Mark Maynard

Richard Harris sat in his armchair, a shotgun across his lap, staring into the darkness beyond. The fire light from the fireplace made strange dancing shadows on the walls. Several times, Richard nodded off, only to jerk himself awake. He looked at his pocket watch. Three hours until dawn. He needed to stay awake. Richard started nodding off again, this time a deep feeling of dread that sent shivers down his spine woke him.
Was there a slight movement just beyond the firelight? Or had his overwrought nerves caused him to imagine it? No! It was here. Sweat ran down his pale face and stung his overly wide eyes. He could feel it now. He stood up and held the gun in his shaking hands. As he leveled it at the open door, a black shape came into view. "You fucking Bastard! You took everyone else, but you won't take me!" Richard leveled his gun and fired as fast as he could move the pump action.
He stood there panting and staring with wide, dilated eyes, dripping with sweat. "No, it's not possible. What the hell are you?" Richard screamed. Panic had taken hold of his heart as the black shape flew towards hi. Silence fell, and the house went dark.