gitchy

A strange atmosphere hanging over The Last House tonight.

The sky outside is heavy with rain, but it doesn’t look like any will fall. The heat is heavy, like a hand on your chest.

Inside . . . everything feels pressurized, oppressive.

There are shadows moving through the rooms, vague shapes darting here and there in the periphery of my vision . . . some pop out into my line of sight, trying to startle me.

Almost clown like, playful. But they want me to be scared.

I feel twitchy, paranoid . . . glancing, looking back over my shoulder as things pass.

It hasn’t been this bad in a long time.

It’s been getting worse by the minute.

It’s going to be a long night.