• Every sunset marks a new fear.
    Every sunset marks the dawning of the end of.
    Light.
    All the shadows start creeping as the sun disappear over the horizon.
    Their blood red eyes gleaming.
    Their shiny teeth sparkling.
    Their claws rap-tap-tapping on the window.
    They whisper: "Let us in.
    "Let us in. You know you want to.
    "Open the door.
    "We won't hurt you."
    Pulling the sheets over my eyes.
    I'm waiting.
    They keep rap-tap-tapping.
    Tap.
    Tap.
    Tap.
    Then they drag.
    They drag their long, old, yellow, bloody fingernails all over the window.
    They still whisper.
    You hide under the pillow.
    But their voice is inside the house.
    You can feel them creeping up close to you.
    Their breath is heavy with the smell of blood and rotting meat.
    "Now child." You hear them say, "Now child. We aren't going to hurt you.
    "No, no.
    "We want to save you. " Their cackle fills the night. It's the last thing you remember before you black out.
    Your eyes shoot open as you look up and see the first rays of dawn streaking in through the windows.
    No scratches.
    You sniff the air.
    Clean.
    You think that they're gone.
    You raise a hand up to your face.
    Carved in the flesh.
    "We will always be back."
    You scream.
    And that was the last night.
    Now you're in the hospital.
    A nice room.
    All alone.
    You're still screaming.
    "THEY'LL COME BACK. THEY'LL ALWAYS BE BACK."
    The nurse just shakes her head and walks away.
    Then it's lights out.
    And you hear the all too familiar cackle.
    And you scream with what you know to be your final breath.
    And you scream.
    The smell of blood and rotting meat fill the air again.
    And you scream.
    The scar on your hand begins to hurt.
    And you scream.
    They reach out with their claws.
    And you scream.
    Their faces inch ever closer.
    And yo-