The night is a veil. Howling moon and scowling stars guard its dynasty. The night is factory of delirious dreams and silent screams. With charcoal in its core, it fumes the flow of fright.
The night is slithery and monstrous. It fans the flames of fear, a habitual intimidator. It blinds you and preys you. Does it hides from you; or hides you? In the midst of its chutzpah, it makes your sensory system frozen.
The night is a scion of mystery. The night is an unrequited acquaintance with ample of attraction. Its fangs infuse the hypnotics into your vessels and suspended animation rules. Night is the biggest knight of the universe.
The night is clairvoyant at its peaks. It is the blotting paper for many glooms. Like a psychic charlatan, it derives pleasure in watching you deadened. Black clouds hover on the sky roof; electric thunders give shudders to the spine.
The store house of supernatural ammunition. Its essence lies in its plentiful provocative plea. It judges your inner-self and hampers your judgment. It is bleak and bleary. It is non-perspective. It silences your senses and forces you to take a temporary recluse from the world.
Night fetches our quandaries to light. A pale ghost of the day, it roars in organized anxiety. The juggernaut of gremlin. The mishmash of creepy agonies. The sinister, at its best.