He’d fallen asleep in his car. Sleep came hard, especially on the edges of the forest, but driving into town after last night would have been tantamount to suicide.
He woke in the early morning darkness. His breath had fogged all the windows, cocooning him in his own white-walled world. For a moment he could not tell what had awakened him, other than the pain in his neck and back.
Then, ever so gently, a soft scraping. Something sharp against the outside of the car.
It couldn’t see in. It didn’t know he was here. He tried not to breathe.
The Bucket Rider
4 hours ago