The Horrible Thing That Slipped Through My Window One Night
What the fuck is wrong with you?! asked the voice.
Tom willed himself to get all of the way up this time and took a few seconds to simply stand, trying to get some sense of what was going on. One second he had been sitting down comfortably, and the next he had been laying in his own puke; puke that was the color of medium-rare steak and smelled like sour milk.
He shot two quick and fearful glances on either side of him and trotted into the house, locking the door behind him. Tom was smart enough to know that he probably looked ridiculous, literally being terrified by his regurgitation, but the things that a person knows simply cannot help what a person is. And what Tom was, was scared. He was scared shitless. He didn't know what he was scared of particularly, but he was still scared shitless. He wished he could lie and tell himself that he was just frightened of being alone in the house; he was a little old to be getting all creeped out about being alone, sure, but it was still possible.
Only it wasn't.
Tom had been spending plenty of time at home by himself for most of his life, and as far as he could remember, he had never so much as shivered; he had been born a loner.
So what was it, then?
Tom willed himself to get all of the way up this time and took a few seconds to simply stand, trying to get some sense of what was going on. One second he had been sitting down comfortably, and the next he had been laying in his own puke; puke that was the color of medium-rare steak and smelled like sour milk.
He shot two quick and fearful glances on either side of him and trotted into the house, locking the door behind him. Tom was smart enough to know that he probably looked ridiculous, literally being terrified by his regurgitation, but the things that a person knows simply cannot help what a person is. And what Tom was, was scared. He was scared shitless. He didn't know what he was scared of particularly, but he was still scared shitless. He wished he could lie and tell himself that he was just frightened of being alone in the house; he was a little old to be getting all creeped out about being alone, sure, but it was still possible.
Only it wasn't.
Tom had been spending plenty of time at home by himself for most of his life, and as far as he could remember, he had never so much as shivered; he had been born a loner.
So what was it, then?