It's three in the morning as you are dragged, yet again, from a restless sleep. You stare into the dark of your bedroom and sigh. You know it's futile to try to go back to sleep, now. That one street lamp across from your window seems to cast an overly bright, blue light through your curtains. You don't hear any cars on the street below you window.

It's three in the morning: the witching hour.

You know it's just a superstition, you know that there are no such things as ghosts and witches, but once you think that about them, you start to see the world differently. Suddenly the shadows in the very corners of your room look suspiciously human. The sounds of boiling water running through your out of date radiator are much more sinister. You know there isn't someone behind you, but you press yourself just a little closer to your head board, and wrap your sheets just a little tighter around you. You try really hard not to think about green old women with large noses, funny hats and warts, but then you have the image of them in you head.

A shiver runs down your spine.

You tell yourself you're being ridiculous, and reach for the lamp on your nightstand

There's a faint clicking outside your door.

You're suddenly terrified. There are so many what-if's running around your head that you can't pin-point one worst case scenario.

The clicking stops and you hear a soft thump and a low groan.

You very carefully peel back the covers and grab the nearest hard object to you. You flick the lights on and reach for the door. You grasp the old squeaky nob. You turn it. You fling the door open. You're fully prepared to face some paranormal beast, instead, you're faced with the droopy eyes and fuzzy face of your dog looking up at you from it's position curled up outside your room.

You dog stands and trots around your frozen form, making for the bed, it's toenails clicking softly on the wood floor. Your doge jumps on your bed, circles three times, and flops down with a soft groan.

After staring at the furry creature for a few moments, you close you door and turn out the lights. As crawl into bed you think you see something out of the corner of your eye and...

I take my coffee pure:

Black as night,

Dark as sin,

Bitter like regret,

Biting like pain,

Deeper than the sea

Hotter than the earth's core.

I like not being able to see the bottom of my cup as I watch the steam curling from the surface.

Then I drink it.

And burn my tongue.

And as I sit there miserably sucking on an ice cube, knowing that I won't be able to taste anything properly for a few days, I think that, maybe, it could use some sugar.