It's 11:05, and there's something sinister in the street.

I distract myself from it with my typical nocturnal activities. I know that a serendipitous glance out the window revealed an unholy silhouette, but if I keep my mind occupied I can forget. I flip through television channels, looking for something bright and cheery. Something that will relax me. Something that will make me forget the thing I couldn't possibly have seen. The thing that makes me anxious. A commercial comes on, and I fiddle with my watch to keep me occupied. Stupidly, hopefully, fearfully, I glance out the window again.

It's 11:10, and there's something sinister in my yard.

I tell myself that there is no possible, rational way for That Thing to be there. There is no conceivable series of events on hell or on earth that could lead to That Thing coming to exist. Surely it's all in my imagination, surely I'm just tired. Perhaps I should just take a nap. A quick snooze to help me relax. I take off my watch so it doesn't get caught on the couch cushions, and I lay it on the window sill.

It's 11:15, and there's something sinister on my walkway.

I wonder to myself what possible drugs or vitamins I've been taking lately. I ask myself what chemicals, what bit of spoiled food, what ANYTHING I could possibly have imbibed that would lead to That Thing infiltrating my imagination. I can no longer deny that I saw something, but I by no means must have necessarily seen something real. I'm probably just paranoid, probably just hallucinating. Insanity is no longer as terrifying a concept as it once was, because it gives me an out. Finally convinced that I've imagined the whole thing, I get up to open the door to prove it to my foolish mind. As I do, I hear a series of powerful, rhythmic slams on the door. I sit back down.

It's 11:20, and there's something sinister at my door.

I turn the volume on the television up as loud as I possibly can, hoping to drown out the sound of That Thing pounding on my door. Crash after agonizing crash is muffled by the familiar, comforting arguments of Buggs Bunny and Daffy Duck. I try to fixate my eyes on the sight of the two anthropomorphic creatures instead of the splintering door. There's a final loud crash, and I stare intently at the VCR timer, still desperately trying to will myself into ignorance.

It's 11:25, and there's something sinister in my living room.