Dog of War

I gradually awoke to a sore body and a slight but insistent headache.

Looking around, I noticed that I wasn’t in my bed, in the small motel room that I had rented just last night.  I tried to think of a reason why that was, but couldn’t.  My perception and thoughts seemed… clouded and unfocussed.  Though I freely admit to liking a drink or two… or seven… I had never allowed myself to get really drunk.  I wasn’t even sure if I could afford enough booze to make me black out.

‘I was drugged.’  The realization alone helped to cut through some of the fog and focus my thoughts.  ‘Some sort of tranquilizer.  It would have to be a strong one to work so well on me.’

I tried to sit up, and found that I had trouble moving my arms.  I was restrained, and not with a normal set of handcuffs either – I most likely could have handled those.  These however were heavy, thick manacles of a metallic white color.  Thick heavy chains anchored them to the floor, severely limiting my range of motion, allowing me to only sit, kneel, or crouch.

Taking in my surroundings, I saw that I was alone in an average sized room, about twice the size of a prison cell, with concrete floors, walls and ceilings.  Besides the small air duct in the ceiling and drain in the middle of the floor, the only visible exit was a large reinforced metal door, with no visible hinges or locks.  There were also black plastic domes in each upper corner – surveillance cameras, most likely – and a half dozen florescent lights, keeping the room well lit.

Most people would be worried by now.  Hell, most people would be scared shitless.  Good thing I’m not like most people – I just got pissed off.

“You sons of bitches!”  I gave voice to my anger – prideful, instinctual and borderline irrational – letting my growls echo off the solid walls.  “You have no fucking clue who you’re messing with!  You’ll pay for this!”  I strained against my chains, testing their strength, but to no avail.

I railed against my bonds and unseen captors for some time, hurling every expletive I’d ever heard, plus a few more that I’d made up on the fly.  Eventually my fury cooled somewhat - enough, at least, for me to think rationally again.  The truth was inevitable.  I was trapped almost completely.  There was a chance though… I could shift.  Releasing my true strength I could, if not break my bounds, at least release them from the concrete they were attached to, and force my way out.  

The animal within wanted its freedom, begging to be set free from the mental and spiritual restraints that I had painstakingly forged inside of me.  I wanted to let him out, to regain control and punish those who had dared cage me.  But I couldn’t… not with those cameras watching and probably recording me.  All I could do was be patient and wait for the right opportunity.

After maybe another hour, there was a loud noise which reverberated throughout the cell, without warning.  It seemed like metal rasping against metal – locks disengaging I guessed.  Big, strong locks by the sound of it.  A moment later the metal door across from me slid back heavily and to the side.  Through the darkened doorway entered a rather unassuming man in a suit.

He was average height and well into middle age, with a slight paunch to his midsection, a receding hairline and horn-rimmed glasses.  In one hand he carried a simple folding chair and in the other a file folder.  He was dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt and black tie, with a grey sweater vest.  All in all, he looked more like a friendly uncle or school counselor than some sort of… well, I had no idea who he was, but he was not what I was expecting.  I could only discern a few things from his face and demeanor – he was confidant and unafraid, his eyes shown with intelligence, and his smile seemed actually sincere.

“Welcome Mr. Erikson,” he said simply as he placed the chair in the middle of the room and sat down, well out of my striking range.

My emotions were still running hot, so I couldn’t help but growl low in my throat and give him my best “I’ll kick your ass” glare.  It just seemed to slip right off him and he smiled friendlily at me.  Damn – I’ve scared off groups of guys twice his size with that glare, but he didn’t even skip a beat.  That troubled me, probably more than the cell and chains did.

“You are undoubtedly uneasy about your current situation, but I assure you, your fears are quite unfounded.  Mostly at least.”  He gave me a wry smile.  “Taking into account your… exceptional abilities, it was determined that certain measures had to be taken.  To ensure the safety of everyone concerned, you understand.”

They knew.  It felt as if a cold metal ball had been dropped to the bottom of my guts.  The disproportionate security measures had certainly made me suspicious; it was definite overkill for the average joe.  Now I knew for sure - they knew me and what I was capable of, and I was in deep shit.

Now I was scared.

