It certainly woke me up. I opened my eyes, wondering what the hell was going on, and that was when I saw the dark shape at the foot of the sofa. It was a man, tall and broad, and so thoroughly black that all of the ambient light from the dim room seemed to be sucked right into his form. He was a silhouette—like a black hole in man-shape, made of inky fog. When he leaned toward me, the anger that exuded from his presence hit me like a sledgehammer driving through my brain. He leaned down, grabbing my covers. As I scrambled back, he yanked the blankets off me, sending me tumbling. I went sprawling off the sofa, across the coffee table, smashing the glass top. Several shards pierced my skin. “Son of a bitch!” The needles of glass sliced sharply into my right arm. I landed on the floor by the table’s side and scrambled back like a crab, using my hands and feet to scoot away from the approaching shadow. It was hard to look away, and the energy surrounding him was so violent that I could barely think over the sound of my heartbeat.
