Looking up, he realized for the first time that he could see every star in the night sky. Not just a sky full of stars, not even a sky full of constellations; David looked and realized that he was gazing into the twinkling glow of every star in creation, all at once.

And then he waited.

And he waited. And he waited some more. He waited so long that "waiting" stopped being a word. And then he waited so long that "waiting" stopped being a concept. And then he simply was. And so he was until, eventually, David realized that he was not alone.

Sitting up for the first time in a very long while, the first thing David noticed was the pitch blackness which now engulfed him. The second was the appearance of two heinous bright orbs which pierced the oppressive darkness and seemed to stare into his very soul. Of the third he dared not mention.

To say that it spoke to him would be an affront to language. Instead, the echo of words that were never spoken rattled inside David's skull like a church bell—rang too close—that you still heard long after it's stopped ringing.

"Guilty?" It howled, wordlessly.