The Alligator

The swamp held its breath.

The air was thick, too thick. The kind that clung to the throat, seeping into the lungs like rot. The silence wasn’t empty; it was waiting. She knew better than to stop running. But then, movement. Not the rustling of wind through trees. Not the stirring of a creature shifting in the underbrush. This was something else. Something deliberate. A slow ripple disturbed the stagnant water, spreading out in controlled, knowing patterns. The moon cast a pale sheen over the surface, and for a moment, just a moment, she saw them.

Eyes.

Not bright. Not wild. Flat. Unfeeling. Ancient. The stillness cracked.

The water exploded, something massive, something merciless. Teeth, pressure, the world spiraling in deafening chaos. Her scream barely escaped before the dark took her under.

The swamp swallowed its prey.

And then it held its breath again.