Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Three Hundred and Ninety-Five

Mist draped her in a clammy blanket. Her footsteps seemed silent on the wet pavement, but there was a sound.

Was it her own breath catching in her throat? Or something more sinister?

Unthinking, she upped her pace, feeling, or thinking she felt, sour breath on the back of her neck.

Behind her, someone giggled – a sound that scraped on her nerves like fingernails on a blackboard.

In the puddle of yellowish light under a sullen lamp, stood a single uniformed policeman.

She ran forward, seeking safety.

He smiled and in the lamplight the blood on his fangs looked black.

©jj 2019

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