The intruder hesitated momentarily. Slow movement flashed where the light beyond the window panes gripped him, and released into shadow. Hauling the cloak of rich silence in his wake, a measured progress saw his arrival at the first door, the open kitchen. Cavernous, its features lay petrified, a cleanliness of anaesthetic precision, pale porcelain like carved bone.
Being new built, and clinging proudly to the fact, the structure lacked the character he preferred, the voices of aged joists and staircases, a fragility to tremble with strong wind. Enough sound to provide company, sharpen anticipation. The floor, cold and fresh as sheeted steel, would answer him, he knew, would resound his presence if given the opportunity. He had imagined its hardness beneath his footsteps, knowing this would be the room which drew him first. The table where the children ate breakfast, where she readied them for school, though nothing of their feverous routine echoed, each surface prepared for the next days activity. Drinking in the moonlight where its channels veiled the furniture, an excitement charged electrically through his stomach, forcing a path between his vocal chords and sparking a multitude of responses in the brain, as the ceiling lights shattered the cool clarity of the image. All of them, with that instantaneous trickery artificial light plays, set the room ablaze, dazzling him.
He had expected them, though their crude usage proved a disappointment, the attempted superiority of a weapon, sharply casting a first hand to the table. The fear of darkness is a fear of the unknown. Throwing the room into sudden disarray restored some power to the user. But to know the threat is only the beginning.