It was 4:23 AM when he awoke from his slumber pooled in sweat, and for a moment forgot where he was. He'd been drinking, of course, the alcohol often woke him early in the morning with the urge to urinate. His headaches were never this powerful. He stumbled into the dark hallway with a feeling of nausea.
Suddenly he heard a loud thump from downstairs. He quickly dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him, but again he heard the noise, now very loud. He gripped the handrail and quietly peeked his head down the stairs.
It was pitch black, but the noise was obviously coming from the kitchen. He took a single step downstairs and, thankfully, the floor didn't creak. He took another step, and another, and another. Before he knew it, he was at the bottom of the stairs. At this point, the noise had stopped. Whatever was making that noise was watching.
He cautiously walked toward the kitchen, his feeling of nausea replaced by fear and terror. He heard a step from behind and he snapped back, but found nothing. He turned back around.
Still nothing but darkness.
From out of nowhere he heard a window shatter, and he grabbed his baseball bat. Old Reliable was written on the bat, with a sharpie. He walked into the kitchen and looked at the back door.
The window was shattered, but there was no glass on the floor. His worse fears had been confirmed.
Whatever was in his house had left.