It was a slow thing. A subtle thing. Almost imperceptible. If he had tried, or so they said, he could have pretend it wasn’t there. Just try. Try harder. And yet, there he was—and there it was. Almost close enough to touch, but only almost.
It was that dread that unraveled him. His unraveling was another slow yet inevitable thing. The moodiness. The sleepless nights. The pacing hunt for peace.
He never said what it would be, if it found him. He only spoke of escape. Away, away—but to where? No one had the answer.
That was the mystery of my father. The mystery of his hunted life. His tired, tired life of running from something no one could name, running to somewhere no one could find. He died scared. Terrified.
And now, I feel it. That slow, inevitable thing. And try as I might, I know there’s nowhere to go.
∼ Miriam H. Harrison
© Copyright Miriam H. Harrison. All Rights Reserved.
Pen of the Damned 
I really like the hook of this story!
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Intriguing and creepy.
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Such a simple premise and yet so successful. You don’t need to describe a monstrous creature. In fact, I’m tired of stories or vignettes with something fully described and icky, etc. No, THIS is much better because it is freshly presented and well conceived.
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Good job
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