It–she–was here. I could smell her. I’d bet all my limbs that it was her. I knew it, and she did too. So I had no option but to run. And that I did. And, oh golly, did she hear me. I could smell the wretched stink of her thin, moldy hair, and the tangy scent her nails left behind on the scratch on my cheek.
SCRATCH… straight down my chest, knocking me to the ground. There she was, her mangled body over me, staring down at me one last time with her one ghostly eye before she pounced…
Editor’s Note: This was written as a 100-word story assignment in Elizabeth Pellicane’s Creative Writing class.
