Scratches.

A short horror tale by yours truly.

“Please...make it stop scratching.”

The whisper was slurred, disoriented, as if she was still lost in the spiderweb of a dream, breaking through my slumber and creating goose flesh of my skin. 

I knew if I ignored it, she would stop, and I could return to pretending I was asleep in my own bed under a pile of warm blankets, resting on a soft pillow with moonlight on my face.