I and others of my kind live through anonymity – we don’t call attention to ourselves or, sooner or later, the townspeople bring out the torches and pitchforks.  One on one, there is nobody that could scare me, but let people form a mob or give them time to prepare and equip themselves and… well, there’s a reason mankind is at the top of the food chain.

“I assure you Mr. Erikson, we merely wanted to have a polite conversation.”  He said affably, while adjusting his glasses.

“And you wanted to make sure that you had my utmost attention.”  I responded, my voice flat. 

“True.”  He nodded, seemingly pleased with me, and then made an annotation in the files in his lap.  He continued, much more serious now.  “You may call me Mr. Solomon.  May I call you Matthew, or do you prefer Mr. Erikson?”

I simply sat there for several moments, simply looking at Mr. Solomon.  I finally answered, “Matt,” in a low whisper.  He simply nodded in response.  I didn’t really have a choice, but to cooperate.

“Now to the business at hand.”  He said, consulting his file.  “Matthew Erikson.  You are a “lone wolf”, correct?  You popped up on our radar a little under a year ago and investigations have shown you have been traveling for two years before then.  Given your young age, we assumed that you had a falling out with your pack – forced out by your alpha, maybe?”

Once again I was stunned.  On one hand, I was surprised, and pretty embarrassed that they had been able to follow me for so long without having the barest of clues.  On the other, I was shocked that he knew, or at least deduced, that much about werewolf society.  He didn’t wait for me to respond before continuing.

“Forgive me,” he shook his head.  “That part of your past is immaterial to the subject at hand.  Let us continue to more recent events.”  He paused and again, shuffled through his papers.  “You’ve kept out of trouble for the most part, traveling the country and working odd jobs.  There are the occasional arrests for brawling and public disturbances, but that is to be expected with the explosive temperament of your kind.”  He smiled, apparently amused, though it didn’t last long on his face.  “But then we have the New Mexico incident.” 

I knew exactly what he was talking about.  A little over a month ago, while traveling through the desert, I had quite accidentally found the recently dead body of a fourteen year old Mexican girl.  From the looks and scents on her, it seemed as if she had been severely raped and beaten by multiple males, then left to die from exposure.

It had been a while since she had been left there and the scents had certainly faded, but then, I wasn’t a simple bloodhound.  It certainly took some time and effort, but after burying the remains of the poor nameless girl, I tracked down those responsible and made them suffer.

“Don’t get me wrong, the gentlemen certainly had it coming to them.”  He said, stern-faced but with a conciliatory tone to his voice.  “A gang of ‘coyotes’, extorting, coercing and ransoming large sums of money from desperate people.  They were most likely guilty of several counts of murder, rape and trafficking – people drugs and weapons.”  He paused and pierced me with a grim look.  “Still… you are potentially looking at two dozen counts of murder.”  He let the pause stretch out uncomfortably, his eyes never leaving my own.

“But we can help.”  He tossed a small stack of papers down in front of me, the top one prominently displaying the Presidential Seal.  “A full Presidential pardon of all crimes you may have committed.”

Blackmail.  This was all about getting me to do something for him.  He had me, and we both knew it.  No… apparently, the United States Government had me.  Somehow, that seemed to just make it worse.

“And what would I have to do?”  I kept my voice low and neutral.  He smiled and nodded, happy that I understood the situation and my place in it. 

He tossed another paper on top of the pardon.  It was a brochure.   That gave me pause for a moment, but soon I continued to inspect it.  A black and white picture of a soldier, a big white star, and black block letters spelling out ‘U.S. Army’ and ‘Army Strong’.

My jaw dropped as I realized what I was seeing.  Looking up at Mr. Solomon, he simply looked back with a slight smile on his face.  I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t think straight through the shock and surprise.

All I could say was, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“You are not, by far, the first werewolf that the Government has approached about recruitment.”

“There are others of your... persuasion, as well as other non humans serving in numerous branches of the United States Government.  FBI, NSA, CIA, ATF, DEA, the US Marshals, the Secret Service, even the IRS.”

I knew that there were other “beings” in the world, though I had never knowingly met any of them.  There were also stories about secret government experiments and military units, using so called supernatural elements.  Now I had a sort of confirmation.

