I see trees. Spruce perhaps? I don't know. The world's passing by in a blur. The occasional whip of a branch slapping my bare arms does nothing to slow my fast pace through the thick forest. My legs are like a pair of bike peddles. The feeling of exhaustion and lack-of-stamina seems to be immune to them. My mind and body are functioning solely on one thought and one thought only; escape.

               Heavy screeches of something bulky sliding after me bounces against the trunks of the trees, creating a hollow echo. Shivers race up my spine at the noise. The ghostly, high-pitched squeals of my pursuer breathing, only spurs me on to go faster.

               SLICE!! SCRAPE!! CRUNCH!!

              The miscreation following me scrapes heavily against the forest floor. It slices something too. Is it sharpening it's teeth, possibly? Or is that just my imagination playing tricks on me? Either way, the noise has made my legs speed up. Usain Bolt would be proud of me.

               I don't know what the creature behind me is. I don't know where I am or how I got here. My memory up until this time is blank. I don't know why the monster following me is. All I know is that I need to run. I need to get away from the thing chasing me, as fast as possible. Somewhere in the depths of my subconscious I remember what normal is. And I know that this is definitely not normal. The creature following me is unnatural.

Pumping my arms and legs even faster then they already were, I cast a worried glance behind me. Instead of seeing the terrifying sickly yellow, Frankenstein-like monster that I'm expecting to see, I see nothing. There's nothing there. I can hear whatever it is sliding along behind me, but my eyes convince me otherwise. Just as I'm about to turn my head back, I catch sight of a dark red liquid highlighted by the bright crescent moon above me. I'm not an expert, but I can tell that it's human blood . . . and my mystery stalker is definitely not a human.

My heart beats impossibly faster than it was before. I live on a hobby farm. It's just mum and I, surround by paddock on three sides of the house and forest on the fourth. How far has this invisible beast traveled to get it's next meal?

My mind snaps back into the cruel reality of my situation when I realise that I've stopped running altogether. Panicked, I fling my head downwards to try and see why I am no longer moving. Where my blue joggers should be, there is nothing but black swirling mist. I go to lift my legs . . . they don't move. I try again, again, and again. But every time I try to even slightly move them, they don't. They're frozen to the spot.

               My blood pressure plummets when I hear the screeching of the monsters body stop. I don't want to look at it. If I'm about to die then the worst thing I could do is look up so I'm scared to the point of extreme. Not that I'm not already about to faint from fear.

               Unfortunately my eyes are no longer responding to my brain. On their own accord, they look up at the murky figure of what will most likely become my murderer. The monster is not invisible; it never was, it was just surrounded by it's dark mist. Deep down though, I'm thankful that I can't see what it really looks like. The silhouetted figure stands tall, it's at least eight foot, eight foot three maybe? My killer isn't terribly fat either. It's body is thick down where any normal organism's feet would be, but it's shape gradually slopes inward to finally finish in the right size for a humans head.

The creature doesn't do anything. It stands there in front of me looking like a perfect picture of the reason why any kid is scared to look under their bed at night. To make it even worse, the monster makes no noise. None, whatsoever. It's creepy aurora which surrounds it, sends my arm into a shaking frenzy.

               My heart lurches in my chest when I see a part of it's black, misty body break off from the rest of it and move forward. Is that it's arm? Whatever it is lifts higher and higher, until it's level with the curve between my neck and shoulder. Slowly, almost robotically, the thing's arm splits into five segments, which I presume are it's fingers.

In that moment of the monsters deathly fingers hovering over my neck, my lungs stop inhaling precious air. I can't breathe. I can't move. And I most certainly can't do anything but stare at the skinny dark fingers that promise death. Seconds pass by. The light breeze that was hitting my skin before, gets replaced by pure coldness. It feels like a ton of dry ice has suddenly gripped ahold of neck and I can do nothing but stand still.

The black beast is holding my neck. It's iron grip somehow sends one unsaid and very clear message to my brain; you're dead.

SNAP!!

