Summoned by the smell of sleep, Silhouette silently glides a few inches above and across bedroom floor. Now entirely separate from shadows, it stops at the source of the slumberous roars. Without eyes to see, ears to hear, or a mouth to speak, Silhouette is void, empty: hungry.

Sleeper repeats their snore. Silhouette’s weightlessness climbs on top of the bed. Limbs hidden beneath blankets are gripped by darkness and Silhouette’s fingers bleed into and become the fabric, cinch Sleeper, pressure that’d resuscitate the dead.

Awake, Sleeper cannot move; eyes open, all Sleeper sees is darkness. Then Silhouette arches its back and black separates revealing sharpened teeth gnashing a gummy, colorful substance. Sleeper, poorly anesthetized, must wait for morning; only light can stop Silhouette’s feast of dreams.

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