“If you accept this once in a lifetime deal, not only will you be pardoned, but you will benefit from the full protection of the United States Government, be paid a generous salary for your services and given ample opportunity to release your tension and frustration in… useful situations.  On the other hand, if you do not…” he shrugged with a convincingly sad expression, “you will be labeled a criminal and a threat to the US and its citizens and eliminated.”

I didn’t see any other way out.  Even if I managed to escape, they knew who I was and were clearly capable hunting me down and capturing me – simply killing me would be much easier.  Besides, I didn’t have anything tying me down.  As Mr. Solomon had guessed, I had been kicked out of my pack by the Alpha, who thought that I was “getting too big for my britches”.  In other words, he saw me as a potential rival.

Not a lot of werewolves live alone for long, not if they want to stay san and alive.  Living in a pack, though it could be a pain, provides stability, security and support to its members.  Joining the military just might give me the sense of community and family that I was missing.

“You got a pen that I could use?”

Whispers from Down Below

If someone had been asked to characterize Gerald Flemming, one possible term used would most likely have been ordinary or average.  Truth be told, that was probably an overly generous assessment.  Gerald was actually below average in almost most aspects – intelligence, looks, ambition, social skills, skills…

Despite all that, he would eventually become quite wealthy and powerful.  And it would be all thanks to the whispers.

* * * * *

Gerald, in his mid-thirties, was living in his uncle’s old farmhouse that he’d left him when he died, and was surviving off the inheritance of several other dead relatives.  He was in the basement laundry room, separating his whites when he’d first heard it - a noise just barely perceptible.  He froze and strained his hearing.  A rustling sound maybe… very low and inconspicuous, but somehow jarringly foreign. 

Walking slow and steadily around the basement, he eventually determined its source – a large drain in the middle of the concrete floor, about the size of a man’s fist.  It was covered by a surprisingly well made and ornate drain cap, seemingly impossible to remove.

Getting down to his knees, Gerald tried to look down the drain, through the darkness to the source of the noise, but to no avail.  He could hear it much more clearly now.  For some reason, it sounded like whispers, echoing slightly from afar.

“It’s most likely some sort of infestation… rats probably.”  He rationalized, more than slightly unnerved.  He’d buy some rat poison and lay down some traps.  There – all taken care of.

Of course it wasn’t really.

Over the coming weeks he’d heard the whisper from down the drain at random times, but with a noticeable increase in frequency.  After a month it had become audible through the kitchen sink, even though it clearly hadn’t increased in volume.  In fact, a person would find it hard to notice if he didn’t already know it was there.  Unfortunately, Gerald couldn’t help but notice it.  He had reached the point where he decided to hire someone to come over and investigate it when the situation changed profoundly.

He was washing the dishes after dinner one night, actively blocking the whispering from his mind, when he abruptly froze in shock, dropping a plate to the floor.  He stood there for some time, ignoring the ceramic shards at his feet, staring down the sink’s drain and listening intently.

“What did you just say?”  Gerald eventually rasped out softly.

And, as if responding to his request, he once again heard it.  “Behind the old Wilson farmhouse.  Ten paces east from the oak tree.  Two feet under.”

The whispering had always been very low and indistinct, making it impossible to make out any of the words.  It continued to be genderless and monotone, but now it sounded as clear as someone speaking beside him, yet at the same time, it seemed to come from a great distance.

It didn’t just confuse Gerald… it scared him to the core.

He left the house as quickly as possible, though extremely careful not to trip and fall over any of the rugs or furniture, least some unknown threat pounce on him.  He paced the outside of the building for hours, chain smoking. 

He finally broke down some time after midnight.  After grabbing a shovel from the back shed, he jumped into his secondhand pickup and drove off toward the old Wilson farm.

* * * * *

The Wilson farm had burned down to a husk before even Gerald’s parents had been born, though in all that time no one had bothered to clean up the charred ruins and the property remained unused and isolated.

Gerald found the oak tree behind where the house once stood and counted out ten paces to the east.  Upon reaching the spot, he began to dig.

Not for the first time, he asked himself what the hell he was doing.  He was digging a hole in the middle of a field, during the middle of the night, all because a mysterious whisper from down the sink told him to.  He wondered idly if he had lost his mind… at least that would have been a reasonable explanation.