               I awake from my restless sleep with a jolt. A thick curtain of sweat covers my forehead. My heart's beating like I just ran a marathon. The images from the nightmare I just escaped, run in an endless loop in my skull. It's rare for me to dream, I'm a too deeper sleeper, and it's even rarer for in the odd occasion that I do dream, for it to be an unpleasant one. But there's no mistaking the sound of bone breaking—my neck snapping—that's ringing in my ears.

               People say that life is full of ups and downs, I guess this would one of those "downs". The memory of running through thick trees invades my thoughts. I can't seem to close my eyes without seeing the ghastly image of the black-phantom-like-creature reaching out it's long, skinny, black fingers towards me. It's one of those times where the voice in the back of your head is screaming at you not to think about it but somehow your brain decides that it'll be a perfect time to think of nothing other then that particular moment in time.

I suck in a shaky breath and run my fingers through my knotted hair. In the few times that I've had a nightmare, never has it been so scary, so easy to remember . . . so realistic. I close my eyes again. Breathe, breathe, breathe, just breathe, breathing helps everything.

               I peel my eyes open slowly. I'm already feeling better, the horrible flashbacks of my dream are beginning to slip past the barrier in the back of my head and into the land of the subconscious. Turning my head slightly, I read the bright red letters of my alarm clock, 2:14 am. Mum won't be back until six at the earliest. Stupid business trips. It's just me, myself and I in the house.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I feel a pair of eyes staring at me. My head spins around to see what's causing this feeling, no one else is here. The sweep of my room only confirms that. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. It's obvious that my nightmare has shaken me more then I've realised. I'm getting the chills now from the walls of my own, comforting bedroom.

               I reach down to my hips, where my blankets had fallen in my rush to sit up, and untangle my legs. The rustle of the fabric moving seems louder in the empty house, it's too loud for my liking. Quietly as possible I plant my feet on the cold floor. I immediately wince though, when I hear the loud creak vibrating around the house from the creaky wooden floor beneath my feet.

               SLICE!! SLICE!! SLIDE!! SCRAPE!!

               All at once I fling my legs up from the floor and back onto my bed as if I was burned. I've heard that noise before and it's not a fond memory. It's memory from deep inside a nightmare. The strange thing is that it was a nightmare, which is a form of a dream. Dreams are called dreams because they are entirely unreal.

               The fact that I'm starting to believe that the exact same noise made by my killer in my dream can be heard from downstairs, leads me to believe only one of two things can be happening, A: I'm going paranoid, or, B: I'm going crazy. Chances are it's both of them. Just the thought of thinking that the black misty giant is in my house, screams out, "insane-hallucinating-teenager-who's-ignoring-common-sense."

               I blame the nightmare for my sudden jumpiness though. Stepping on a creaky floorboard has never bothered me before. Who am I kidding? Stepping on a creaky floorboard only bothers people that have something to be afraid of. It only bothers people who don't want to be heard by someone . . . or something. And I know that I'm definitely the only one in the house. I shouldn't be thinking so much.

Shaking my head firmly to myself, I try to rid myself of my crazy, nonsense thoughts. Why would someone such as myself, be worried that there is another living life form inside the house? Aside from Sargent Saffron my pet gold fish, that is. No, I decide to myself, mum's out at a business trip. The old farm house that we live in — that I'm currently sitting in — is perfectly fine. I had a nightmare and that doesn't mean that the Boogie Man is suddenly hiding inside my closet.

I sigh softly. In all honesty, I don't even know what I'm freaking out about. I had a horrible dream, stepped on a loud floorboard and now I've got adrenaline pumping around my system faster then Phar Lap on steroids. Taking a final whopper of an inhale of refreshing air, I relieve all the tension and anxiety that my mind's managed to create.

Once I'm satisfied that I've calmed my wild imagination down, I crawl out of bed properly. When the floor creaks beneath my feet this time, I wince slightly but am able to keep walking. Purposefully I walk out the door to my room and down the stairs to the lower level of the house.

When I eventually reach my destination, I take a glass out of the cupboard in the kitchen and walk over to the sink nearby. Lifting my arm up to the tap, I find myself memorised by the cool, steady flow of water that's filling my cup. After being awoken by such a ghastly experience earlier, it's made my throat parched. Who knew dreaming could be such a thirsty exercise?

THUD!! SCRAPE!!

