Words..
Just a short prose piece... it took an unexpected turn at the end, I hope you like it. As always, comments and critiques are welcomed and encouraged.
Nightmares
Even in the pitchest black you can see them, if you really look. Feel them crawling up your naked spine. They are there; tendrils of darkness slithering; the barely heard whispers that you could have sworn were just the gusting wind.
Jack awoke abruptly to the sound of the screen door banging in the darkness.
“Wha… the hell..?” His sleep-clouded mind attempted to decipher the source of the repetitious “BANG… BANG BANG……….. BANG”.
Opening his eyes, Jack glanced over at the digital clock on his nightstand to see what time it was. Except that the clock wasn’t there. Neither was the nightstand. Nothing was there. The inky velvet of the room was so complete that, for a brief moment, Jack could not tell if his eyes were opened or closed.
“Damn, the power must be out again.”
Sudden movement on the ceiling grabbed his attention, and pulled it to the upper corner of his bedroom. As he strained his eyes against the total darkness, Jack realized that he must not have been as awake as he thought he was, because there was no way that he could have possibly seen anything in that corner. Hell, he couldn’t even see his own hand as he waggled his fingers in front of his eyes. Smiling at his own foolishness, Jack’s mind returned to the incessant shutter: BANG.. BANG BANG BANG..
“Well,” He thought, “There’s only one thing to do…”
With that thought, Jack snuggled back down into the pillows, adjusting the fluffy fabric to cover his ears as much as possible. Soon thereafter, rhythmic breathing could be heard by anyone listening at his bedroom door.
Jack’s hair ruffled in the wake of something passing across his pillows. Too startled to scream, he sat bolt upright in the bed; the pounding of his heart drowning out the clamor of the now-forgotten shutter. Frantically, his eyes strained against the grainy nothingness, desperately seeking the source of the breeze.
“meow”
The pathetic mewing sound sent Jack hovering several feet over his bed, for the span of about thirty seconds. With a self-conscious laugh, he realized that Tommy, his tubby Siamese, must have been walking on his pillows.
“Here Tommy, come here,” he quietly called out to the cat.
“merow” came Tommy’s response, a little closer this time.
Reaching out a now wide-awake hand, Jack called for his kitty once more. This time, instead of Tommy’s comforting mew, Jack heard the distinctive sound of Tommy’s growl, followed by his frantic hissing.
Jack scrambled down the king-sized bed, in the direction of Tommy’s distress cries. Then, suddenly, the cat was silent. All that could be heard was a soft clicking on the hardwood floors. Jack froze once more.
“Tommy?” His uncertain voice wavered, just above a whisper. “Here boy, come here Tommy. What’s wrong, kitty? It’s ok.. there’s no need to be scared…” Jack’s voice trailed off in scared resignation; Tommy wasn’t there anymore. And he didn’t think it was Tommy’s nails that he heard clicking on the hardwood.
Hesitantly, Jack moved to the edge of the bed, ears and eyes straining with each small slide across the rumpled bedding. The bed seemed to have doubled in size, and it felt like forever before he reached the outside corner. Gathering up his resolve, Jack sat up on the edge of the bed, swinging his bare legs over, in one smooth motion. As he settled into a sitting position, he heard the ominous clicking sound once more.
“Hello?” He whispered into the darkness. “Who’s there?” He leaned forward, pressing his palms against the firm bed. “Who are you? What do you want?” He asked the stoic room. Two more small clicks were his only response. Scooting closer to the edge of the bed, Jack prepared to stand; he had to get the hell out of this room and find a flashlight. He was sure that there was one in the junk drawer in the kitchen. It was silly to be this spooked anyway; something was obviously wrong with Tommy, and Jack needed to get the light so that he could find the cat.
Jack hesitantly pressed one bare foot to the floor, and then the other. Just as he began to rise off of the bed, he felt it. The bile rose in his throat, cutting off a scream, as the cold, slimy tendril wrapped itself around his ankle. And pulled. Jack fell face first to the floor, breaking his nose upon impact. The grip on his ankle tightened, and Jack began to feel himself being dragged under his solid oak, four poster bed. As he tried to kick the thing away, another tendril seized his kicking foot, dragging his bloody face faster; the skin on his forehead screeching across the lacquered floor.
The room suddenly flooded with light from the lamp on the once more existent nightstand. Jack struggled to turn. He had to see it. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. The monster under the bed was just a myth. Just a story made up to keep kids from getting out of bed in the middle of the night! Just a story, right?
A large, black toothy maw was the last thing Jack's round, blue eyes saw as he realized that all of the stories were true. There was a monster under the bed. And it was hungry. Jack finally found his scream; and scream he did, for about 12 seconds. And then it was over.
Tommy purred as he glanced under the bed, a small glint of satisfaction in his feline eye; his rough pink tongue flicking up the last traces of blood from his sable muzzle. Jack really should have taken care of that litter box. Tommy couldn’t stand a dirty box. With a satisfied mew, Tommy headed out of the room, and out of the house, in search of an “owner”. One that had better hygiene habits than the last one. Or the one before that.
