Dark, Damp, Wet: Prompt 6

I’m walking back now. My eyes are still adjusting to the light, so I put my black gloves above my head to shield myself. As I near the woods around the house, my head begins pounding. It starts off as a dull throb, but slowly grows into something more painful. My eyes are watering, and everything is getting fuzzier. I distinctly remember falling to my knees, because I’m not standing anymore. My eyes flick open, and I see a figure standing over me. I reach my hand out towards the figure, but my hands pass through it as if a hallucination. As it grins, I see a glint of red on its teeth. I push myself up and face this being, terrified, because now I know who this is. It’s the one thing my mother told me to never wake. I let out a scream that shakes the earth. I blink again, my eyes hazy from the headache, and it’s gone.

 

161 words.