As It Inches Closer

As you read this letter, it inches closer. Some say it appears as a familiar face; others say it melts into the shadows the instant you try to catch a glimpse. One thing remains constant; it inches closer.

By Ryan Whitehead 
Mayer, MN
First Place Adult Fiction

As you read this letter, it inches closer. Some say it appears as a familiar face; others say it melts into the shadows the instant you try to catch a glimpse. One thing remains constant; it inches closer. Desperate people have traveled far and wide, praying they can outrun it. But with every mile traversed, it inches closer. Are you doubtful as you read this? Good, it likes when you are vulnerable. Unsuspecting victims are easier to surprise. Doesn’t everyone enjoy a good surprise? A piercing scream in the night quickly silenced by the unexpected. Not a soul has succeeded in escaping it, but my hope remains. I write to you, my dearest friend, with the hope that someday we will find a way to end it. Regretfully, I do not have the answer. I am only a witness to the tragedy. I will spare you the graphic details; they are not for the faint of heart. I will not speak of how its jaw unhinges. How it bares its crimson-stained, razor blade teeth. How its abysmal, empty eyes widen at the sight of its prey. In a way, I feel connected to it. I empathize with its desire to hunt. Will you paint me as a monster? Maybe it turned me into one. Ever since I created it, it has lingered in the back of my head like an incessant migraine. It was a “Frankenstein’s monster” result of a failed experiment. It was a collection of cells intended to extract impurities from the bloodstream. But it grew uncontrollably and developed a vampiric appetite. I had no intention of letting it escape, but it refused to succumb to my authority. Now, as each night grows old, the darkness closes in. Is that the ticking of my clock or the beating of a vengeful heart? Is it lurking in my closet or glaring from beneath my bed? Restless hours turn into insomnious weeks. I can imagine it flashes a malicious grin as it creeps toward you. Knowing it can sprint, yet choosing to stalk. Not everyone can fathom the excruciating predicament we are in. Maybe my story is just a story, or perhaps this is a warning. It all depends on what you choose to believe. I laugh maniacally at the thought of it slowly inching closer and closer to me. I laugh until I feel its icy breath on the back of my neck. I have no time to turn my head before it—

 

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