The run home felt like a marathon of blood and sweat. After I shot the thing, I ran for my life. Did I honestly think I could outrun it? Hell no, but I wasn't going down without a fight.
A good few minutes of running later, when I was maybe a tenth of the way home, I turned to look back. It wasn't there. I was relieved. Of course, then I turned around again and spotted a tree that wasn't there before.
The bastard didn't even have a bullet hole from where I shot him. Then again, could I honestly tell if I had shot him? For all I know, I completely missed. I made sure not to miss this time, watching him as he recoiled. And then I ran faster.
I didn't hear from him besides a constant rustling behind me until I got home and locked my door tight.
I'm currently typing this out and looking out the window alternatively. I saw him after I posted my last entry, but when I began typing this one, he disappeared. He can't get in. I locked the door.
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