The blackout curtains in our room work very well. They keep out the outside light.

You can’t see anything outside unless you move the curtains and look. I didn’t want to move the curtains and look. Dan, lying to the left of me, was looking over at me, his eyes wide.

“What is that? Is that him?” He asked in a whisper.

I shook my head yes, and Dan parted the curtains and looked out the window.

“I can’t see anything,” he said.

We both slowly get up and walk to the front room. Framed in the big picture window to the right of the front door is the man.

He was smoking a cigarette, taking deep drags and puffing out the smoke in bursts. His scarred-up face glistened in the yellow light of the front porch.

“I am your lungs,” he said and started laughing.

Then he dissolved into sand, all of his body flying away except his lungs. They hung in the air for a moment before splitting in two and falling to the ground.

Dan ran to the front door.

“Oh god,” I said as he opened the door. “There’s going to be human lungs out there.”