The Gebbeth crouched between the wall and the tallboy, waiting for its hapless host to wake. Its haggard limbs spread spider-like over the yellow wallpaper - tense; close; strung for action.

Monday's sun beamed into the room, to the delight of dust motes. Wheeling and rising above the warming doona, they cruised over the prone forms of Tom and Sarah.

Tom's brain ended a third remake of the night's feature. Packing its projection gear, the cerebellum threw to the brain stem, which gently dissembled the shroud of sleep. Cocooned in blood warm covers, with the soft form of his lover against his back, Tom slowly gained consciousness.

For one sweet, lingering moment, he felt free. Wondrous peace prevailed. His thoughts came clear and singly, with no mark other than his. And a wraith of hope formed in a corner of his mind.

He smiled faintly, and opened his eyes. The bedroom drew into focus. The lamp, the clock, the wardrobe, the hat stand, the wall, the painting, the tallboy…

The Gebbeth.

The scabby armlegs jerked alert and the dark form slithered from its alcove, unfolding and expanding until it teetered on a shifting array of clattering joints. Pausing only for Tom to attain full recognition, the Gebbeth leapt onto the bed, scrabbled across his body and burrowed through his scalp.

With an ejaculation of triumph, the creature then aligned itself along Tom's meninges and sank into them, usurping control of his thoughts, emotions and, to an increasing extent, his actions.

'Oh. Jesus…,' thought Tom, 'I thought I was free.'

'No chance, arsehole,' gloated the Gebbeth in a throatier version of his own mindvoice. 'We've got alllll day.'

Tom drew his eyes into their sockets. 'Ohh. F*ck.'

To be continued...