[NOTE: I didn't feel like continuing my other piece that has.. I think three parts in it.  I got bored.  So this is not another sequel.. ]

Prance, my cat, likes to walk around in the kitchen in the middle of night.  Whenever one of her feet touches the floor, it makes a noise, sounding almost like "pih."  There's no other way I can think of to imitate it, so I'll just say "pih."  Pih, pih, pih.  It's a beautiful noise.

Usually, the only things I hear at night are the creaking stairs, "pihs", and trains passing by more than a mile away.  But tonight, I didn't hear any "pihs".  The trains seem so much quieter than they usually are.  The creaking is muffled, and the only thing I hear is myself breathing.

It's nights like these where I suspect there's a fictional character only ten feet away, lurking in my closet.

I pull away the sheets and my blanket, and step out onto the soft gray carpet.  Everything in here is gray, except for the dark wood desk and dresser, and my red blanket.  And if you really want to get technical, I'm not gray either.  But I suppose that goes without saying.

And now I'm just rambling.

My feet make the sound of a hamper being dragged across the carpet, so I start rolling my toes, like we do in marching band.  I don't like it when I make much noise at midnight.  It doesn't feel appropriate.

I reach the closet, flick on the light, and wince at the sudden brightness bouncing off of the dull gray walls.  No one's in here, but I look behind the row of hanging clothes to make sure.  Still no one.

I walk back to bed and crawl back into the sheets.  When there are nights like this, I never check anywhere else but the closet.  I guess it's because if I were a kidnapper, or a murderer, the closet would be the only place I'd want to go.  Usually I'd be more paranoid, but tonight isn't one of those nights.  Tonight is one of these nights.

Most of the time, I have a really hard time falling asleep.  I shut my eyes, think of happy things.. but it always takes at least an hour for me to actually doze off.  Sometimes I feel like that guy from Fight Club, who has insomnia.

I make a lot of Fight Club connections, but I'm never exactly sure why.

And when I have nights like this, the only person I can think of that would hide in my closet is Tyler Durden.  A purely fictional character from Fight Club.

If Tyler Durden were actually the person in my closet, I wouldn't be afraid.  I know the ending to Fight Club.  I'm never afraid when I check my closet for Tyler Durden.  It doesn't frighten me, or irk me.  The idea of an actual person hiding there would scare me, but not Tyler Durden.

Never Tyler Durden.

Now I'm just laying here, thinking about that noise Prance makes in the kitchen.  And Tyler Durden.  And now all I can think of is the possibility that it's not Tyler Durden.. that it's someone else.

Maybe it's that guy from The Collector.

I shudder, and pull away the blankets, lowering my head over the edge of my blankets to stare into almost-empty space.

The End

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