Worst Fear

I’m back in my childhood’s home in its dank and dismal cellar walking warily, unsteadily down ancient narrow stairs. The old-time wash machine with wringer stands there in the center of the gloom as I remember well it always used to. Above me is the hanging bulb with my late step-dad’s makeshift switch which once I was electrocuted by (strange current went surging from my fingers to the middle of my arm). My eyes are just beginning to adjust. But still it is so black. Something’s in this room with me. I sense, I do not see malignancy - It’s omniscient; omnipresent and pressing onto me. A bat is fluttering eerily; I know this, and yet I cannot see its wheeling frantic wings. I make my way so slowly to the bulb suspended from the low and cobwebbed ceiling. Reaching out I grasp the switch, and a face appears suddenly before me. Fear washes over my entire being. . . Satan has me! (This was, in fact, a nightmare, the worst I ever had. Nothing else ever came close!)