Get Zyked

The tapping on a window woke you with a start. Groggily you sit up in your bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as they slowly begin to adjust to the darkness of your room.

Tiredly, you prop yourself up on your elbows, head scanning the room for the source of the sound. Squinting, you finally make out a shape right next to your bed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Still sleep addled enough to be more annoyed than scared, you shuffle on your knees to sit at the edge of the bed, eyes still squinting as you lean forward to inspect whoever decided to wake you up in the middle of the night by incessantly tapping on your window.

The back of your head is already grazing against a viscous and abnormally ribbed palate before you come to the startling and grim realisation.

There is no window beside your bed.

Your screams are swallowed alongside the rest of your body, gnarled and gangly fingers guiding your struggling form along a grossly engorged tongue until powerful muscles contract, forcing you into a dank and constricting abyss.

A rumble tears through the fleshy walls encasing you, the two simple words echoing throughout your entire body until your very last strained and rattled breath;

“Get...Zyked...”