<span style="color: #BFBFFF"><span style="font-size: 87%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;">The fact that Colm sleeps at all that night is a wonder. That he sleeps while things prowl about the windows to look in at their new guest is nothing short of miraculous. <br/>But sleep he does - from the moment his head hits the futon Colm is out like a light. Fear and physical exertion have taken their toll and Colm’s a guy with simple needs; food and sleep are medicine enough to cure him of most ailments. <br/><br/>For the most part he does not dream. A nightmare of choking black fingers forcing their way into his mouth and nose half wakes him in the black hours of the morning, but the dream resolves itself to something comforting and he drifts away once more. He dreams of being a small child again, wandering sunlit icy woods with a familiar figure holding his hand and singing a song he doesn’t remember in the morning. Then nothing, and he sleeps dreamlessly til dawn. <br/><br/>Colm wakes disorientated, not unusual these days even if he hasn’t quite gotten used to it. He has gotten used to thin futons and hard floors, which feels a lot like camping and don’t bother him nearly as much, but as a creature of habit waking to a new ceiling three out of five mornings for a good chunk of the past nine months has been an uncomfortable experience. Today his ceiling is pale golden wood and he studies the soft whorls that pattern it in the growing light, not quite ready to examine his thoughts and the demented events of the day before. <br/><br/>Eventually the vain hope of falling back into sleep dies and Colm gropes blindly beside the pillow for his phone and wifi dongle. The display of his iphone shows that he has no reception and a few minutes to go before six am hits. He frowns and restarts the wifi dongle, nearly dropping his phone on his face in the process. The dongle fires up immediately to the same stubborn lack of signal - a problem Colm hadn’t encountered even in the depths of Aokigahara forest on the slopes of Mount Fuji, let alone half an hour from a major city. Idly he wonders if it has anything to do with yesterday's bizarre experience before discarding the thought entirely in favor of getting up. For the sake of his sanity it seems a train of thought best left alone for the time being. <br/><br/>His backpack and few belongings sit undisturbed by the small table, the previous day’s clothing poorly folded beside them. Goosebumps raise along his arms and chest in the brisk morning air as he pulls a clean white t-shirt over his head but his hands hesitate at the the waistband of his underwear; there’s something unsettling about being nude from the waist down in a home that isn’t your own. Hurriedly, he changes into fresh underwear and pulls yesterday’s jeans on over them. He finds a pair of socks that pass a cursory sniff test and considers the bottle of sake briefly. That old phrase, ‘it’s always five o’clock somewhere’ comes to him and the idea of getting blind drunk in hopes of passing out and childishly ignoring the ridiculous situation he’s gotten himself into is tempting...but he’s also curious. <br/><br/>Probably the way Colm is handling this isn’t normal. He feels as though he should be running - should have run last night - but the fear is just about balanced with the driving need to <span style="font-style: italic">know</span>. So he leaves the sake and his backpack of worldly possessions and goes to stand out on the small balcony to watch the sun climb into the sky.</div></span></span></span>