from the collection "Once It's Over: 13 Dark Tales."
You can purchase the e-book HERE.
Thank you for reading and enjoy!
She turned to see a black
shadowy figure in the doorway peering at her. Do shadow figures peer without
eyes? She was certain that it was facing her, watching her. It was the height of
a man—6 feet or taller—and was shaped exactly like a person, leaning with one
leg crossed in front of the other. One of its arms was resting against the
doorframe in a relaxed, natural position. Except there was nothing natural
about its blackness. She couldn’t remember a night—even in the country—where
the sky was this dark. She couldn’t remember ever seeing anything—paint, tar,
coal, anything—that was so pitch black. Nothing. Its blackness was unnatural,
unholy. And despite a lack of eyes, she was certain that it was staring at her.
She could almost hear it blink.
What
the fuck? Her heart rose to her throat. She felt suffocated.
“I
have to go, Susie needs me.” Wendy punched the “End Call” button and dropped
the phone to the carpet. The initial impact made an audible THUD and it
bounced, unharmed, toward the bed. She stared down at it for several seconds,
willing the figure to be gone by the time she looked up. She started to count: One Mississippi… Two Mississippi… Three
Mississippi… Oh, what am I? A five year old? Just look. It won’t be there. It’s
gone. It’s in your head. Just look. It’s gone. Your mother was right; you are
mental. Just look up.
And
so she did—slowly. She lifted her head as if her neck was holding a great
weight and then turned to face the doorway. She gazed at the doorway, trembling
slightly, trying her to best to keep herself steady, from toppling over
sideways.
Nothing.
There was nothing there.
Relief
shot through Wendy and it was just then that she realized that her face was
speckled with fresh sweat. She wiped her cheek with the back of one hand and
exhaled, her breath and anxiety whooshing out all at once. Thank goodness for small—
And
there it was again. It had been hiding, lurking in the hallway, but as Wendy stood
there staring at the doorway, it came back into view. She imagined before this
that ghosts had Casper the Ghost tails and floated around a foot above the
ground. If they were even real—which she had doubted. But this figure didn’t
float as she had expected it to. Nor did it walk. Instead it moved like an old
film, frame by frame, jerking forward, coming closer without warning. Time felt
stilted as she watched it move. Time felt wrong. She moved fluidly as always,
but this thing moved on a different
scale of time. It reminded her of a scratched CD skipping ahead all on its own.
She feared it would come closer and closer until it caught up with her and then
it would—would what? Do shadows harm people? She wasn’t so sure. And she didn’t
want to find out.
The
room spun sharply. Her surroundings stretched, swelling and contracting like a
fun house, and she feared she might lose her balance.
She shut her eyes for
what felt like ages. Afraid to look up and see it standing over her, she felt
the best course of action would be to take no
action and pretend that it wasn’t there. That was the Wendy way, after all.
Deny it exists and avoid, avoid, avoid. Doctor Weisbro had tried to work with her
on that, but, in typical Wendy fashion, she had denied that the problem
existed. And around and around she went.
But
this time the Wendy way turned out to be the right way. When she opened her
eyes, the shadow figure was gone and the air—which had felt full of static
electricity—smoothed itself out. She was hesitant to feel any sort of relief,
but after standing there, half-frozen, for fifteen minutes or so, she decided
it was safe to call the episode over.
Wendy
took an Ativan to sleep that night. She didn’t want to wake abruptly at two or
three am with that… thing… standing over her. If it returned, she would rather
sleep right through it.
