THE HUNT

I can feel it.

Barely woke and knew it, without a doubt; was there lingering in the dark of the night. Looking for me, I sensed it. “Do not move. Do not move!” I said to myself. I certainly knew that the minimal sound would make him turn at me. I barely saw him passing by a fainting window light. I should find a way out without any noise. I could hear his mirk breathing, agitated and uncontrolled, practically excited.

The iron bed was a problem, every little move meant a squeak and I could not afford such luxury. He was close, I knew it. Every second full of uncertainty was more and more shuddering. Then could hear the gushes of slobber dropping down from his jaw to the ground. I wished my sheets were steel, so I could cover peacefully, but were just a gnawed and dirty piece of linen. I heard his menacing claws creaking and scratching violently the surface of the wooden door, while my trembling became convulsive and hysterical. He got out, at least I assumed that.

Opportunity, the only one. Carefully to the obsession and without any peep I sat up. My first feet leaned out by the edge of the bed turned to a jump to the abyss of hell. I held my breath, transformed into feather, into mist. Touching the ground rugged feel was a relief. Then the other, unpredictable leap to the distant ground. I stand to the rusty yell of the bed. No way back, he heard me, getting back for me. Thrown myself by the door, waiting for him. He returned banging the door against the opposite wall. “Do not move! Do not move!” I kept telling myself, “Do not move. Do not move! Turn into wall and darkened shadow” I did what I must. He examined the bed carefully, almost sniffing like a hound, ripped up the sheets by pure impulse. That’s when I ran, now or never, ran to find a long and somber hallway. Kept running with instinct as only guide. Hid under a staircase when I perceived his steps behind mine.

I can feel it, I feel it now! He comes for me, he knows my name, my scent and gloats thinking in my taste. “Do not move! Do not move!” as always; “Do not move! Do not move!” or he could see. Over and over again, with no resting peace. No matter the years, no matter the time passed, I have not found costume to this chase, to his cynical crackle claiming victory, to the strain of my flesh, the flush of my blood, to the eternal hunt for my guts every time it gets dark.