F is for Fight or Flight

     I creep into the cave, my back arched to keep from hitting the roof.  There is a glint of light far off in front of me.  The darkness between it seems to stretch for miles.  I start on my way.
     The cavern alternates its width constantly as I progress further and further into the dark.  Bats fluttered close to the mouth, but none seem to live this far in.
     Stalagmites and stalactites jut everywhere, dripping, making it sound as if I’m under a waterfall.  I draw my cloak in tighter to keep out the moisture.
     The light ahead begins to illuminate my surroundings.  The walls are caked with blood.  A carcass lies broken in the middle of my path.  His throat is missing.
     I quicken my step and draw a cross from my pocket.  The polished wood gives me comfort as I move my thumb across its surface.
     The light is just in front of me.  A creature stands there, his torso twice as thick as his legs, even those heavily muscled and pulsating.  Its head has one massive, glowing eye.  The mouth is partially obscured by the glare.  All I see are teeth.
     “Be gone,” I yell, pointing the cross at it, my voice only quivering a little.  The creature swats it away with a strange, sinewy arm.  It’s fight or flight now.  I have a feeling neither will save me.