By M. A. Moriarty
Within this fever-dream they come for me. I meant not to fall into sleep’s embrace, for that is where they hunt and feed. Nonetheless I am here and so are they. I shall fight them with all I possess until I wake…if I wake. Here they come.
I draw my blade and make it dance. Their shadows scatter at its edge. Their screams, like shattered glass on granite, pierce my numb mind like daggers. But my blade weaves a deadly course and sends them back to darkness. I await my waking with joy, but it denies me.
Here they come.
A never-ending battle with the terrors of night. This is a good one!
Cleverly evoked sense of terror. Might just keep me awake.