sitting, apathetically, on a simple wooden chair.
It has changed position slightly, adjusting to his weight, the increasing
heaviness of his torpor.
The vampire has been visiting, drank from him, took a souvenir piece of
his middle finger.
Made him half visible.
As it passed out of the room it turned the bed into the carcass of a dead,
The mesmer of its eyes still lingers against his brow.
The touching of its hands can still be seen on his legs.
The room is shuddering in the aftermath of its presence, its entire structure
and every object in it shrieks in a long protracted scream.
But he is oblivious to it.