A bit more of Billy Byron.

Billy slowly rolled himself over to the doorway of the large open landing. It was still dark, so he went to turn the hallway light on... click... click. The bulb had blown. He rolled himself over to the main light in his bedroom and went to turn the lamp on... click... click. The bulb had blown. Billy began to panic; he had been having panic attacks since he had been discharged from the hospital. Panic attacks that paralysed his body with fear. His breathing would get heavy and his eyes would well up with tears. Billy wanted his mum... anyone he recognised... he felt alone and vulnerable.

Creak, shuffle, creak. Billy turned towards the door, something had shot past his room towards the bathroom. The curtains in the hallway were swaying gently as if something or someone had brushed past them. He heard a whispering; a low, deep voice that seemed to beckon Billy towards the upstairs toilet. Billy wheeled his cold body towards the landing, he squeaked as his chair moved across the wooden floor.

As he got closer and closer to the bathroom, the darkness of the early morning hours seemed to wrap around his aching body. Billy began to feel trapped and breathless, as if the air around him was strangling the life away from his battered soul. He could feel someone watching him, his eyes darted from side to side. Billy could see eyes staring from all corners; then he heard a whistling from the bathroom. The door was closed, but the light was flickering between the gaps in the frame. Billy could swear that the light had been switched off just a few seconds ago.

He cautiously mumbled his mum's name under his breath, but there was no answer; the whistling continued. He mumbled her name again, no answer; just whistling. So Billy shouted the name one more time....... the whistling stopped and a shadow swept across the room, then a splash of water echoed across the tiled walls. The water began to seep through the gap under the door; it trickled towards Billy's chair. Then Billy looked towards the floor... there was a strange smell, a smell that Billy recognised from his first days of school; when the bigger kids would slap his face for his lunch money; a smell that reminded him of the days when he would bang his nose whilst running away from the bullies on his old estate; a smell that took him back to the day when that possessed lorry had ripped his leg away from his tiny frame. It wasn't water edging towards his wheelchair; it was blood. Hot, sticky blood; as red as the eyes of the demons that were haunting his dreams.