In the early hours of the morning, Sean awoke, light-headed and drowsy. It took a little while for him to focus and he gradually became aware of the sensation in his leg. It tingled. No… more of a prickle. Something akin to pins and needles. As he lay there, summoning the strength to move, the pain became more pronounced… sharp. Propping himself up on his elbows, he stared down the length of the bed. The covers appeared to be moving ever so slightly in the glow from the streetlight outside.

Sean hurled the covers off the bed and stared down at… his bare legs, hairs on end in the early morning’s chilliness. His calves ached as he pulled them up toward his chest; the sheet beneath dotted with spots of reddish brown. He sat there, massaging the muscles on the back of his leg for a moment or two, wild-eyed and confused. What the hell is going on?

A wailing siren outside broke Sean’s stupor and he shuffled off the end off the bed, turning on the light. Everything looked normal, bar the reddish spot, in the dingy little bedsit and Sean was beginning to doubt his sanity. There were no apparent wounds on his legs, much like his shoulder earlier. He stared at the bed, the covers lying crumpled on the floor in front of the bathroom door. He grabbed the sheet and ripped it from the bed. Sean ran a hand over the old, stained mattress but to no avail.

The alarm clock on the bedside table read 03:37 in muted red numbers. “It’s much too early for this shit,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, as he started to make his way to the bathroom.

Sharp pain shot through his foot as he stubbed his toe on the leg of the bed. Instinctively he lifted his foot, overbalanced, and landed on the threadbare carpet with a resounding thud.

The sound of creaking floorboards and an opening door drew Sean’s attention to his door. Someone was out there. Probably the old man across the hall…

Is that son of a bitch screwing with me? Sean knew it was an irrational thought, but it was all he could grasp at. He regained his feet and hobbled toward the door. Managing to get his hand on the door, Sean yanked it open, just in time to see the old man disappear back into his own flat, the door closing with a soft click.

Undeterred, Sean limped across the hallway and pounded on the old man’s door. Sean stopped and rested his hand against the cool wood. For a moment or two, nothing happened, and Sean became dimly aware of the ridiculous of his situation. Here he was, in the middle of the night, standing in a corridor in a dosshouse, in his boxer shorts, hammering on the door of a senior citizen about to accuse the old man of screwing with him in some undetermined way.

As Sean was about to leave, the door creaked open and the old man’s face appeared through a haze of blue smoke. “Yes,” the man asked as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sean took a deep breath, and whispered, “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

The old man smiled a toothless grin. “Which time?”

“Both I guess.” Sean hung his head, re-crossed to his own open door, and stepped inside.

The old man made a nasty phlegmy sound, cleared his throat, and said, “This is how it always begins.”