The window was open. The screen was gone. The curtains drawn. He walked over to
the window. Stuck his head out. Nothing. No screen. Nothing. Pulled his head back in. Walked
out of the room. Closed the door. Walked to the stairs. Looked down. Each step had blood splatters,
that were running down the middle of the steps. Michael walked up. Up, Up, Up. He reached the
top. He stepped out into the hall.
                     He looked left. Nothing. He looke right. A man. At the far end of the hallway. He was
standing there, in a black trench coat. He had a hard look, and stared right back at Michael. Then he
stepped out of view down an adjoining hall. Michael ran after him, gun drawn. He reached the corner.
He turned. Nothing. He stepped down the hall. An Elevator was next to him. Ding. It opened. The
man was there. Michael was frozen. The rock hard face. White, evil eyes. Black trench coat. Arms
in pockets. He stared at Michael.
                    He fell forward on his face, not bracing his fall. Michael checked for a pulse. Dead. He
rolled him over. That hard face was still plastered on him. Michael checked the pockets. Left. Nothing.
Right. Nothing. Inside. Something.  A switchblade. He popped it open. A bloody blade. Whipping
off his prints, he put the knife back. He walked down the hall. The strange, eriee scratching started
again, but this time it was louder, closer. Scratch, Scratch. Michael's eyes darted from door to door.
Scratch, Scratch. Everything was still. He turned a corner, facing another hall of rooms.
                    Simultaneousely, every single door in the hall opened. Michael's blood ran cold. The
scratching noise was blasting in his ears now. It was rattling his mind and his thoughts. The black
in each doorway stared at him mercilessly. He turned and ran. Down the adjacent hall. Down the
3rd hall to the stairs, the scratching screaming in his brain. Down the 1st floor to the lobby, then
past the desk. Still empty. Out into the night. He was running like never before. Shadows danced
to the left. To the right. Now he heard breathing, coming nearer him. He dared not look back. The
scratching sound had ceased, making the enclosing breathing all the more deadly. He ran.

                     Susan didn't move. The shadows all around the lot toyed with her mind. Persperation.
Silence. Suddenly, a man stepped from the shadows in front of the car. He had a hard face and a
black trench coat. He was coming toward her. To the side, she saw another man, dressed identical.
To the opposite side, another. To the back, another. Her face was streamed with tears and sweat,
as she fumbled the keys into the ignition. Wrong key. She fought for the right one. Closer, Closer.
Still the wrong key. She grabbed the third and final one. It went in. Closer, they came. She turned
the key.

                     Michael ran down the sidewalk toward the supermarket parking lot. Multiple breathing
behind him. He was gasping for air. The breathing was nearly touching him. He came around the
corner to the lot. He saw four men approach the car. He saw the window's smash. He heard a scream.
"NNOOOOO!!!" he cried. Something dug into his back, he fell and---------

--------jumped up. Sweat drenched him. He was breathing hard. He was in bed. A hotel bed. Sunlight
streamed in under the window. A sigh of relif echoed from him. He sunk back into his pillow. The
tension still gripped him. His heart was racing. He rolled over to wake his wife. Her eyes were open,
wide open, starring at the ceiling. "Honey, *gasp* you will never *gasp* believe what I just dreamed!"
She was dead.

--Michael Fitzpatrick