500 Word Short Story
Oswald Cleaver woke up in a cold sweat. He was dripping wet, breathing heavy and shaking uncontrollably.
He didn't move a muscle, but scanned the dark room with his eyes. Nothing. He listened intently. Nothing. It must have been a dream, he thought. It sure seemed real.
Oswald cautiously got out of bed. The sheets were soaking wet. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the light, looked in the mirror and screamed.
He was covered in blood.
He immediately started to wash himself off looking for the source of the bleeding. There was none.
Feeling sick to his stomach, he sat on the toilet and relieved himself, then threw up in the sink.
He stepped into the shower and let the tepid water beat down on him as he sat on the floor trying to recall the nightmare. Was it a dream or was it real? Oswald couldn't decide. It seemed like a dream, but where did the blood come from?
The shower stall seemed smaller than he remembered, and the color didn't seem quite right.
He remembered walking down a dark street in an unfamiliar town. He was lost and needed some direction. Whenever he tried to speak, nothing coherent would come out of his mouth. Just a bunch of garbled nonsense, like he had a mouth full of marbles.
He had his cell phone on him but he couldn't make it work. Every time he tried to punch in a number he would hit the wrong one. Then the thing just went dead altogether.
He kept walking and soon found himself in a bad part of town. No matter which way he went, it only got worse. Soon people were giving him dirty looks and asking him what he thought he was doing in their part of town. He was beginning to get nervous. The people were beginning to look pale and moving slow, as if they were the living dead.
Soon they started to crowd in on him. Pushing him. Reaching out. Tearing at his clothes. He tried to run but couldn't get his feet to move fast. He tried to call for help, but still nothing would come out.
He began to fight back but his punches had little affect. For some reason he found he had a knife in his hand. He lashed out with it. Several people were bleeding but they kept after him. He didn't stop and soon found an opening where he crawled through the crowd.
He moved as fast as he could. They were behind him now but not far enough. He kept moving. They were catching up to him. Suddenly he was at his house. He ran inside and locked the door.
Then he woke up.
Oswald decided it was a dream. It had to be. Suddenly he heard loud banging at the front door. He ran to the window and looked out. They had found him and they wanted in.
Seems Oswald was still dreaming after all.
© Copyright 2019 by Scott A. Gese All Rights Reserved.