The faint sound of The Crying Child could be heard as he passed the wall lamp hanging by the stairs. When he took a few more steps the sound faded away to be replaced by foot-steps moving across the landing just above him. In spite of the cold air hanging like a damp sheet, he continued moving. After all, having done this countless times before, he knew there would be no one there when he reached the top of the stairs.
Unfortunately, this time proved to be different. He let out a low moan upon reaching the landing. A small grey cat stared up at him as he bent down to pick up the torn letter in the twisted light of the lamp. The rustling sound of an approaching gowned figure told him he wouldn’t have time to read the pages right now.
He was still clutching the blank papers when they found him in the morning. Delirious and unsteady, he mumbled that the words were clear in the lamp light. He went to Mexico shortly there after. The frequency and intensity of his migraines were much less when he stayed there on the coast. At least, that is what he claimed.