Collection of Stories

DREAD

The taps hit the tiles with a feeling of dread.

It wasn't from the echoing steps. No, it was from the blood coming from the newly opened wound.

The metal felt warm in hand. The heat from the barrel could almost be smelt and it was pointed shakily down the corridor.

It had only four shots left.

They'd be here soon.

The tapping only emphasised the beat in his ears. The quick, rash breathes leaving him didn't help either. His clothes felt more like a prison, tightening around him as he pressured his side.

The cool liquid dribbled over down his forearm before finally falling free from his elbow. It clacked hard onto the tile floor. Then, the tapping suddenly stops.

A single breath.

He held onto it for as long as it would take. His trembling body stiffening, solidifying. The nerves in his hand pulsated constantly as he steadied his eyes to level with the sights.

He couldn't hold it forever. But a moment was all he needed.

An exploding tremor vibrated through him before the sound even escaped the chamber. His hand shot backwards, the recoil proving once more to be too much.

The darkness responded with a howl of deafening screeches, then retreating nails on tile.

His nerves unravelled once more before his legs forced him to move. His speed was hindered, and the trail left behind would be too easy for them to follow. But there was nothing else for him to do.

That was the plan before he met another dead end. His fist slammed into the wall, nothing could be done.

The tapping returned. And not from his wound this time.

The nails. Those damned nails. They were the very thing he couldn't escape.

He spun to meet them, quickly getting the sights upon them. And with another thundering boom, his hand lurched back.

His back collided with the wall. The warmth in his hand fading as the silence stretched on.

They would return.

Three shots remained.