It is dark in my room; in my life. I have only ever feared the darkness. And with the darkness comes many other fears. So you could say I fear many things, the collective being darkness in general.

To me, night is a cold black abyss of danger. Anything could lurk around the next shadowed corner. The footsteps that you think you can hear might actually be your attacker, stalking you. My fear of the dark came about as a child, during my own experience with the dangers that lurk in the gloom. Oh, you're interested? Are you sure you want to know? Yes? Okay then.

I was walking down the alley around the side of my house, to put the bag of rubbish that I was holding in the bin. Cliché, I know, but it's the way t happened. I looked down at the dirt I had been shuffling my feet in, and on closer observation, I noticed a paw print. On instinct, I shot up into a standing position. More paw prints led halfway to the bin, and then stopped. Just…Stopped. Curiosity taking the better of my young mind, I followed the tracks until they stopped. I looked up at the bin, seeing hundreds of vivid crimson eyes staring down at me. I suppressed a scream. One of the pairs of eyes dropped, and a slender and bony body followed it off the bin. Sleek, black fur swayed in the bone-chilling breeze.
Some form of wolf stood in front of me. It looked like a female, only about the size of an average male wolf would be. Her paws were larger, and claws seemingly sharper. Not to forget her eyes; those nightmarish, demonic eyes. She snarled, revealing razor-sharp fangs. I took a step back, and she pounced down lightly from her position. This time I did try to scream, though no sound came out. I was frozen in place as she leapt for me, her fangs just clipping my arm. A burning pain traveled up my injured limb, searing as I was trapped in the dead silence. The she-wolf prowled back to me. I swung around, wishing I didn't have to turn my back on the rest of the hungrily awaiting pack. But she was more dangerous. She growled, the fur on her neck bristling. Her shackles rose. Frightened and fearing for my life, I dropped the bag of rubbish and sprinted past her, never looking back.

And I never did walk down that alley again. I was left with no scar from her fangs; at least, not in the day. But as soon as the moon rises and the world plunges into darkness, my arm bleeds,; two deep gashes that have never healed. And yet, when I wake in the morning with the bandages on my arm, there is no blood. The skin is perfectly smooth.
Yet, at night I can see bone.
But you know what else I can see?
Those red eyes, staring back at me.
They never cease to watch me.
And there is no escape.
They are always watching.


Author's notes: Yes, some parts repeat the same thing or word over and over, but I've tried to portray the fact that she is steadily going crazy from her encounter with the demon-wolf.
I do like to believe that the demon-wolf is my own creation. If someone has done it before, good for them.