• Alex stood in the center of a dark room. He could see no walls, no ceiling, he couldn't even see his feet. He spun in a quick circle, brown eyes wide with terror. He tried to cry out for help, but all that issued forth from his throat was a raspy squeak. Feet were rooted to the floor, whether in fear or by some other force he did not know. He could hear a shuffling sound, a shuffling sound he knew too well, and it sent a cold shiver of fear running down through his spine. The first thing he saw was a face. A face half-shrouded in shadows, ash white like a porcelain doll's.. As the body emerged, it moved as if pulled by invisible strings. Alex cringed. The doll's eyes were human, but glassy. Dead, like a corpse's eyes.

    Alex woke with a gasp, sitting up straight in bed. The sheets were tangled around his feet, his thin mattress and thinner pillow dampened by the chilled sweat that clung to his body. He jerked quickly then scooted to press his back against the bars framing the head of his bed, moving a trembling hand to brush sweat-soaked wavy brown hair from his face. Taking a few deep breaths, he assessed where he was. Right, safe, back in his room.. The clock on his desk shined merrily in green that it was eleven fifteen. He finally breathed a sigh after a moment. He'd had that same nightmare again. How many times had it been, now?

    Alex Wyndham had just moved into the quaint little Southern suburban town of Knoxley. Though he hadn't lived there long, it felt to him like an eternity. As soon as he came into town he found a small room in a large boarding house that was older than the dirt the town was built on, he surmised. Everyone seemed to know everyone in Knoxley, though at the same time it was as if no-one knew one another at all, from all of the whisperings that went on behind backs. Alex was from a large city, apparently the only "Yankee" in that chokingly ordinary place. But at least it was a quiet place. A place where he could forget.

    Letting out a sigh, he swung his lean form around on the bed achingly as an old man might, setting his bare feet on the cold floor. For a moment he stared at his legs, only covered from half the thighs up by a pair of boxer briefs. Hairy, but a pale golden color. The white face from his dreams swam back into his thoughts. So white. Not like human skin at all. The nightmares started when he moved into that place. Alex shuddered distinctively as he did most mornings, before leaning over to tug on a pair of ripped black jeans from the floor.

    His room was of the tiny variety, the sort one would expect in a boarding house. Furnished with a little cot-like bed, a dresser and a writing desk complete with a rickety wooden chair that severely needed to be repainted. He was sure it was supposed to be sky blue once years ago, but it was mostly faded peeling chips now. Standing, Alex smacked his clock as the alarm started buzzing, then crossed into the bathroom, which was also given the Trojan necessities. It comprised of a claw-foot tub with a hose attached to the nozzle ending in a shower head, and a toilet directly across from a stained sink.

    Alex didn't bother with the light as he took care of nature's call, his forehead pressed against the mirror over the sink when he washed his hands afterward. He'd gotten a little gaunt in the face over the past few months. He wouldn't be surprised if his ribs would start sticking out, soon. Aside from his sleep being troubled, he hadn't had much of an appetite lately, either. Hands were dried on his pants as he lurched out into his room to finish dressing, wandering out into the darkened hall finally with a black t-shirt sporting a faded Beatles logo on the front, untied scuffed black boots flopping on his feet. His wallet was secured to his belt loop via four long chains that dangled and rattled over his right hip and thigh. His eyes didn't want to open completely yet, but he didn't need to see perfectly. He could smell the coffee he wanted oh so much at that moment, wafting up from the stairwell.