SHORT SHORT HORROR STORY: THE ITCH

In quiet candlelight, my hand scratched my forearm, the shadows on the walls brooding in anticipation. My attention focused on the itch – slowly becoming an irritation.

Moving to itch again, my fingers slid through skin like a knife through butter, revealing the black creature within. My head pounded as I yanked the foul thing from my gooey flesh and stomped it into the floorboard.

Relief. Silence. Candlelight. Peace.