Frustrated after spending the day trying to find his old tarot cards John went to bed. The sermon haunted him; “Christians should never use nor have any occult objects in their homes they are only magnets for demons.” Sleep captures him while traveling with Bilbo thru the Mirkwood.

The presence loomed out from the dresser draw and further darkened the room. An oppression or a malefic gravitational force was pressing down on that corner of the room. As it oozed over the room John woke thinking he were in Mirkwood terrified, unable to see but sensing the horrifying aura. His skin crawled up his spine gnarling between his shoulder blades pressing, pushing almost inserting without causing physical pain. His arms prickled with goose bumps as if hundreds of fire ants where biting his arms. Then cold, cold, sweat beaded on his forehead as dread slowly unveiled into his reality.

No! No! No! It’s not Mirkwood, nor a dream, this was his bedroom, his sanctuary from the rest, the rest of everything!