I'm sort of writing something on/off at the moment, but it seems like every time i get something good down, i have to get rid of it and put something else in that fits the story, and i also think i repeat myself in it abit... anyway, i want to know if anyone thinks it's any good, so i'll post the first bit here and see if anyone thinks it's worth continuing. If i ever get it finished, i may/may not post the rest on NG.

So, here it is, i know it's a bit Freddy Krouger, but i honest to god wasn't thinking of it at the time i wrote this. If you read the whole thing (as ted denslow put it "people these days have attention spans that can only be measured in nano seconds") please give feedback.

He leapt from the thing's hands, his face felt on fire with the acidic substance excreted from its pores. His feet touched onto the cement floor, but the thing was fast. It pounced and he was back in its vice-like grip. Slowly, he was moved towards the things face, or, at least, where its face should be. It bore the grim reapers hood on its head, the abyss of darkness within sucking him in. As the darkness enveloped him, his eyes slammed shut, his mind throbbing against its power. He felt his brain imploding, slowly collapsing under the pressure of its thoughts. Its free hand slowly moved towards his neck, moving ever closer, closing around his throat and tightening to the point of suffocation...

His alarm sounded. The nightmares were getting more vivid, more real... more painful. His hand reached up to his throat and felt the dark, purple marks, bruises, caused by what? All logic defied what he had been going through over the last three weeks. It had haunted his dreams for years now, but it hadn't attacked until four weeks ago. He didn't know who or what it was or how it had managed to damage his flesh through a dream, but the pain was definitely real.

His sweat covered body rose from the bed and walked over to his dresser. He looked down at his passport, lying on the top. Andrew Marcus. He had sharp features and flowing black hair. His eyes were bright in this picture, although, if he looked in the mirror at the moment, he'd see the dark bags surrounding them. He walked out of the bedroom of his hotel (which, considering the cheap fares of the hotel was also the kitchen and lounge room) and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower.

The sun hurt his eyes. He didn't like to be in the sun, not since he started... changing. He had become quite pale over the last few weeks, but he hadn't really noticed. He hailed a taxi, suddenly feeling faint. It pulled up, 'NY Taxi Cab' written on the side. The sounds of the city were slightly stifled as he stepped in.
"J.F.K., please." He said.
"Guh..." The cabbie grunted, his monotonous tone droning inside the cab.
"Uh, actually..." His anxiety was taking over, his voice low and raspy. "I think I'll take the next one."

The cabbie's hood covered the back of his head, and Andrew noticed that his grip on the steering wheel had loosened. He slowly turned, the ambience of the city now shut out completely, nothing but a dark mass outside the car. The cabbie showed his face, but nothing could be seen but a never-ending blackness. His hand reached out and tenderly touched the marks on his neck, then closed around them.

"Man, are you okay?" The cabby was back, just an average New York cabbie. "You need some water, or something?"
"No." He sounded stern, yet desperate. "Just take me to the airport."

As Andrew stepped out of the cab, he started to feel faint again, the familiar dread chilling his blood.
"Damn it. They're happening more often." He closed his eyes.
"You say something?" The cabbie was concerned, though it was hard to tell wether he was worried for Andrew's safety or his own fare.
"Just, take your fare." He turned to look at the cabbie. "And, could you do me a favour...? Wake me up."
He collapsed to one knee, the being from his nightmare pushing him down. The blackness swirled in and the blink of his eyes revealed the cement flooring that he had now come to associate with the black demon that haunted his mind. It was like a child's playground, cement flooring for a hundred yards and then a wire playground fence.

The thing was coming towards him, swooping over the ground like a mallet swinging down, before it smashes into the ground (flesh). He listened, the sound changed, it was a hand, not a mallet, right before the slap.

The cabbie reappeared, his hand smacking hard against Andrew's face, making a loud, sharp noise. He had drawn quite a crowd, fifteen to twenty at least. He got to his feet, slowly shooing the crowd away.
"Thanks." Andrew pulled out a fiver and handed to the cabbie as thanks.
"Hey, what the hell was that about?"
"Leave it; you don't want to get involved." He walked off and never saw him again.

Feedback on part 1, anyone?

BTW i know i used the word 'cabbie' alot