I hoisted the poker above my head, ready to strike. I moved forward, my grip firm, ready to oust whatever burglar there was lurking around my house.

Before I could even land the blow, the figure turned around and grabbed me by the wrist. I was soon twisted into a painful position, the tendons in my shoulders and biceps stretching in agony.

I let out a gasp of pain due to the tenderness of the spot, and wriggled to get free. The hold on me slackened almost immediately, and I wrenched myself away, massaging my shoulders carefully.

“Oh…it’s only you,” a voice quietly said, and he observed me in the dim luminescence of the moon pouring from the glass door at the end of the hall.

“What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief, wincing as my shoulder pulled. That’s definitely going to be sore…

“I apologize for reacting like that,” he spoke, his eyes sliding over the photograph he was holding.

“What are you looking at?”