Bite

Part I

     "Run, Ambrose, run!" Simon pressed his body to the door, which was bending under the weight of the creature on the other side. It was dark, but Ambrose could see his brother's legs shaking with the effort. We can't hide anymore, Ambrose thought clearly, though everything around him was muddy.

     Ambrose reached for his older brother, tears in his eyes. The snarling intensified suddenly, causing him to falter. The door began to splinter, and the rank smell of carnage began to permeate Simon's bedroom.

     Simon looked down at him, his eyes wild. "Go!"

     Ambrose fell back in surprise. From the other side, it roared, or growled, or screamed, who could really tell. At once Ambrose scrambled up off the floor and away from the monster, tears falling from his eyes.

     He ran for the small door, tucked away in the back of Simon's closet. The old house was full of hidden spaces and little hallways, though they had always been used for play. As he ran blindly through the narrow passage, and the beast grew more distant, Ambrose could breathe.

      The passage led him far from the house, until the only things he could hear were his pounding heartbeat and his own raspy breaths. He was surrounded by darkness, and though he was afraid of the dark, he was much more afraid of the thing he had left behind.

     The thing he had left behind with Simon.

     "Simon—" he had managed to choke out, turning to run back for his brother, when a scream pierced the night air.

     Ambrose covered his mouth with his hand, backing into the stone walls with horror. The cry was choked off abruptly, making Ambrose gasp. He slid to the ground, tears running fresh over his cheeks. For what felt forever, the only sound in the darkness was his own hiccuping whimpers.

     He heard nothing else from then on. Nothing came through the tunnel to finish him off, no more heavy footfalls or unnatural howling. The night was as quiet as it had been before it had appeared, just as suddenly as it had left. Whatever it had been, it was obviously satisfied.

...

     Ambrose woke up soaked in sweat and trembling like a child. He gasped for air, clutching the sheets like they would save him. His throat felt raw, and his cheeks wet. He could feel his heartbeat rise in his throat, giving him the irrational feeling of choking on his own fear. He struggled to breathe, to think, and tried to find something to focus on. His eyes searched the dark wildly, until they landed on his desk. He stared at his clock, willing the light to change shape, to take form, to become numbers instead of blurry symbols. When he finally brought himself back, it read 1:26AM.

     He was tired of this.

     Once he had regained his breath, he pulled himself out of bed and headed immediately into the shower. He turned the water as hot as it would go and stood there, steam rising from his newly-raw skin, until the water went cold. Then he stepped out, and without bothering to put on anything other than a towel, stripped his bed to the mattress and lied back down. His clock read 3:48AM when he closed his eyes.