Sometimes I see them, the things prowling just beyond ken, back and forth, back and forth, walking in the darkness that has teeth. Here in my cube of light, I am blinded to the shadows, but I know they're there, waiting for some poor unwary fool to stumble, fall, falter - and they'll pounce, the things with claws, low growls that I feel in my bones, a hunger so deep it seeps over the edges and into me.

Sometimes, I see them, tricks of light and shadow, but mostly shadow, flitting across the moon, blotting the stars, soaring through the darkness that has teeth. They howl so high and piercing, my bones tremble, and small creatures huddle in their dens, wrapped in fear, hope, and the knowledge that the sun will rise tomorrow, until one day it does not.

Sometimes I see them, faint glowing eyes staring in at me as I stare out at them, at an impasse, respecting the boundaries, the chiaroscuro that divides me from the darkness that has teeth. I wonder what it would be like to let them in, to offer myself up to their dark feast, to feel their fangs sink deep into my flesh, let them drink deep, slake their thirst, tear body from soul, and I shudder, pant, feel my heart race - from fear or delight, I cannot say.

Sometimes I yearn for the darkness that has teeth.