It didn’t take long before his shovel hit something hard and metallic.  Gerald froze in surprise and confusion – a big part of him hadn’t believed that he was going to find anything.  In truth, he had deeply hoped that he wouldn’t.

Reaching down into the hole, he pulled out what appeared to be a very old cookie tin.  With slightly trembling hands he lifted its lid and cautiously peered inside.  Shockingly, all he found inside were baseball cards.

Around fifty very old and valuable baseball cards, he would find out some days later, upon going into town to a sports memorabilia vendor.  He eventually left the store 50 grand richer.

Gerald’s fear and confusion about the whispers were instantaneously overshadowed by good, old-fashioned greed.

* * * * *

He waited for weeks after finding the baseball cards for the whispers to speak to him again.  They were present of course, as before, but there were no messages or instructions.  On his knees over the drain in his basement, Gerald pleaded, bargained, and even threatened his unknown benefactors to no avail.

In due time, he gradually came to accept the possibility that it was a one time event - simply a mysterious fluke.  Until one day, out of the blue, the whispers once again spoke to him.

“The debt must be repaid.” Gerald heard it, clear as day one afternoon.

He ran as fast as he could into the kitchen, nearly knocking downs a couple of chairs on the way.  “What?  What did you say?”

“Lifeblood is the currency.”  The whisper continued.

“What the hell does that mean?”  He couldn’t help the high pitch tone that had entered his voice due to excitement and a healthy dose of desperation.  Unfortunately, the whisper didn’t answer.

A knock at his front door broke his concentration, as he stared down into the drain.  He wondered irritably who it could be - he didn’t have many neighbors out there just beyond where the suburbs ended and “the country” started. 

He stomped over to the door and practically flung it open.  There, on his front porch was little Cindy Spears.  Besides his mailman, little Cindy was the only person who passed by with any regularity on her way to and from school… only it was Sunday.

“Cindy… how can I help you?”  He forced as much patience and cordiality into his voice as possible, while plastering a smile on his face.

“Hi mister Flemming!”  She said cheerfully.  “Sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I was wondering if you happened to have anything for my school’s charity drive.  We’re collecting canned and dried food and second hand clothing.  We’d gladly take anything you can spare.”

Though only twelve years old, Cindy was quite active in afterschool and charitable activities and organizations.  Gerald had already bought cookies and chocolate bars, donated food, books and money to the cute and precocious blond girl for her school, church and girl scouts.

“Sure Cindy, come on in and I’ll see what you can have.”

“Thanks mister Flemming.”  She said as he closed the door behind her. 

“The debt must be repaid.  Lifeblood is the currency.”  Gerald froze, listening intently.  Apparently, Cindy hadn’t, or couldn’t hear the whispers.

“I was on my way home from Jane’s house, when I thought about stopping by.”  She continued in a pleasant and friendly manner.  “Not many kids live out this way, so I thought you probably hadn’t donated yet.”

“The debt must be repaid.  Lifeblood is the currency.”  The whispers repeated.

Gerald suddenly understood what the whispers wanted.  Vomit swelled up into his throat and he struggled to swallow it and stay calm and composed.

“So… nobody knows you’re here?”  Gerald asked, dreading the answer.

“Nope.”  She shook her head and smiled, showing off her dimples.  “Just a spur of the moment decision.  I have to get home in an hour.”

Gerald just barely kept himself from groaning in despair.  The whispers were still there talking to him, and he knew what he was going to do… what he had to do.  That didn’t stop him from vehemently cursing the whispers for their evil demands and himself for his weakness.

“I think I have a box filled of old clothing down in the basement.  Why don’t you come on down and help me.”

She agreed enthusiastically.

In the basement, Gerald pointed to the far corner and said, “Right there honey under those boxes.”  He almost couldn’t bring himself to finish saying it.

When she turned her back to make her way toward the pile of boxes full of junk, Gerald grabbed a hammer off the nearby workbench, raised it high and brought it down hard on the back of Cindy’s head, killing her instantly.

As her body hit the floor, he doubled over and heaved his lunch into a trash bin.  He stayed there for some time on his hands and knees, not able to summon the will to move.

Cindy’s blood slowly flowed toward and eventually down the drain.  Gerald would swear that the whispers changed to a murmur of satisfaction and even amusement.

