Scream by Lesley Whyte

It's late. I can't find my phone to check the time but it just feels late. Like, four or five o'clock in the morning. It's just so dark. I roll out of bed and pad carefully across the floor, determined not to stand on my phone and break it. Again. I make way down the stairs, running my hand down the wall to keep my balance. I don't want to turn the lights on and disturb anyone else. Into the kitchen, the floor cold against my bare feet. I struggle to find a glass in the cupboard so I go and turn on the light. I turn back just in time to see it hurtling through the window. I don't have time to scream before it rips my throat out. I lie on the floor, bleeding heavily, my life force pouring out of me as it devours my flesh.

My last thought, conscious thought anyway, is that I shouldn't have turned the light on. Now everyone in the house will die. If they're lucky.