The room reeked of mildew and stale smoke, the scent of slow decay clinging to the peeling vinyl wallpaper and suffused into the cracks between the stained ceiling tiles. Outside, the dark pressed in, suffocating, but inside, they huddled close, the flickering neon from the illuminated sign casting jittery shadows at the edge of the tight drawn curtains.

He glanced at the boy, small and trembling, clutching his frayed teddy bear like a lifeline. Tiredness gnawed at the edges of their vigilance, the weight of their secret heavy in the silence between them. Outside, the world creaked and the walls of their sanctuary seemed too thin, too eager to spill their sweat-soaked horror into the ether.

“Not yet,” he whispered, more to himself than the boy, fingers wrapped tight around a cracked cellphone, the dead battery almost feeling palpable in his pocket. “Just hold on. Just a few hours more.”

Each tick of the clock was like a dripping tap-tap of fear, a warning that danger lurked closer than the shadows. Anxiety curled in his gut, twisted tight like a tourniquet. Had they already been found? Who was watching them?

The boy shifted, a sharp intake of breath cutting through the oppressive air. “Dad," he whispered, eyes wide, reflecting the light, deep hollows filled with a horror no child should carry.

“Shh,” he snapped, the urgency clawing at his throat. He remembered the blood, the laughter, the smash of glass, the flash of a life extinguished in an instant. A gun shot echoing off the buildings encircling the parking lot, the thump of a body hitting cracked asphalt, just for a moment the mundane location transformed into a theatre of the macabre. The raspy voice of a man who was nothing but smoke and violence. The turn of his head, the look of furious determination, a man who was never going to leave witnesses in his wake.

He came closer, the instincts of a protector “I’m here,” he said, decisively, giving anchor to the child in a storm of panic. They were on a precipice; the morning loomed like a yawning abyss, ready to swallow them whole. With every passing moment, time pressed on them, tasting their fear, almost revelling in it.

“Can we go now?” the boy asked, each word a tiny hammer chipping at his father’s fragile resolve.

He swallowed hard, the choice clinging to his throat. “Just a little longer,” a tremor in his voice. “We’ll tell them everything in the morning.”

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were in a world saturated with threat. He put his arm around his son, pulling him close, feeling his rapid heartbeat against his side. They were waiting, hearts racing in sync, resisting the threat of their faith surrendering to fear.

And in that dilapidated motel, they were haunted by something far worse than the original agent of their terror. They were dreading the coming hours; the boy scared of the night , the father terrified of the light...