They told him what to do next… where and how to get rid of the body, as well as how to properly clean the area of any evidence.  He mentally steeled himself for the work and preparations he would had to make.  The whispers would eventually give him another message – another gift of wealth.  He would then have to repay that debt… and the next one… and the one after that…

Monster in the Mirror

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I was somewhat surprised that I could still see it.

I was even more surprised that my face was essentially unchanged.  I had expected some sort of dramatic transformation, something that would mirror the drastic changes that I now know had happened within me.

My skin seemed smoother, lacking all the little blemishes and imperfections I used to obsess about.  It also looked like it was a few shades paler, though, that could have simply been a trick of the light.  My face was a bit leaner giving me a more mature and experienced look – as if it belonged on someone who had lived a much fuller life then me.  But it was my eyes that showed how truly different I was now.  They were no longer the same ordinary shade of brown that I had inherited from my parents, but a light amber that almost seemed to glow in the poorly lit bathroom.  Though the individual changes were slight, and I was still recognizably me, the overall difference was huge.


I looked damn good.  Alluring even.  Who would have thought?

I opened my mouth and inspected my teeth and gums.  Everything looked normal – oh, how looks can be deceiving.  I used the newfound muscles near my jaw and my canines extended to a little over an inch in length.  The movement tickled slightly with a faint and strange pressure, but the action was swift and smooth, like a switchblade.  Another conscious act and they retracted just as easily.


“Huh…” I heard myself make a questioning noise.  ‘I wonder how I am going to keep from biting myself.’

I extended them once again for a closer inspection in the mirror, from different angles.  Touching them with a finger showed me how solid and sharp they were.

A noise from the side breaks my concentration.  Looking out through the door into the bedroom I can see him laying there on my bed, covered in only a sheet, and his muscled limbs spread in different directions.  He was so handsome – way beyond what I would have considered my league.  Oddly enough, the small mess of blood at his neck simply made him even more attractive to me now.

Although not unattractive, I was normally considered average in the looks department.

I could be pretty funny and friendly, but all through high school and college, I could never quite shake the plain-jane, girl-next-door look I was apparently born with.  I have had a few boyfriends, but they always seemed just as boring and plain as me.  Ditto with friends.  All in all, my life had been mostly boring and pitifully uneventful.

It had all changed last night.

After spending a few days cooped up at home with a fever, I had the uncharacteristic need to spend a night out.  I knew something was different, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it until I walked into that bar.  I felt good - confidant and sexy, like I had never felt before.  I had never been particularly graceful, but in that bar, I was damn near feline.  All eyes were on me and I didn’t care.  The women were enviously assessing me and the men were openly admiring me.  I somehow knew that some in both groups were having lustful thoughts about me – and I loved it, the power and influence I had over them.

Not long after having a drink in my hand, I spotted him.  Tall and broad shouldered, blond with blue eyes.  He was clearly athletic, a former jock probably, but there was intelligence in his eyes.  I wanted him.

Almost as soon as I decided I wanted him, he noticed me.  It didn’t matter that he was clearly with someone else, once he looked into my eyes he was drawn to me.  I don’t know, or care, what he said to her, but he left with me not fifteen minutes later.  We didn’t even introduce each other.  It was so easy.  Even now, the heady rush of power makes me lightheaded.

Back at my apartment, we wasted no time.  He was in shape, enthusiastic and obedient, and it was fantastic.  Nevertheless, something was missing – I could feel and emptiness in me wanting to be filled (no pun intended).  I discovered what exactly was missing as I nuzzled his neck in the aftermath.  Something inside of me clicked and I bit him… and pure bliss entered my mouth.

It was the best feeling I ever experienced, even counting the recent sex.  It was the fulfillment of a need greater than hunger, thirst or lust, and I hadn’t even realized it was there.  The nameless man disappeared, as did my room, apartment, the whole world.  There was just me and the blood.

I didn’t kill him.  Even through it all, I had held onto enough self-control to keep me from draining him.  It was tricky though – I don’t know if I could do the same thing every time I fed.  He was sleeping deeply now, his muscled chest rising and falling rhythmically.  The wound at his neck had almost immediately stopped bleeding and was visibly healing.  He should be alright in the morning; weak, anemic and with a headache probably, but alive.

