conversations with dead people
It had been a quiet night, and Malcolm had hoped to get a good night's sleep. All hopes for that are dashed, though, as he wakes with a start, and sees the light still low in his room. He sits up quickly in his bed and looks back and forth, trying to make out anything unusual among the heavy shadows.
There is something here.
Someone.
"...Hello?"
No reply.
Cautiously, Malcolm rises from his bed, and walks to the middle of the room. Yes, there it is. A Presence is palpable.
And with that Malcolm feels a wave of dread, because he remembers the encounters people had last year. It had always been amusing costumes or changes before then, but last year's Hallowe'en had been the beginning of something potentially more grim. He had been spared then, but the chill he feels now is telling him his reprieve had been only temporary.
Slowly, he makes his way through the other rooms of his small apartment, until only his bathroom is left. Sure enough, the shadows beyond its doorway are unusually heavy. He really should have noticed that right away. Taking a deep breath, Malcolm steels himself for whatever is to come.
Even if that is to be a conversation with the dead.
He steps across the doorway, flicks on the light, sees his reflection in the mirror.
...And sees it grin. "How you doin'?"
Malcolm goes like this: "..."
And like this: -_-
And then looks up and growls, "Very fucking funny," before stomping back to bed.