A series of ripples suddenly breaks the water's surface. My head whips upwards again, I wasn't imagining that. You don't hear loud noises that shake the momentum of water in the middle of the night unless something's up. I grasp the glass in my hand in a death grip and gulp loudly. If I, the only person who is capable of making such a noise, hasn't done anything of the sort, then what did?

Turning the tap off gently, I try to ignore the loud thumping of my heart in my chest and the wet layer of sweat that's formed over my skin. Painfully slowly, I creep out of the kitchen into one of our smaller lounge rooms. The noise sounded like it came from this direction.

               SCRAPE!! SLIDE!!

               I twist my head around in the direction of the sound of something scraping. I feel like I'm about to faint when I catch sight of something black disappearing from the small lounge room and into my mothers study. A part of me wants to crawl under the safety of my blankets and cry while trying to convince myself that this is all a dream, just like my last one. The more sensible part of me knows that if in the highly likely chance that there is in fact something in the house, then my chances of dying are significantly higher, if I do that.

               Still gripping the glass of water in my hand like my life depends on it, I advance towards the study. When I reach the open door, I flatten myself against the wall next to it. Slowly, I slip my arm through the door way, blindly feeling for the light switch.

CLICK!!

The lights turn on with a slight flicker. I scan the room thoroughly, but still quickly. The whole time, my blood pressure's spiking, my adrenaline's pumping and my vocal cords are ready to let out the loudest, most ear piercing scream the world's ever heard, at a moments notice.

A slither of murky black slips past the back door to the dining room so fast that I'm surprised I even noticed it. A strange urge overwhelms me to puke my dinner all over the soft, fluffy, green carpeted mat that lies on my mothers study's floor. There's something in the house besides me.

Just like I did last time, I sneak up to the doorway, snagging the old baseball bat in the corner of the room on my way. In times such as these, it's best to be prepared for the worst. I slide my arm up the inner-wall of the dining room until my sweaty hand collides with the lumpy plastic of the light switch.

CLICK!!

The yellow light fills the room. Scanning the room with my eyes, they stop at the corner of the room again, next to the door to the games room. A tall black figure slides it's way out in speed, loudly scraping the polished floorboards in the process. I don't think. Positioning one leg forward, I dash out the room into the next, my baseball bat flopping awkwardly behind me.

There's a window in this room. The curtains still haven't been drawn, leaving the milky light from the moon to spill into the room. I don't bother switching the light on, I already know where the being is. It's black outline is more visible now that I know where to look. Before any signs of recognition can be drawn, the "thing" slips into the room next to it.

Like a game of cat and mouse, I chase the creature all over the house. Finally, I barge into the last room; the laundry. My feet — sticky with sweat — noisily slap the cold tiled ground beneath them. My breathing's erratic. My fear of the unknown being replaced by a strange urging of curiosity, I find myself yearning to trap the beast and find out what it is; how it got into my house.

I come to a halt at the back of the room. Frantically, I search for the life form. Windows align two of the four walls. Moonlight streams in, making my shadow seem taller and fatter then normal. My chest heaves, baseball bat poised above my head, ready to swing at the first sight of movement.

Half a minute passes before the first flicker of movement can be seen from the edge of my peripheral vision. My head whips around, a fresh wave of adrenalin sharpening my senses. An equally nervous and relieved laugh escapes my mouth after I see Sargent Saffron peacefully swimming in his small tank. I must of left him in here.

But there's nothing else in the room. No monster, no black figure, no mystery life form, nothing. Perhaps all my "sightings" of the misty black monster was nothing more then a figment of my imagination. A non-existent presence that I created myself. Forged in the abyss of my subconscious long ago, only to be awoken by my sudden nightmare.

Relishing in the feeling of relief by no intruders in my house, I stare at my shadow beside me. It always comforts me in times in the reminder that I'm never technically alone. I inhale, slow and relaxingly, to calm my jitters. A frown crosses my features when my shadow begins to move.

I stay stoic still watching the fat, black shape of me cut in half. I don't breathe as the part of me that split off, begins to grow; eight foot three. With my eyes wide, I slowly spin my head to look up at the intimidating shape of the beast from my dream in front of me. This can't be happening.

I haven't been alone in any room all night.