Last night, my dreams were filled with reporters scratching at the windows and leaving bloody claw marks on the glass. Pale and thin, they moaned my name, waiting like vampires for me to invite them in. Instead of fangs, their teeth were pencils narrowed to ice-pick sharpness. Glistening chunks of sinew stuck to the tips.
Their teeth (fangs) were shaped like very sharp pencils. On the tips were chunks of their victim's body.
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