It was four a.m.
The coffee, in the same stained circle of the cup holder, steamed as per usual. The well-oiled car hummed while it warmed up. There was so much in my life that I had wished I had done. There was so much life I felt inside, but aging stopped the process as it often snubbed out the thoughts. It was serene, in the car; the early morning night sky above me glittered in a fashion that not a single firework display could beat.
There it was again, the white…whatever it was, larger than life; it walked with long fingernails, hair mangled down its back, which was curved and misaligned. This couldn’t be a Tattlerat; they were short plain creatures with chattering teeth. They danced, they stalked, and they followed a person until they had that person in their grip. I got out of the car, managing to curl my fingers around the door handle and walked through the dewy grass again. My hands were cold and I rubbed them together, they made a soft sandpaper sound, this time of the year always did a number on my skin.
Its gait was slow this time, not so much scurrying through the property, but moving at a speed that I finally could keep up with. It didn’t walk to the shed; it walked towards the pine tree where I hid the other time of my misadventure. I saw it glowing under the pine tree’s boughs, and its eyes dimmer now, easy to see, like two yellow flames dancing beneath the tree. I could faintly hear it breathing, its lungs rasping, and the breathing shallow and wet. I was shivering, the cold sinking into my bones, I rubbed my hands together again, and then rubbed the gooseflesh bumping on my arms away, but it didn’t go anywhere.
I stood in front of it.
Its gaze peered beyond me, seeing through me, and looking at something else.