I don’t really write short stories….or horror stories either. For that matter. But I decided to challenge myself the other day. This is the result.
Darkness stirs. That’s what they say. I never really understood that, at least, not until a few months ago. I had been sitting at the window, just reading my book, sunlight streaming in around me, when a movement in the corner of my eye made me look up. I saw nothing but the wall behind me, and I returned to my book, blaming an over active imagination. I carried on reading, but a few paragraphs later, it happened again.
This time, I stood up and turned. Again, nothing behind me but the wall, and my shadow. My shadow…on the left of the wall. But the sun was – I turned quickly and glanced out the window. It was on the right. I spun back around and faced my shadow. Was it my imagination, or had it grown larger? Suddenly, it moved. It’s hand flew upwards and I felt it grasp me around the throat, drawing me towards the wall. One step, then another, forcing me forwards. I could do nothing, feel nothing but coldness. Darkness invaded my mind, deep, cold, cloying darkness that dragged me under. Hands dragged at my hair, long fingers made from traces of smoke and darkness, a thousand voices whispering in my ear. Soon, I found myself giving in, no longer fighting to escape the dark, but fleeing from the light.
Now I am the darkness. I am the whisper in the night. I am the shadow. Darkness stirs. I stir.