I wake, half asleep, in the downstairs guest room, fumbling for the alarm clock on the bedside table. The clock radio is warbling a doo-wop tune from the 60s, the music is tinny, fading in and out of the radio static.
“Let me in…” the voice sings, mellow and soothing. “You can’t resist me… Let me in… Let me inside…”
I struggle to sit up, sleep still heavy on me, weighing me down.
The radio, the song, louder now, insistent: “You cannot resist me, let me inside…”
My hand finds the nightstand, flat against the tabletop. Nothing.
I realize then that there is no radio in this room, no clock.
The music, the song, the singing is coming from outside the window.
A shadow looms there, just visible between the half-drawn blinds. Tall and dark, learning down to peer in at me, singing… cajoling… calling softly…
“Let me inside, you cannot resist me, let me in… let me in…”
I put my hand up, the selenite ring on my finger like a little moon, a bright ward against the darkness outside.
The singing fades. The shadow slowly withdraws. Maybe it hisses as it does.