Unsettled

When I stepped outside, the squirrel raised its head to stare at me.  Even though I was close, however, it showed no fear as it watched me with unblinking eyes.

*

It wasn’t until the third turn of the key in the ignition, my heart pounding in my throat, that the engine finally turned over, coughing and sputtering to life.

*

I glanced down at my feet, only to see a winged shadow pass directly over me.  When I looked up, there was nothing in the sky.

*

She didn’t say anything, but I caught her looking at me out of the corner of my eye, a resigned frown on her face.

*

It wasn’t until I had closed my eyes and laid back down that I heard the sound again – a faint scratching from somewhere in the dark room.

*

As I felt my foot descend on nothing, panic blossomed in my mind.  There had only been twelve steps, I thought, not thirteen.

*

A smudge on my glasses, I thought, as the shape loomed at the corner of my vision once again – but then I remembered I was wearing contacts.

*

When I stepped onto the subway car, a dozen pairs of eyes scrolled over me.  One pair, however, seemed to linger far too long on my face.

*

Sitting uselessly in the waiting room, I stared blankly at the painting on the wall across from me.  Somehow, the face seemed to be sneering back.

*

A sudden, faint pressure against my skin made me jerk, as though I’d walked through a spider’s web, even though I stood in my own kitchen.

*

My eyes snapped open.  I was still in bed.  But for a moment, I felt as though the blankets were bindings, preventing me from moving even a finger.

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