Boy did I have questions.

How and when did this happen to me?  Was it permanent?  What other changes had or would happened?  Did this mean that I could never go to a sunny beach again, or eat garlic chicken?  My parents were incredibly religious, their home covered in icons and crosses – would I ever be able to enter my childhood home again?

I shook the slivers of doubt and fear from my mind.  I knew the answers would come in time.  I could only deal with the now.

I looked back at my reflection and smiled, remembering the events of last night.  I once again extended my fangs, slowly this time.

“Yes, this definitely could be fun.”  I whispered in welcome to the monster that I had become.

'New Vampire' by Anachlirium at DeviantArt

My Own Personal Horror Story

I was one of the last people of our group - one of those who volunteered as a rear guard.  Most of the others had already reached the relative safety of the vehicles ahead.  Amongst the hurried preparations to depart, a few people simply waited and beckoned for us to hurry, the sounds of starting engines and the occasional scream drowning out their calls. 

I glanced back to where we came from for a mere moment to judge the position of our pursuers... it was then that I saw her.

It was just a movement in the corner of my eye at first.  A fleeting glimpse from my peripheral vision - there was no way I could be sure what it was.  Nonetheless, something told me to stop and pay attention.  I came to a stop so quickly I almost tripped over myself, momentarily forgetting where I was and what I was doing.  There she was, clear as day, some two hundred meters away, moving slowly but surely from behind a building.

I remember the initial wave of relief, tinged with delight.  It was so strong, I became lightheaded.  A smile came to my face, as if by reflex.  I had searched for her for so long – I’m ashamed to say that I’d just about given up hope.  I tried to reach her on the other side of town, but I was so tired and in pain.  But she was here now... everything would be all right again.  I’d found my wife.

When we met our freshman in college, she was the typical good girl overachiever and I was a stereotypical slacker, trying to ignore my impending adulthood and its responsibilities.  As soon as I met her, I was smitten and she, thank the gods, somehow saw potential in me.  We started dating exclusively.  She pushed and motivated me to study and succeed, so we both eventually graduated with business degrees.  We married soon after and had been living more or less happily ever after for the last few years.

She was dressed smartly in a dark pantsuit, one I had often seen her wear to work.  It was somewhat worse for wear now though, being rumpled and torn, dirty and bloodied.

She turned her head slowly, as if searching for something and eventually locked on to my direction.  In a slow shambling walk, she started moving toward me, ignoring the gravel and broken glass under her bare feet.

My happiness was fleeting of course. 

Her usually soulful brown eyes were devoid of emotion.  A milky white color was beginning to obscure them.  Those brown eyes of hers used to be so full of empathy and life.  Now all there was, was a dead stare.  As if our love never happened.  That I didn’t exist.  For her, nothing did... not anymore.

A rush of emotions hit me then – grief, anger, hopelessness, revulsion… In all my wildest dreams and nightmares, I’ve never expected seeing my wife to elicit such feelings.  I believe that I came close to snapping, to losing my sanity, but somehow I held it together…

I focused on one simple idea: She wasn’t really there – not anymore.  My wife was dead... what was left of her, her corpse was just infected.

I shouldered the rifle I had liberated from a sporting goods store the day before and took aim.  “Goodbye sweetheart,” I whispered, then I put a bullet in her head.

Without looking back, I quickly continued on my way, catching up with the rest of the survivors, trying to make our way out of town toward someplace safe.  I would later find out that, surprisingly only seconds had passed.  No one has any idea what I went through, what I had to do.  I don’t think I ever will tell anyone – there’s no real need to.  Everybody in the world has their own personal horror story to bear now.

Night Terror

'The New Beast Under Your Bed' by Azzurayelos at DeviantArt

I woke up in my bed, cocooned in warmth and comfort.  I was in the perfect position – the one you can spend most of the night looking for in bed and loath to leave in the morning in the morning, certain that you’ll never be able to find it again.  Your entire body is limp and relaxed, the comforter over you is snug, but not constricting, you’re lying right on the mattress’s sweet spot, free of lumps and dips, and the temperature is toasty warm.

