'Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!' – The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Migrain-gnaw

The neighbour’s dog is yapping,

Someone’s phone is ringing,

A helicopter hovers too close, rotators pounding.

Sitting at my desk, working my way through inbox messages,

I notice a hunted feeling.

Could this mean my loyal companion is back?

For a second my vision blurs. 

I shiver.

Later, I am chopping carrots for dinner

When the hunter returns.

Ah, my loyal companion is back.

Now the room dims momentarily and a growling fills my ears, 

muting the TV news.

Suddenly,

The hound has my whole head locked in its jaws.

I can see no light,

I stare down its gullet. 

The pressure tightens,

pain stabs my neck, 

As it tries to rip my head from my body

With its predator death-shake.

I escape long enough to put down the knife,

Crawl away while it stalks my heals.

I hide for a time in the dark of the bedroom,

But it comes for me still,

Slathering for more.