Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2146902
A scary story-A screams!!! Win
| A guy becomes worried when he notices the neighborhood cats begin following him|
I moved along the lonely street cautiously in the dead of the night. Fearful of my predators, I eyed each open doorway with concern for my safety. There were dangers lurking, I had no doubt. I had no way of knowing what form they would take. I had to be ready to defend myself.
What started as a walk on a cool winter's night had become a fight for survival. It would test me in ways that made me question my abilities. Only cunning skill and devious thought processes would shield me in this battle. The need to keep my wits about me heightened my fears. The raised follicles of hair on the back of my neck were electrified by nerve endings. Jittery and jumpy, I gazed into the night fearing my opponents.
The street lights illuminated only parts of my path. The beasts were hidden behind corners of the dark, places that I could not glimpse. I could feel their eyes upon me. They were waiting, gathering in numbers, attaining strength. There would come a moment, the right moment for them to launch the attack.
I prepped for the battle. I displayed muscle and agility in my walk. I gripped in steadfast determination, a board hastily grabbed from a trash can, fashioned into a club, I growled as no human has ever done. Let the beasts hear me and fear me, my motto. I will win this siege upon my person.
They were closing in on me. Their pack was large. How many beasts must I fight to survive? Terror filled my gut. My frame became a minuscule form as the creatures knocked me to ground. My makeshift club torn from bleeding palm bounced in the street. Their talons were coming at me. I could feel the bites of their teeth cutting into my flesh. These gnawing, furry creatures of the night were tearing me asunder. They were not sated by the meat of my flesh. They lapped at my blood as it seeped from the fresh wounds of my body. The smell of my very own blood hung in the air.
Retreat was my only option. With the last ounce my strength, I drug myself up the pavement. I raised my bloody fist screaming into the night. I growled my human growl. It was a growl of anger and fortitude. Adrenalin refueled my determination for escape. I tore the beasts with their clinging claws away from my throat. I cast them into the street where they whimpered in pain after hitting the concrete. The herd of mousers thinned at the commotion. With the opportunity, I ran, as never I have run before.
Escape, a word of beauty, presented freedom from death my prize.
I ran to the safety of the all-night market. I entered feeling all at once relieved. There at the checkout, I encountered Cool Bob Turner. I regaled him with the tale of my battle in the night. He gave witness to my bloodied wounds of terror.
At the end of my tale, I heard his laughter. He pointed his stubby talon in my direction. His voice gruff in the night said." Well, no wonder the cats attacked you. You have a piece of baloney stuck to your ass."
Word count 556