I Awake

I awoke at dawn. Within minutes, I was fighting for my life.
Slavering jaws snapped inches from my face, thick, clawed feet tore at my chest. I clutched at the Siberian wolf's throat (for such it was) with a grip of steel, yet knew I could not long delay my gory demise.

I once overheard a picturesque American colloquialism in which the speaker favorably compares his present circumstances, no matter how dire, to "a poke in the eye with a sharp stick." When I presented a similar choice to my adversary, I was not overly surprised to find he came down firmly against the stick option, preferring to flee whimpering through the shattered remains of the window through which he had entered. I grimaced and returned my sharp stick to its accustomed place beneath my pillow.

If I am awoken after sunrise, I have a devil of a time getting back to sleep. In any case, the cool morning air and distant birdsong had decided now that the wolf was gone, they might as well come inside and have a look around. Sitting up, I wiped the last traces of canine saliva from my brow and considered the task which lay before us. It was a daunting prospect. The house was a vast structure and would require days to search comprehensively. Furthermore, the residents, upon whose unpleasant aspects I have dwelt for some length, were obviously displeased with our presence and perhaps contemplating outright revolt. But, and you may think me mad for saying so, it was from the house itself that I felt the strongest resistance. There was something unnameable about the place, some lurking transgression which eluded close observation. It was almost as if the thing had not been erected with the idea of human habitation, its contorted dimensions meant to accommodate some alien physique...
I was jerked from my reverie by a hoarse shout.
"Hardings!"
I leapt to my feet. "Curses! Champion!"