In honor of halloween, I've got a spooky short up on Fictitious Musings, read the full excerpt here.  

The hairs on the back of my neck rose.  That’s one of those hackneyed phrases you’ve read a thousand times, but you never actually think about what it means.  What is it about the atmosphere, the air around you that causes your skin to itch, your nerve endings to pulse and a shiver; an invisible finger tickles from your nape to the hollow of your back.

I felt the danger.  Like its own living breathing organism and I chose to ignore it.  I can’t take all the blame, though.  We are so disconnected from our primordial selves that we no longer respond to the impulses that signify alarm, brushing it off as superstition and paranoia.

I wish I had listened to those little hairs.  Then it all would have never happened...

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