I lay in the bed. Darkness surrounding me like a comfy blanket. I thought the thin material would keep me safe. It did when I was child. The boogie man could never reach his talons through that blanket over my head. No. It was an impenetrable shield protecting me from terror. So I lay there covered head to toe in night pitch and dimmed sheets. Safety.
But there it was again. Daring to break into my sleeping mind. My eyes fluttered as I dreamed. The flowing river and sandy bank under a day glow sun with hints of lavender wafted through pristine air mutated. There again. At the corners gnawing on my dream world. First the river- all gone black and bloody. Next the banks- all stone and black ash. Then the sunlight- all gone purple moon and cloudy. I twitched, shivered, groaned. That sound again scarfing down pieces of my dream and serenity.
It was like ... like... feeding. Feeding. I started straight up in bed. My useless shield slide from my shoulders and it the floor in silent surrender to a nameless attacker. It gave up. And I sat up. I shivered in the dark pitch. The moonlight coming through the blind slats at the window drew eery stripes across the room. It was like looking through gapped teeth. Teeth that fed!
I heard it again. Now so much closer. I felt a drip. It hit the center of my head. Was the ceiling leaking or was it something else, something breathing and feeding and dripping blood and guts all over my head?
Again I head it. Now from corner to corner I see it. Them. Like those siafu ants that the Masai tribes revere and fear. Like those might things come to attack me. Terror sound like that or bigger. Terror sounds like that thing gnawing and coming and chomping and ... and.. Terror is that sound of hunting rats. I knew it well. Here it was again. The sound closer, scrambling now rushing at me. No more river, banks, and sunshine. Instead my night terror materializes with the sound of rats hunting me. Hunting, rats scurrying to eat me alive, alive, alive before I rot in the accursed cell.
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