Plus she was on a strict schedule. She unzipped her dress and let it drop to the floor, stepping over it towards the bathroom. She was lucky, she kept...telling herself, everyone she grew up with was still using outside toilets and washing clothes by hand. She had the best of everything thanks to David. Rose slid into the tub, immersed up to her neck. No point getting the hair wet, she thought, the hairdresser had just set it yesterday. She sighed and let herself relax. She always looked forward. There’s a weight in the bed next to me. And I feel breathing on my neck. As I comprehend this fact, my blood runs cold and I freeze. The person is unmoving. The breathing is deep and even, relaxed. Who is it? The horror stories I’ve listened to come to mind, bringing with it images of Skinwalkers. Taking a deep, quiet breath and reasoning with myself that if it’s a Skinwalker, I’m already dead, I steel my resolve and slowly start to extricate myself from my blankets and bed. I want to be sure. More

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