The things fear is made of. (edit: being awoke by a motorcycle)

     A great whir, pop and smack and bleak black.  Cast over the confines of four walls a door shutters.  Growl amongst the pitch.  Ribs shake at the effort while sinew makes it’s rigid dance.  One second freight, two seconds after  a lack of comprehension. What shakes the night so violently that I am now unslept? As vigorous as that initial cacophonous tear, the seconds after seep the breath from you. These are the moments fear is smelted from. Forged from unknowing. What attacks at night dare occur?