They wouldn't believe the things that she had seen.

   It was a hot night, too hot for her liking, considering that it was winter season. But then again, the weather is damn unpredictable. The ceiling fan was already on it'd maximum speed, but it's not enough for her. The white cotton tee she's wearing was already clinging onto her body, feeling sticky because of her sweat. God, all Sydney ever need is a cold shower right now but she just had that almost an hour ago.

   She sat up and wiped her forehead with her shirt, fanned herself with a small cardboard she got under her nightstand. Breathe, Sydney, breathe, she chanted with her eyes closed.

   When she opened her eyes, it landed on a landscape that hung above her bedroom door. It was painted by her best friend, Ginny. It looked like Seattle -- the painting -- with all those large, evergreen trees. She remembered the day when Ginny got the apartment stained with various colors of acrylic paint. Sydney was so upset but when she saw the painting, she was in awe and forgot her rants. She begged Ginny to give it to her, but the latter refused for it belong to someone special. Two weeks after that, clearly a day before Sydney's birthday, she saw the painting laid on her bed with a letter from Ginny. The letter wasn't finished. That was the first and last piece Ginny ever painted.

   Sydney sighed heavily and fell back. She kept on fanning herself until consciousness slowly slipped away from her. She could hear the faint sound of cars driving passed by outside and some rock music her neighbor was playing. She could recognize it was Alice Cooper singing -- last night was Skid Row and tomorrow night will be random pick. Poison isn't really the best lullaby song, but somehow it's helping her dozed off. She could see the dim light coming through the window on her left side, and with that, she fell asleep.

She doesn't know what exactly the time is, but she's sure that it's past midnight because she can't hear Alice Cooper anymore. The room was much more darker than she remembered when she fell asleep. Maybe because the light outside went off. She tried to stir and lie on her side but she couldn't. She couldn't move. She's stuck as if someone tied her with invisible rope or freeze her. She was paralyzed.

   She looked around and something from the corner moved. She doesn't know if she just imagined it she can't keep her eyes open. She blinked rapidly, still sleepy. Then she saw it again, and this time she heard it moved. She narrowed her eyes to see it more clearer.

   It was not it. It was a he. He looked like a mummy, but he seems too fat to be a mummy. Mummies were bones, right? This one seems to have flesh. And then Sydney realized it. He wasn't a mummy. He was someone who was burnt and covered with bandages and gauze. He wasn't completely white, he was wearing clothes. Denim jeans and a shirt under his long sleeved polo shirt. His mouth was stitched and he have buttons for his eyes. He looked like a voodoo doll. A human-sized voodoo doll.

   Sydney hates dolls.

   She shut her eyes firmly. It's not real. Just go to sleep. It's not real. Go back to sleep. She slightly opened her eyes and checked her room and saw him, slowly walking toward her bed. He was thumping at the floor as he walked. She closed her eyes again, hearts beating so fast that she could hear it. She rarely hears the sound of her heartbeat.

   The thumping sounds closer and closer to her, until she could sense him standing near her. She swallowed hardly and tried to focus on her heartbeat. on her dream earlier that she can barely remember, on the lyrics of Alice Copper's songs.

   The burnt man squatted down beside her bed. He didn't moved or talked. He was looking at Sydney, or at least his head was facing her direction.

   Sydney doesn't hear anything anymore. But she still can't move her body, even just to wiggle her toes or fingers. She slowly opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. He was too close to her, so close. She wanted to scream but she can't. And even if she does, nobody will hear her. Nobody bothers anyway. They doesn't seem to believe her.