Home Is What You Make It

As I slumber in the isolating darkness of my home, a sudden wave of adrenaline snaps my eyes open. I hear the sound of small scurrying feet along the floor, nails scraping in an animalistic pattern. I start to sit up when it comes to my attention during my sleep I have been covered in webs from head to toe. I feel a spider crawling across my face. In seemingly one swift motion I slap it away, rip off the webs and bolt to my feet. I feel a breeze in my face, as a howling rips through the halls echoing on as it passes. Under my feet, I feel the abrasiveness of stone that is as cold as ice.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I hear drops slowly dripping from the ceiling and their violent crash into the silence, normally deafening my home.

In this place as black as pitch, as my eyes clear, I see impossible shadows run rampant across the walls in my home with the lack of light. A sudden rush of small vile creatures fly past overhead, their wings barely disrupting the silence. After they pass, only the sound of dripping remains continuing on at a steady pace. I slowly start making my way to the entrance of my home when a sudden crash, with the thunderous roar of an avalanche of rock the very sound of which shakes my home, seems to echo on for a lifetime. I keep my pace heading through these dark halls towards the entrance focusing my mind on the single current goal of emerging from this place. As I near the entrance, a blood curdling scream is heard from wilderness beyond my home. I step out into the cold young night’s air, with the sun being freshly set. I look out into the wild and can smell the very fear from the man who owned the scream, my fangs seemingly throbbing from the most insatiable hunger. The hunt has begun.