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Above my bed is an ill-fitting light fitting.   So what? I hear you ask.   Good question.   Shut the fuck up and listen, and I’ll explain.   So, the landlord installed new power-saving globes throughout my building about three months ago, and they’re bigger, and a different shape to the other ones, right?   So they had to pull out the reflective casing behind the fitting, and just leave the curved cross of metal the globes attach into.   Point is, in some spots there’s gaps into the ceiling space beyond.

I remember I was sitting here, actually.   Just before it happened.   Here, in this chair.   Writing to Amelia on this very page – a bitter show of bravado and blood-lust, a spill of rough words in response to the succinct and elegant message left for me some days previously.   She had been in my place.   In my space.   Fuck.   I remember I went back into the bathroom when I finished typing, and looked again at the bloodied words on the glass and my empty reflection in it.   And I think I wanted to violently smash the mirror, or smoothly lick the neat lettering, or deliberately smear off the offensive endearment, or lay my face against the glass and try and summon an emotion.   Or something.

Didn’t, though.

Just went and lay down on my bed.   That was during a prolonged ‘can’t be fucked sleeping’ stage – fuck, if it wasn’t dreams of Carly, it was of Amelia.   Between them, they’d fucking murdered sleep for me around that time – bloody flights of angels were singing me to serious unrest.   But – I dunno.   Maybe I did want to dream that night.    Or just remind myself I was not sleeping.   Whatever.


Lying on my back there for a moment or two, staring up at the dazzle of the bare bulb.   Then reaching over without looking for the light switch.  


Comfortable dark.

Lying there unblinking, enjoying the pleasure of the eyes adjusting.   Love that shit – slipping easily into that natural nocturnal mode.   First the blinding bright orb as your brain tries to remember what the light looked like, then the pink and green afterglow of traumatized ocular rods, then – slowly – the night vision coming in.   The unearthly black of the extra dark giving way sleekly to something densely greyer, then something closer to imaginary moonlight.   The blur of unrelenting night languidly coming back into normal focus – shapes reforming, depth perception re-initializing, perspective re-engaged.

And zoom lens back online.

There’s black.   Then there’s a faint circle of the light-fitting, and a fainter memory of light as the globe filament cools.   Then behind that, the circle begins to show the cross of the fitting’s bracket, dividing it neatly up.   And then behind that is still dark, but the edges of the metal are becoming sharper and closer, and there is a sense of the nearness of the ceiling and a space beyond and I look closer, up into the circle of fitting, past the cross of the bracket, through to the real black above, and see –




An eye.   Looking back down at me.





It – or I – blink.   Then it’s gone.





  1. OMG, she’s above you?! If so, what a mistake. You always tell us not to forget to look up!

    • Indeed. I’m rarely on the other side of the stalking…

  2. An eye for an eye

  3. Damn!! that scared the hell out of me. I needed a god jump start.

  4. GOOD jump start dammit!!

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