Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-35515534-20190605053523

''' Michael held the knife close to him. Knowing something was coming. Something non-human. He didn’t know where to hide, because there was nowhere to hide. Why had it chosen him? He didn’t know what it looked like, or where it was. Just the faint giggles it let out. Hehehe. Down the hall...Michael looked around his bedroom for a weapon of any kind. He saw it, he knew it wouldn’t kill it. But it would have time to stall. He grabbed the wooden bat and grabbed it with all the soul that was left in him. He slowly picked down the hall, slowly opening the door. Praying it wouldn’t make a noise. As sound dropped, the only friend he had was the beat of his heart. Down the hall, the thing was feasting. The gray back, sound visible. The spikes on the back, and the bat-like face. Festing on Tinkerbell. “Oh Tinkerbell,” Michael whispered. Holding his hand over his mouth. Holding back tears.'''

'''   He grabbed the bat, held it; and prayed. Prayed he’d get out of here with his life. He swung open the door, ran to the thing. And bashed its head in. Up, down, up, down. He started painting, sweating. Dropping to his knees, Michael had won. Tired, sleepy. Fell asleep right next to the corpse...awaking in the morning. Finally, comprehend what had happened the night before. Took one final look at the creature, and saw he had lost. The corpse had disappeared.   '''  