3am

It's 3am - the Witching Hour. The hour some say the veil between the realm of the living and the dead is thinnest. Certainly the raven blackness of night pressing against my window is dense enough to lend itself to such eerie thoughts.

My eyes continue to stray to the glass. Logic and reason tell me there is nothing there, and I am safe and secure in my happy home. Yet, something woke me from my slumber. Something pulled me from my warm cocoon.

I sit now before this cursed machine trying to capture thoughts as they flit randomly through my skull. I fear all such attempts, however valiant, may be in vain. The vague sense of unease persists and I know not from whence it came.