Scream of the Hooded Figure

"No one will ever find me," I breathed. "At least I hope not." I rummaged through my bag and took out my dream journal I had been keeping for a month, and flipped through the pages.

Most of my dreams were haunting and eerie, and they were all the same.

I was walking down a dark alley; one that mirrored the one I was in now.

I heard footsteps behind me, so I swept around.

There is a hooded figure, and the first thought that crossed my mind was, 'Lord Voldemort!' But then I remembered that I was not Harry Potter.

The hooded figure took off it's hood. It's face was pale, and if it had lips--or a mouth--they would have parted and opened when it spoke. But it did not.

"You are being followed." The raspy whisper cut through the silent air, and I shuddered, starting to run. But the whisper came again. "You cannot run from me; oh no."

I stopped running. The figure slowly closed in, until it's face was inches away from mine. It's cold breath smelled of blood.

The figure's beady eyes grew malicious, and it opened something in it's face that looked like a mouth, but I knew it was not. What was it, exactly? I was not sure. The 'mouth' screamed, and then I had woke up.

I glanced around the alley, making sure the creature, what ever it was, was not there.

My body was still racked with fear, from three days ago, where the same figure had attacked my house, taking my parents and my older sister.

I had ran away before it could get me, and it had screamed that deathly scream again.

But, thank the good Lord, I was still safe. Nobody would find me in a trash can that stank like dead fish and rotten meat.

Hopefully.