i have no shortage of things to accomplish during this insomniac spree, yet i find myself surfing idly and glancing over my shoulder in increasingly infrequent intervals. there is something about the night that changes this house, even with all the lights on. i try to read and am interrupted by my own imagination's frightful fancies. i type away with one earphone in, straining to listen against the low volume for...what? i don't know.