Running, searching, sweating; chills climbing up his spine. Who am I? Where am I? Who’s behind me? Trip, stumble, fall. No! Where is it? What do I need? Who’s behind me? Running again. Darkness, shadows, fear. Burning, choking, pain. Don’t scream! Who’s got me?
Michael shot out of bed, falling to the onto the hard wooden floor before he had truly awakened. Soft and firm arms gathered him up and lifted him back onto the downy bed. Blinding white light met him at the foot of consciousness, the nightmare shoved quickly into the recesses of memory.
Sandpaper stuck to his tongue and monsters growled in his abdomen; a sharp dagger had been thrust through his cranium, rats gnawed at the fibers of his flesh, his bones had been replaced by shattered glass.
I must be in hell.