As a child, I was often chased by Something on the dark, wet streets of my nightmares. I could never get away fast enough, as if slogging through a waist-deep bog. I could never gain momentum, and Something always closed the space between us. It was easy. It delighted in my fear.
Eventually, Something caught me, but I was older. I fought back. Even as I beat it into a bloody stump, Something delighted in my fear.
Today, when I see him, waiting for me to panic and run, I stand fast and defiant.
Today, he only stares back.
