MicroHorror

Dimly, through sleep, Catherine heard the living room window slide open. Heavy footsteps thudded in the hall. Adrenaline rushed through her. “I have a gun aimed at the door!” she shouted. “The police are coming!”

The door burst open. She emptied the revolver into the blur of hair, teeth and leathery wings that rushed her, screaming. As the dripping fang-jaws ripped at her neck, Catherine sat straight up in bed, moaning. At the foot of the bed, the snowy television screen buzzed, casting a glow on her empty pizza box. Sobbing, she dropped the greasy remote control and wiped her hands with a paper towel. Heavy footsteps thudded in the hall.