3:15 A.M. - Part Two

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man slowly sinks into a paranoid state when he thinks he's slowly becoming.......?

Submitted: March 09, 2007

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Submitted: March 09, 2007

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You have no logical idea why your clock reads 1a.m.; it was 3:15 a few minutes ago. Time moving backwards?

Impossible.

Yet, here you are, staring at the clock like a moron, your head spinning, your stomach tied in knots, sweating bullets. And lying next to you is your blood-loss-induced-catatonic wife, who now resembles a corpse, just like you.

  Suddenly, you hear that eerie, blood curdling howl outside again, only closer this time. You try to block it out, pretend it's not there, but the gooseflesh popping out all over your body tells you otherwise. Theres something out there; and it's getting closer by the second.

And it sounds angry. Hungry.

Thirsty.

You try to wake your wife up, but she is currently sleeping the slumber of the dead.

The undead. Soon, she'll awaken from her deep, dark sleep, hopelessly afflicted with an insatiable hunger, a thirst, a thirst only warm, fresh blood can quench. Is this a nightmare? you wonder, as the howling outside grows closer, louder, louder........

..........until it's right outside your window.

You peer out the window to see a tall, dark shadow looming just outside, two large, oval shaped, firey red eyes staring out of the shadow's head, staring right at you, right through you, into your very soul. That's when your wife, what used to be your wife, grabs you from behind, by the throat, her fingernails digging into your skin, drawing blood..............

.............blood for the shadow outside?

That's when you wake up, sitting bolt upright in bed, screaming, realizing it was all just a bad dream, the result of too many beers and low budget horror flicks, an indigestion-induced nightmare.

You glance over at your wife; she's sleeping peacefully. You lean over, kiss her gently on the forehead, then climb out of bed and head toward the bathroom.

  Look into the mirror.

See a pale, ghost-like face.

There are two puncture wounds on your throat.

You scream, running back into the bedroom to see that your wife is gone, the window open, and hear a blood curdling howl coming from outside.

For some strange reason, you glance over at your clock.

It reads 3:15 a.m.


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