Tales From The Mists

"Miss Lukas?" You call softly, the words like feathers drifting in the still air of the tomb. Though you cannot see, a rustling against the wall alerts you to her position. "Miss Lukas, is that you?" The wet whimpering grows louder, but she does not come. #ChooseYourNightmare

The seconds crawl by like ants under your skin and so do you, dragging your chest with aching fingers slowly and silently. Each moment is torturous, but soon the sharp scent of your blood is gone. The air is cool and calm. You hear her whimpering nearby. #ChooseYourNightmare

You hold your breath, freeze, press every inch of your body to the ground, strain to hear. A thousand limbs endlessly scurry and scratch against dry stone above you, around you. But for the whisper of legs against your silk robes it passes by... You wait. #ChooseYourNightmare

Your left hand inches across the sand's surface, trailing to the edge of a broken dais. The stone edge is cool beneath your fingertips, and you gingerly pluck at where the corners ought to be, shaping it in your mind. Above you, a soft skittering. #ChooseYourNightmare

Your trembling hands trace circles in the sand. The explosion behind your eyelids is unbearable, and the furious flashes of pain arc through your temples to the tips of your toes. But you won't give up. You cannot see her, but you can hear her. She's close. #ChooseYourNightmare

The world spins, long after you feel the sand beneath your back. There is pressure, a pinprick, then a punch and pop. Your skull weeps sticky streams across your cheeks. You suck a shuddering breath in between your teeth and choke back a scream. What now? #ChooseYourNightmare

You tear off to the cliffs, kicking up sand with each stride. She lets the beast loose and races alongside you. As you grab fistfuls of fur and haul yourself up, her long legs prepare to eat the miles to safety. The earth shudders, shakes, and swallows you. #ChooseYourNightmare

The two of you stalk across the sand, chasing the silver moon as it climbs the sky. Through it all, the book throbs impatiently, burning through your red robes and into your skin. The first tremor comes as the moon begins to sink behind the craggy cliffs. #ChooseYourNightmare

She uses her filthy blouse to scrub a particularly stubborn blood spot from her glasses. "I don't like to hunt on my own. More of a family girl." There is a touch of remorse in her voice. The moon rises above the dunes, casting them bone-white around you. #ChooseYourNightmare