February 20th, 1957
Dan laid in his bed on his belly with his hands tucked into his chest, watching the dying fire as it buzzed weakly. Dan took a deep, knifelike breath in through his chest, although the terrible ligature was viselike.
Dan turned to his right and studied the bumps in the wall, assembling faces within the patterns. Once bored, he turned over again, irritated. His eyelids were heavy, as if being yanked downwards. Restless, he lifted his eyes up at the pellucid frost and the branches tapping the glass fiercely. Beyond that, there was an incandescent white light coming from behind the outer brick chimney breast. It was far enough that the source wasn't visible from his window. The light lit up the rime in a strange way that was similar to sun beaming through sheets of laundry hung on a wire.
Dan got up at this point, carefully placing his feet in their strongest areas, being careful for the sensitive spots. The bedside drawer was thick and much taller than than his bed.
Dan moved his torso as much as he could without feeling intense pain in attempts to view what was behind the chimney breast, but found that no matter how far to the right he got, the seed of the light was just out of view.
Abruptly the floor shifted upwards underneath the soles of his feet. Dan felt an floating, almost ailing feeling. He clutched the side of the bed and pulled himself on, rolling back onto his idle position. He no longer felt tired. In fact, this was the first time Dan had felt fear in quite a while. It was so unusual, he felt nauseous.
Upon catching his breath, the room suddenly filled with an all-consuming, white light that left as soon as it came like something had silently exploded.
Dan felt himself remember some sort of retention of when cars would pass dark rooms at night, their headlights weafting the room full of sparkle. He grew dizzy, like he had been rolling down a flight of stairs and was trying to put his arms out to catch the railing.
He laid in place for the next minute and for some reason knew he couldn’t move even if he tried.
Slowly, a white figure like a quilling burner hovered over him. Their bright light diluted slowly, revealing their accents, admitting quite the magnificent, chromatic hue. The figure had sad, black coloured eyes and irritated, pink meibomian glands like they had been crying.
Despite laying down, Dan felt his head loose all weight and went tenuous in the knees.
There was no way for him to personally tell, but he was having a psychogenic seizure.