S. Nycole Bridle March 2, 2005
.
Nightmares
Even in the pitchest black you can see them, if you really look. Feel them crawling up your naked spine. They are there; tendrils of darkness slithering; the barely heard whispers that you could have sworn were just the gusting wind.
Jack awoke abruptly to the sound of the screen door banging in the darkness.
“Wha… the hell..?” His sleep-clouded mind attempted to decipher the source of the repetitious “BANG… BANG BANG……….. BANG”.
Opening his eyes, Jack glanced over at the digital clock on his nightstand to see what time it was. Except that the clock wasn’t there. Neither was the nightstand. Nothing was there. The inky velvet of the room was so complete that, for a brief moment, Jack could not tell if his eyes were opened or closed.
“Damn, the power must be out again.”
Sudden movement on the ceiling grabbed his attention, and pulled it to the upper corner of his bedroom. As he strained his eyes against the total darkness, Jack realized that he must not have been as awake as he thought he was, because there was no way that he could have possibly seen anything in that corner. Hell, he couldn’t even see his own hand as he waggled his fingers in front of his eyes. Smiling at his own foolishness, Jack’s mind returned to the incessant shutter: BANG.. BANG BANG BANG..
“Well,” He thought, “There’s only one thing to do…”
With that thought, Jack snuggled back down into the pillows, adjusting the fluffy fabric to cover his ears as much as possible. Soon thereafter, rhythmic breathing could be heard by anyone listening at his bedroom door.
Jack’s hair ruffled in the wake of something passing across his pillows. Too startled to scream, he sat bolt upright in the bed; the pounding of his heart drowning out the clamor of the now-forgotten shutter. Frantically, his eyes strained against the grainy nothingness, desperately seeking the source of the breeze.
“meow”
The pathetic mewing sound sent Jack hovering several feet over his bed, for the span of about thirty seconds. With a self-conscious laugh, he realized that Tommy, his tubby Siamese, must have been walking on his pillows.
“Here Tommy, come here,” he quietly called out to the cat.
“merow” came Tommy’s response, a little closer this time.
Reaching out a now wide-awake hand, Jack called for his kitty once more. This time, instead of Tommy’s comforting mew, Jack heard the distinctive sound of Tommy’s growl, followed by his frantic hissing.
Jack scrambled down the king-sized bed, in the direction of Tommy’s distress cries. Then, suddenly, the cat was silent. All that could be heard was a soft clicking on the hardwood floors. Jack froze once more.
“Tommy?” His uncertain voice wavered, just above a whisper. “Here boy, come here Tommy. What’s wrong, kitty? It’s ok.. there’s no need to be scared…” Jack’s voice trailed off in scared resignation; Tommy wasn’t there anymore. And he didn’t think it was Tommy’s nails that he heard clicking on the hardwood.
Hesitantly, Jack moved to the edge of the bed, ears and eyes straining with each small slide across the rumpled bedding. The bed seemed to have doubled in size, and it felt like forever before he reached the outside corner. Gathering up his resolve, Jack sat up on the edge of the bed, swinging his bare legs over, in one smooth motion. As he settled into a sitting position, he heard the ominous clicking sound once more.
“Hello?” He whispered into the darkness. “Who’s there?” He leaned forward, pressing his palms against the firm bed. “Who are you? What do you want?” He asked the stoic room. Two more small clicks were his only response. Scooting closer to the edge of the bed, Jack prepared to stand; he had to get the hell out of this room and find a flashlight. He was sure that there was one in the junk drawer in the kitchen. It was silly to be this spooked anyway; something was obviously wrong with Tommy, and Jack needed to get the light so that he could find the cat.
Jack hesitantly pressed one bare foot to the floor, and then the other. Just as he began to rise off of the bed, he felt it. The bile rose in his throat, cutting off a scream, as the cold, slimy tendril wrapped itself around his ankle. And pulled. Jack fell face first to the floor, breaking his nose upon impact. The grip on his ankle tightened, and Jack began to feel himself being dragged under his solid oak, four poster bed. As he tried to kick the thing away, another tendril seized his kicking foot, dragging his bloody face faster; the skin on his forehead screeching across the lacquered floor.
The room suddenly flooded with light from the lamp on the once more existent nightstand. Jack struggled to turn. He had to see it. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. The monster under the bed was just a myth. Just a story made up to keep kids from getting out of bed in the middle of the night! Just a story, right?
A large, black toothy maw was the last thing Jack's round, blue eyes saw as he realized that all of the stories were true. There was a monster under the bed. And it was hungry. Jack finally found his scream; and scream he did, for about 12 seconds. And then it was over.
Tommy purred as he glanced under the bed, a small glint of satisfaction in his feline eye; his rough pink tongue flicking up the last traces of blood from his sable muzzle. Jack really should have taken care of that litter box. Tommy couldn’t stand a dirty box. With a satisfied mew, Tommy headed out of the room, and out of the house, in search of an “owner”. One that had better hygiene habits than the last one. Or the one before that.
S. Nycole Bridle March 2, 2005
.