Gotta Write More

Or not. You see, schools been stupidly busy, so I haven't been writing a whole not. Not creatively, anyway.
I have a long collection of bits and pieces reflecting on literature I've been reading for classes but honestly, no one here wants to read what I thought about Cameron's Verbal Hygiene book. Not even me. And I wrote the notes.

But, beyond that, being and English major is filled with...Er. Some excitement. There's a lot to be read and analyzed and a lot of challenges I've never faced before, but doing the best you can, you know- Always a good thing.
Anyway, here's what I hope is a creepy thing to make up for reading my personal bullshit. Written on-the-spot, so I don't think it's too amazing. :/ OH WELL.

---

I probably should have left earlier. I'd forgotten about Daylight Saving's time- I'd lost an hour, and everything was dark outside now, at only seven. My, how time flies; it seemed like only a week before I was trudging through feet of snow and cold and bright, dismal, fluorescent feeling sunlight fighting through grey clouds.
It was around then I'd started to notice the footprints. We'd always had squirrels on campus, and they were always active, but these were a little bigger, like some strange dog's. The back left print always dragged. It was almost a continuous line between each set, when they hadn't been plowed over. They were never in the grass.
Now at Spring's start, there was no sign of the strange anomaly. The birds chirped earlier, and any rumor of beasts had been quelled by the quickening nights. Everyone was getting lazier, less cautious.
I know I was. That's why I was regretting leaving before dark. It's a small campus, to be sure, but it still had all it's dark pockets. My suspicious nature crept up behind me and was set to follow me home. It's only a few blocks, I rationalized, and there are plenty of people around to witness.
But they aren't the only witnesses tonight.
There's a scraping noise on the sidewalk.
Like something metal, dragging slowly. I can see sparks from the corners of my eyes. Sparks and ...And what looks like hair.
It smells damp. Moldy. Sick. I'm afraid to turn around now. I hear breathing.
Perhaps it's just a kid with a ball bat or something. God knows they don't shower enough up here. I walk faster. I'm under a pool of light. There are buildings here. It'll leave me alone.
The smell gets stronger.
The buildings are dark.

It's not going to leave.
I quicken my pace---
And it follows suit.
I can hear it now, I'm nearly at my door and the key's sticking- I need to get inside before something happens. I can feel it's breath on my neck.
It's warm and putrid.
The key rattles- I turn the handle--
There's a click! I can get in, I can get in and be okay and safe and-


Its breath is much closer now.
The door isn't opening in time.
--

Ehhh. If I had more time to expand on the idea I'd love too, but I don't, so I'm not sure what to do from there. I should have drawn out the walking scene some, but consider it a work in progress. A template. A jumping off point.
I'll probably not get back to it, but one can hope.