People call them dragons but I am not sure about that. Since they arrived, people have been curious about them and their hard leathery hides. I don’t trust them even though they have done nothing not to have my trust. I get the feeling that they are observing us with their serpentine eyes and reporting to somewhere.
The governments of the world have not been able to determine how they got here. One minute they were not there, the next they were flying in the skies with great-scaled wings or crawling on the ground, their long claws scratching any surface they touched. Some “experts” say they have always been here but we are just now able to see them—I am not sure how that is possible. Wouldn’t we find it odd if we tripped for no reason or if an airplane crashed in the sky with nothing? Other “experts” say they crawled up from the depths of the earth. Either way I don’t trust them and they have a strange odor that I cannot describe.
I find it odd that no one has ever seen them eat or defecate like the true inhabitants of Earth. I see them grouped in packs, of five or six, trudging down the street or sitting in a circle and I get the creeps. I’ve watched them follow people walking down the street but always from a distance. I told a coworker that a few were following him this morning and he just smiled and shook his head at me; was he aware of it? He seems different somehow; I’ve been noticing that about others as well. As I entered the parking garage, a pack sat across from the doorway of the elevator, they acted as a child would if you caught them doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.
I caught the train that takes me home. It seemed that the streets I jetted by were filled with more of them than normal. I glanced around the train, there were less people on it than normal, especially for a Wednesday Rush Hour. I was the only one that exited the train at my stop.
Gangs of the creatures gawked at me as I walked down the street. I was becoming unnerved. I reached my house and locked the door as soon as I was inside. It was all my imagination, it had to be, how else could I explain it? I turned on the T.V., a blank news set stared back at me; the scroll at the bottom of the screen ran automatically, telling me of local events and weather. I flipped the channel, the same.
I shut off the T.V. and peered through the closed mini-blinds. They swarmed up the street, some flying, some crawling; there were more than ever. Was that one wearing Ms. Johnson’s dress? They converged on my house. I stumbled backwards, fell to the floor, then crawled to the door with claws clicking on the hardwood floors.

Read all the entries at Wakefield Mahon’s blog.

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