanted to type, but she had been forced to give up her room when their houseguests had arrived. She lay on a mattress on the floor in the den, which had recently been vacated by heroldest brother. Fortunately, there was such an age gap that they hardly ever fought and it was more like having a really cool uncle around than a brother. Her cat, Sizoz, lay next to her on her dirty jeans which reeked of chicken and cat fur. The house was still, the only noises were the faint hum of the heater and her scribbling pencil. Normally, she might listen to some loud, mindless music to clear her imagination, but the radio in the den had crappy reception. All she’d get was country and 80’s music if she turned it on. She stroked the cat’s soft black fur and smiled at the brief rumbling noise he’d made, hoping he’d open his eyes. No luck. She forced herself to stop writing and looked around for a boring book to read. Her social studies book lay open on the floor. Perfect. Within minutes of beginning a chapter on Mayan culture she was fast asleep.

As always, her sleep was filled with dream fragments and other such things, but pervading her sleep was the night’s pull, tantalizing and insistant. She had learned to ignore it most of the time, but tonight it was especially strong. She sighed as she rose from the floor and looked again at the clock. A little after three. She didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep; it would be useless. She tiptoed to the sunroom doors, her socks barely making a sound on the floor. She often stood out there when she could not sleep, and the night air seemed to take the edge off of her hunger for darkness, but never completely satiated it. She laid down on the wicker safa and went to sleep with the cool air cradling her in its arms.

Dawn light awoke her and she hurried back to her mattress so that her mother need never know where her daughter slept last night. Her mother came to wake her up around six thirty, not suspecting that her daughter was already awake. She grabbed some jeans that didn’t smell like chicken and cat fur and slipped them on after pulling the ones she’d slept in off. She chose a dark brown sleeveless shirt that showed off her pale skin. She slipped on her dirty, old sneakers that she refused to let her mom wash, (It gives them character,â€