The Horrible Thing That Slipped Through My Window One Night
* * *
He shot up in his bed, his heart racing. The stench of his own body odor filled his nostrils as he breathed deeply; it felt as though he had been holding his breath for minutes. Something below his ribs possibly a kidney was aching, as if he had been crouching tightly with his chest to his knee. The sound of heavy raindrops, occasionally overshadowed by the sound of roaring thunder told him that the weather had undertaken a drastic change while he had been asleep.
How long had he been out?
He sat up rubbing his stomach, stared at the digital alarm clock beside his bed, and saw only fuzzy blue light. Upon rubbing his eyes, the fuzz became 2:32; more than eight hours after he had lain down.
Tom couldn't remember everything he had been dreaming about; he could remember some of it (Cory Feldon's evil, transformed face staring down at him, eclipsing the sun), but most of it had slipped away as soon as he had awoken. Still, though, it didn't seem like he had been out for anywhere near eight or nine hours; there was simply no way. Yet, the clock told him differently.
He climbed off the bed, noticing that the dark feeling which had caressed him earlier, as well as the groggy disorientation that had seemed to lace his dream, were both gone.
Good, he thought. That's a start.
He still felt extremely tired though, and that bothered him. He knew most of the exhaustion was probably caused by the nightmare (the sweat from his chest had damn-near soaked his shirt), but even so, it seemed like an eight-hour nap, starting at six, would completely revive anybody.
He slowly made his way across the dark loft and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and then stepped inside. It was a small room, requiring only a sink, a toilet, and a thin shower to pack it tightly. It was nice, though; there were definitely small signs of wealth here and there, whether it was the clear, sliding shower door or the fancy glass lights ledging out over the mirror above the sink. To the left of the toilet was a window covered by dark teal shades.
He shot up in his bed, his heart racing. The stench of his own body odor filled his nostrils as he breathed deeply; it felt as though he had been holding his breath for minutes. Something below his ribs possibly a kidney was aching, as if he had been crouching tightly with his chest to his knee. The sound of heavy raindrops, occasionally overshadowed by the sound of roaring thunder told him that the weather had undertaken a drastic change while he had been asleep.
How long had he been out?
He sat up rubbing his stomach, stared at the digital alarm clock beside his bed, and saw only fuzzy blue light. Upon rubbing his eyes, the fuzz became 2:32; more than eight hours after he had lain down.
Tom couldn't remember everything he had been dreaming about; he could remember some of it (Cory Feldon's evil, transformed face staring down at him, eclipsing the sun), but most of it had slipped away as soon as he had awoken. Still, though, it didn't seem like he had been out for anywhere near eight or nine hours; there was simply no way. Yet, the clock told him differently.
He climbed off the bed, noticing that the dark feeling which had caressed him earlier, as well as the groggy disorientation that had seemed to lace his dream, were both gone.
Good, he thought. That's a start.
He still felt extremely tired though, and that bothered him. He knew most of the exhaustion was probably caused by the nightmare (the sweat from his chest had damn-near soaked his shirt), but even so, it seemed like an eight-hour nap, starting at six, would completely revive anybody.
He slowly made his way across the dark loft and into the bathroom. He flicked on the light switch, waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and then stepped inside. It was a small room, requiring only a sink, a toilet, and a thin shower to pack it tightly. It was nice, though; there were definitely small signs of wealth here and there, whether it was the clear, sliding shower door or the fancy glass lights ledging out over the mirror above the sink. To the left of the toilet was a window covered by dark teal shades.