Wrappings the Mummar

You're walking home. It's late. You can hear nothing but the rustling of fall leaves and the sharp click of your heels striking the pavement. Brief movement flashes at the periphery of your vision and you spin. Nothing. You turn warily and find yourself starring, mesmerized, into glassy orange eyes. You try to scream, but your mouth has gone dry. You try to run, but your limbs feel stiff, your skin, papery. At the last moment the thing is gone and you blink, wonder at what you think was a dream.