Writing Challenge 4 - Entry 3

It was a cold winter's night. The fire was crackling in the fireplace, casting eerie shadows on the wall behind my desk, where I sat writing. Deep in thought I reached for my glass and brought it to my mouth.

I cursed; not a drop of wine was left in the glass. Now I had to get up, go to the dining room and pour myself another. I'd lose my momentum, darn it! Why hadn't I just taken the bottle to my study? Still grumbling, I put the glass down and picked up my pen, dipped it in the ink and scribbled down another sentence. Then one more, and soon I'd forgotten everything but my story.

Ginger, our cat sprang on my lap. Purring loudly, she started rubbing her head against my arm, softly at first but gradually more insistent until it became impossible to write. Sighing, I put my pen down.
"Ginger, you're such a nuisance, did you know that," I whispered as I buried my head in her soft fur, "come, let's go to bed."

I was about to blow out the paraffin lamp when I heard it. A faint, scratching noise. Coward that I was, I jumped before realizing it must have been a mouse. We used to get a lot of them, living in such a remote area. Maybe I should stop writing horror and try my hand at something else; romance perhaps, or even better, children's bedtime stories. Ah, who was I kidding?

Still hardly able to breathe and scared of the sound of my own footsteps, I closed the door of the study and ran through the dark corridors to the safety of my bedroom.

With hands too shaky to light the candle on my bedside table, I somehow managed to take off my clothes and throw them in a corner of the room before crashing into bed. My fear and dismay notwithstanding, I soon drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, the noise was there again, but louder than before. Much louder. When I opened my eyes, I saw the most horrible thing I'd ever seen in all my life: an army of mice. Not just ordinary mice, but grotesquely mutated rodents, with fangs eight or even nine inches long - and they were making for my bed, making for me. As sure as I could see the hunger in their eyes, I knew they could smell my fear. A scream escaped my mouth as the first one hurled itself at me.

Staring into the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen, I felt completely embarrassed - he came unexpected; my hero, my saviour. Jonathan, the gardener's son, with his long black hair, strong hands and perfect, muscular body. The man I'd secretly admired for so many years; and here he was, cradling my naked body protectively in his arms. Stroking my back gently.

"It's alright," he whispered in my ear, "it was just a dream."