Even before looking at the glowing red numbers on the clock radio beside my bed, I knew it was still well before daybreak, seeing as the room was pitch black, impossible to see a hand in front of my face.  I was about to go back to sleep when a realization hit me – something had woke me up.  I have no idea what, some sort of out of place sound made its way through the deep layers of sleep to my unconscious, rousing me.

Without moving, I strained my senses trying to comprehend what it had been.  Seconds and eventually minutes ticked by.  There was the faint sound of wind from outside, the occasional and familiar low creek and groaning of the house settling, and finally my own rhythmic breathing.  I was just about to give up and surrender back to sleep when I heard it.  It was only for a moment, at the very edge of my hearing, and then I lost it – breathing at a rhythm different than my own.

All of a sudden sleep was the farthest thing from my mind.  Fear focused and sped up my thoughts along with my heart rate.

The only other people that were supposed to be in the house were my parents, most likely sleeping down the hall from me.  There was no reason for them to be in my room, in the dark, at this time of night.

Did someone break in?  If it was a thief, the safest thing was to probably fake being asleep until he at least left the room.  But what if he was something else?  An escaped convict, a psychopathic murderer…

That is the problem with being in the dark – when the mind doesn’t have enough information to work with, it fills in the blanks.  The human imagination can be infinitely more frightening than reality.

I made a conscious effort to calm myself, at least a little.  Panicking would only keep me from thinking and acting smartly.  I sort of succeeded.  I strained my senses once more wanting some sort of confirmation that I wasn’t alone – maybe I simply imagined the breathing.

But I didn’t.  Over several minutes I heard light breathing various times.  It always seemed to come from my right, at the opposite wall of the door.  All right, there was a stranger in my room, but at least I knew where he was.  But what do I do…

Unexpectedly, I heard a new sound, louder than the breathing.  It took me a few moments to place it – the sound of claws on hardwood floors.  I didn’t own a pet.

It wasn’t a person… It was something.  How the hell did an animal get inside my home!  Surprisingly, the idea of facing an unknown and potentially dangerous animal generates a completely different, more primal type of fear than the thought of facing a human.  I never realized that there existed such a numerous and diverse selection of flavors of fear.

I heard the breathing again.  This time it was from a different spot.  It was moving… coming closer.

I bit my tongue till I tasted blood, trying to control my breathing and keep myself quiet.  My heartbeat boomed in my ears with a rising beat I was sure whatever it was out there could hear.  I started to feel myself tremble, be it from fear or adrenaline, I didn’t know.  It was hard keeping my body from curling up into the fetus position.

An idea speared through my mind – what if it could smell my fear.  That catapulted me into near panic.  My immediate plan was to simply play possum – the idea that whatever it was could tell I was awake and afraid was terrifying.

I needed light.  It boarded on a physical need.  If I was going to act, I needed to turn the lights on.  My bedside lamp was within arm’s length, but what then?  Fight or flight?  I couldn’t run outright – getting out of bed, making my way over to the door and opening it would most likely take too long.  I would have to fight it off as I ran for help.

I had a pocket knife in a drawer at the other side of the room, but there was no way I could reach it in time, let alone find it in the dark.  My wooden baseball bat was in the corner, about four feet away – that I could reach pretty quickly.  All right, I had a plan.  Throw off the covers and jump out of bed.  On my way, slap the bedside lamp on.  Grab my bat for protection, then head for the door, get out of the room and call out for my parents.  Pray whatever it is isn’t faster than me.

I braced myself both mentally and physically to act.  In 3… 2…

I never made it to one.

I heard the sound of rapidly moving claws on a hard surface, but hardly before I could process it, something landed heavily on my midsection, knocking the wind from me.  The seconds seemed to passed like hours as I struggled to regain my breath with the intruding and alien weight on me.

When I finally did sit up and scream, it was no longer dark.  Through blinking eyes, I took in my surroundings.  I was daytime, early morning by my clock.  There was nothing on top of me, and looking around my room showed me it was empty.  Both my window and door seemed well shut and secure.

Even as I felt my breathing and heart rate calm, I heard my mother calling to me from downstairs, along with the sound of my father’s racing footfalls up the stairs.

It must have been a dream.  Just a dream.

Only hours later, after I was well into the days routine, would I find the deeply etched and mysterious claw marks in the wood of my bedroom floor.