The Black Thing

A voice deep but whispered said. Na kikita kita. I see you. When the old woman dies you and I will meet again. Zai bongara. Its last words trailed off like a fading echo and with it. Black thing disappeared. The cry that fought for freedom only moments before had left me so I waited beneath my blankets like a statue. Like a boy embedded in ice and hoped to God it was good enough. It loomed over me staring down with eyes that pierced the thin cloth that separated us by mere inches. A chill of its skin absorbing my warmth. After a time I couldn't say how long my voice returned. Until the bedroom door burst open