It’s so dark and damp. My chest is tight and my feet are shredded from the brambles. I’m trying to be as silent as I can. I don’t want it to notice me.

It woke me up. Streaking its hands down my window. On the third floor. I’m sure it would’ve scratched if it had claws, but it doesn’t even have skin. Or eyes. It still saw me though. It still chased me.

I can hear it above me- there is ragged breathing that masks the rustling of the trees. I can smell it. Blood. My face is wet with tears. If I close my eyes, will I wake up?

Nobody will save me. They can’t. They’ll never find me here, deep in the woods. Buried alive.