The pale ones.

Walking in the snow, bear footed

Grainy, Sticky.

It is uncomfortable

But bearable

Walking towards my door,

I don't remember coming out

The door swings open easily

Hadn't I locked it?

Making way to the kitchen 

To get warm water

The place is eerily quite and dark

A metallic pungent lingers in the air

Walking further to inspect the smell

I see three pale figures Huddled around each other.

They make no noise as they bent their heads and move their hands.

Their black hair forming a curtain 

Covering the blood on their face

On further inspection I see a fourth figure on the floor, lying motionless.

The pale hands tear the flesh,

Making the wound bigger

Blood from the corpse till their mouths

The corpse looks peaceful, unsuspecting

Wearing pink pyjamas that are mine

Looking down I see a gaping hole in my chest

The pale ones smile at their victory.