Listen:
Listen to me.
How could you not see It this morning? There, by the door, in the room in which I lay, when you came to wake me and found me awake?
We sat around the table; you, and you, and I. And you were upset that I did not eat.
How could I eat, with It standing there behind you, Its shadow lying there on the table, covering the food? Are you blind?
Later in the day, strangers came, and you made merry, and there was much laughter, and you set me there among you, to be with you, to be a part of the joy.
But It was also there, standing by the door, watching me. And I became terrified, and tried to warn you, but you became disgusted with my protests, dismissing them as gibberish, and you took me from the room, from the strangers, and put me in here alone, and It entered after you left and It stood by the door, watching, waiting.
Listen:
Can you not hear? Can you not see?
Have the years that have given you your size dimmed the power of your eyes?
It is dark, and taller than you, and in the holes that are Its eyes I see Eternity. It is there when the fear wearies me to sleep, It is there when the terror awakens me, It is there when you come in and impatiently demand that I be silent, It is there, standing behind you, Its shadow falling over me but not over you, It is there.
Look!
Look behind you!
But you will not look. You cannot perceive. You shake your wise old heads and leave me, shutting the door behind you, leaving me alone with It.
It comes out of the darkness, darker than the darkness, as if the darkness were a light behind It, making it a silhouette. In the holes that are It's eyes I see Eternity...
... and I scream, a silent scream...
... and you will see nothing...
Around and around, the red lights spun in the night, flickering on the old brownstone. The ambulance glided stately away without a siren sounding.
A taxi paused at the curb. The driver called to an officer he knew.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Yeah, right."
"What happened here?" the driver asked.
"Crib-death," was the casual reply.