It Always Sleeps On The Floor

We were mid-moan, tangled in sweat and sheets, when I looked up—and it was there. Too tall. Too still. Watching with eyes it doesn’t have. I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. I just kept choking on fear while he kept moving, unaware we weren’t alone.
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The Fog Won't Lift

The fog never lifts on the trail. You run because you have to—because something terrible waits if you stop. Shapes shift in the mist. Memories twitch just out of reach. You always end up back at the beginning, but something’s different this time. Maybe it’s you.
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