The figures come to the door every night. Their silhouettes backlit by the porchlight, waiting. The noises they make are faint, but it sounds as if there’s a crowd of people outside, albeit a crowd that’s very far away. They don’t move, they simply sit and stare.

   During the day you live your life, a student filled with optimism and full of potential. Under the bright sunlight you strive to accomplish your dreams, and despite their monumental proportions, you can’t help but think that you’ll make them happen one day. You’ll find the ideal job, the ideal lover, you know it’s true.

   The night thinks differently. The things come back, staring silently through the glass windows. You can’t help but react as if they were people. You arm yourself and stand guard at the door, ever vigilant against the attack you have no doubt is coming, but they show no reaction to your efforts. They sit. And they stare.

   The next day is a little less optimistic. You’re late to class, but that happens every now and again. You find out that your love interest is already taken, which stings much more. As you walk home from the tiring day, you notice that the sky is a little overcast.

   The nights comes, as it always does. And the figures return, as they always do. You approach the door, attempting to discern some details of your antagonists, but they seem to suck in all light. No details, just an iron darkness. You return to your bed and fall into a restless sleep. The next day is a full on storm. You can’t even draw yourself out of bed. The negativity plagues your every thought, every emotion dampened except for the sadness, which seems to have amplified. You hold on to your life for only a few days. On the last night of the week, it becomes unbearable. As the sun sets and the figures start to appear, you simply ignore them, trying to resist them. Your time, unfortunately, is up. At 1 A.M precisely, you give up, and open the door.