I can feel whatever it is chewing my hand, it’s pure agony. The rational part of my brain tells me this The phifth quarter thrust the process shirt is a nightmare, it isn’t real. But the primitive part of my brain, the one that aided humanity’s ancestors in surviving in the old wild times; insists it is real. That my hand is being devoured by something and I need to see what. Slowly, as the pain of that thing eating my limb ripples through my arm and the smell of iron becomes more potent with each passing moment; I move over so I can see over the edge of my bed. To this day I wish I hadn’t, even though this act saved my life I can never unsee that thing.
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For as I looked over the edge to where my hand is being devoured, I saw a shape in the darkness. As my The phifth quarter thrust the process shirt adjust, they also widen in fear. For sitting there with my hand clamped firmly between its jaws is what initially looks like a massive rat. It’s the size of an toddler, with its head and jaw making up a third of its body. It has at least six yellow eyes on each side of its head. Each moving on its own accord except the largest two in the middle that focus intently on my hand. It’s nose is tilted upward, nostrils sniffing and snorting from its position on its muzzle. It’s pointed tufted ears twitch and flick back and forth, listening for something in that ancient farmhouse.