You know? There’s that creepy feeling when something flickers in the corner of your eye, just a fleeting, sharp movement that disappears as suddenly as it appeared. I was working at night, in the darkness and silence, no one distracts me, I can draw in peace. I set up my workstation by the window so I could look out at the dark, empty streets when I was thinking. It helps me concentrate. The weather that night was miserable, the rain had just stopped, so the streets were flooded with puddles and slush, but there was a pleasant coolness. Continuing to develop the image, I couldn’t figure out the outline—it should be smooth, yet bold—nothing came to mind. Irritably hitting the keys, I straightened up tiredly… and again, out of the corner of my eye, I felt a quick movement somewhere to the side. Turning sharply, I saw a pale, hunched creature staring straight at me. I jumped in surprise before realizing it was just my reflection in the window. The situation made me smile. Unfortunately, a bit of schizophrenia would be just the thing to complete my image as a horror lover. I was determined to finish the drawing today. Staring out the window, I began to think further. It was dark and deserted outside. I love my city; at night, it practically dies. I wandered aimlessly through the streets until I again sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. Then a nasty feeling washed over me, like when a spider crawls up your leg. I love spiders, of course, but the feeling was unpleasant. Looking under the table, I didn’t see any spider, of course, but my inspiration was completely ruined, and I decided to go to bed. Another sudden movement, this time I wasn’t even surprised. Turning my head in the direction of the movement, I was stunned by shock. Outside the window stood a tree, and in its branches I saw a multitude of foal faces. There were no bodies visible, just heads protruding from the dense foliage, with snow-white smiles. Some had larger pupils, others smaller; sometimes the pupils were different sizes in both eyes, giving the faces insane shapes. One of the faces had a dried flower in its teeth. Cold sweat trickled down my forehead, and I couldn’t get up from my chair; my imagination was already giving me images of these strange foal heads flying into my house and tearing me apart. But as soon as I blinked, they disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. There were no more foal faces in the tree’s foliage. Perhaps it was just my imagination, or, as an inveterate fantasist, I too often immerse myself in my own universe. I sat and put my thoughts in order, but suddenly, I again felt a fleeting movement, the window slammed, and lowering my gaze to the table, I saw a dried flower, similar to a chamomile.