Howdy! I decided to post a story I wrote almost a year ago, in response to a writing prompt on Writer's Digest.
Let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy it! :)
He Doesn’t
Fail.
There it is again, the wolf like monster with
glowing red eyes and bright green fangs dripping with bioluminescent saliva of
the same color.
Our eyes locked the moment it appeared, and we now
stare at each other willing the other to back down, to look away; but I know the
stakes, and I know he doesn’t fail.
I’ve seen it in my dreams almost every night of the
three years my family has lived in this house – though I had seen it before then
as well.
If I blink a moment too long, look somewhere other
than its eyes, or move too quickly, it’ll burst through the window, and devour
me, tear apart my flesh, not bothering to kill me. My screams will sound like
whimpers; and nothing – not even my bones – will be left in the morning.
I desperately want to believe this is another
dream, but in my dreams the window is always closed, and right now not even a
screen fills the hole between us.
“I must not blink, I must not look away,” I whisper
“don’t blink, don’t look away,” I chant louder and louder.
The monsters ears twitch. I go louder still, hoping
someone will hear and help me. My eyes are getting dry and burn fiercely, I
want to blink. I risk it, my eyelids flash down and back up. The monster seems
closer, but I’m not dead… yet…
I hear the clock tic out the minutes. I must stay
awake.
The creature’s eyes glow brighter, and its’ tongue
brushes over its’ razor sharp fangs. The ears swivel again.
We both cringe when a shrill whistle screeches
nearby. The monster looks away first and I dive for my dresser, I yank open the
bottom drawer and pull out the pistol I’m too young to have. I swing around and
switch the safety off, just as it lunges through the window. It lands and
knocks me on my back, I am dazed for a second but quickly return to pain as It,
rips open my left shoulder. It’s legs pin me down but I manage to turn the gun
towards It’s stomach and pulled the trigger three times as I scream in agony.
Three more shots and It collapses on top of me knocking the wind out of my
lungs.
The door opens and my whole family runs in guns
drawn. Mom closes the window, and Dad and my brother drag the beast off of me.
My little sister examines my wound; her whistle hangs around her neck.
“We got to get this fixed up,” she says the obvious
“hospital or here?”
“Here,” I reply through gritted teeth, “I’d rather
not have to explain this,”
