[This post is from Thomas Merlin Ambrose’s point of view.]
There was a question that kept me awake, though, even though my body—and, if I were honest, my mind—wanted to sleep. I couldn’t figure out why it had attacked me and I couldn’t figure out what, exactly, I’d seen when I was down there. There was a part of me that wasn’t sure I exactly wanted to know.
Had it actually happened?
If it hadn’t, I didn’t have an explanation for the pendant I’d found, the one I hadn’t said anything about. Did I even still have it?
I wasn’t sure of that, either, though my gaze drifted to my discarded clothes, laying in the middle of my kitchen floor. I sighed, eyelids growing heavy. I was too worn out to go root through pockets and folds trying to find something that might not have even been there. It would be dark soon, anyway, and I didn’t want to waste the effort lighting lamps.
Every part of me already hurt, my head worst of all, though the gashes burned and I’m sure that they would ache even worse in the morning. I sank deeper into the mattress, drawing my covers even tighter.
Why did it come after me? There were so many others it could have chased. Why me? Why now?
My gut told me that someone already had answers to those questions and I wouldn’t like any of them. Not one bit.
