Sluagh

The nucleus gradually diffused outward into concentric rings of progressively lighter shades, mineral deposits creating their own subtle patterns. The stain’s irregular borders resembled the coastline of the Cliffs of Moher, she thought. 
She’d lived in this room for more than a year, been trapped in it for the past week, and only now, after deciding she could endure no more, had she looked up and realized the mottled edges of the goddamned ceiling stain reminded her of County Clare.
How had she not noticed that before?
Shapes in the hallway drew her attention, gliding past her opened door. A shadowy mass chittering like demonic birds in soft but high-pitched voices. Moments later, two more shapes appeared, pausing in the doorway. Necks craned, jerky, staccato movements casting long shadows into the room. 
With her teeth, she pulled the needle from the back of her hand and spat it over the edge of the bed, letting the tube dangle from the bag. She reached beneath the mattress with her functioning hand and extracted the envelope she’d hidden there. The envelope containing the missive she’d surreptitiously scrawled a letter at a time over the past several days. They’d taken her glasses when they’d trapped her in the room and with unaided eyes and poor motor control, crafting the message had been a painful and painstaking process, compounded by one hand being a near useless club. But she’d completed the task, stuffing and sealing the envelope, labeling with an address extracted from memory, and a name she could never forget.