Herbert was slightly taken aback, but the desired result was achieved, and people began to leave his room.

It was not long after, perhaps mere minutes, that Herbert felt himself slipping, when another voice enquired about coffee. It seemed to fill the entire room. Herbert was annoyed that someone had come to bother him again, and grumbled a “no” in the hopes they would leave swiftly. He did not once open his eyes, so the lack of any corporeal form for the voice never struck him as odd. 

He rolled over, trying to find a position where his bruises and scrapes hurt the least. 

The short man was dangerous, that much Herbert had ascertained, but his outbreaks seemed to become even more aggressive; he could here the through the still-open door. Therefore, it was with genuine trepidation that Herbert closed his eyes after everyone had left his room, afraid of what could happen if he were to drift off to sleep. More specifically, what that midget would do to him. The others seemed more docile, if a little shell-shocked, but that man was terrifying in his questionable stability. The thought settled like a stone in the bucket of his mind, weighing heavy on him, so much that he doubted he could even sleep.