Nightscape
A mix of my writing style and Edgar Alan Poe's. It turned out better than expected.
Thomas hated the night. Anything that had to do with the dark in general. He feared of creatures or demons that may lurk in every shadow, something that will drag you down into hell when your back is turned. Okay, so maybe that's utter bullshit but there was still something about it - something about the dark - that he couldn't quite place his finger on. His increasing paranoia was worrying him, looking back over his shoulder every ten seconds or so.
The tattered cloth of his Cardinals shirt hadn't been washed in weeks, maybe even months; the red fading to a dark burgundy color. His hands fret about frequently as if he were being electrocuted, his entire quivering frame in constant motion. He matted back his hair, careful not to irritate the scars on his palm. It had already struck midnight half an hour ago but he found it difficult to fall asleep, his eyes steadily scanning the abysmal emptiness around him.
Every sound, every stench, every motion he felt, heard, or smelled gave him a feeling of grave discomfort, causing him to jump more often than not. His eye twitched at a creaking sound somewhere in the house. He stood up immediately, snatching up the golf club that lay beside him up to his chest. He drew back until his back gently pressed against the wall behind him. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, most of them illogical and devoid of reason; even more of a reason to have fear.
He dared not speak for fear of indicating his location to the supposed guest that enters uninvited. It was as cold as his unused refrigerated but he still found himself blinking under beads of sweat. Perhaps he was going mad; perhaps he had already gone mad. That didn't matter though; self-preservation was all that mattered. He needed to keep himself alive. No one else mattered. The countless unfortunates that died every single day were no great loss. They were meaningless to his dark world - to his even darker sanctuary. He was deluding himself; he was certain of it.
Surely no place is safe; even the interior of your own home. His feeling of insecurity heightened to its peak as he heard the sound once more. It was closer to him this time. Somehow, he had completely forgotten about the sound. The hair on the back of his neck stood up with a mounting fear, a fear of suffering and torment. The soles of his feet were aching from lack of use as he backed even further into a corner. Corners were usually no good but on this particular occasion, the farther the better.
The measure didn't matter when he was trapped like a rat. He could only hope that this cruel fate would give him as much time as he needed before he followed it under. Something he very much anticipated, but was certain to be disappointed. Bringing his shaky wrist up to his face, he checked the watch. 12:32. Only two minutes had passed.
Two minutes! Only two minutes had passed! Despite himself, he chuckled - but wait - what if the newcomer had heard? What if it had heard him and figured him out? No. That was impossible. The laugh was no more than a whisper. Nothing more. No one could've possibly heard it. He identified a faint ringing in his hears. It was quite dull, the pace increasing in intensity the longer he waited. Another minute passed.
And another. He was beginning to wonder if the intruder had left but the second that thought had entered his mind the creaking had sounded again! It was very close; close enough to be at the door that he could not see. Frantically, he tightened his grip on the club for a moment before he jumped forward and lashed out at the darkness. The metal head of the club came in solid contact with something; something of flesh. It screamed as he stepped backwards and brought the metal object crashing down again and again on the fallen being. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Who - or whatever it was - must be dead by now. It must be. He slapped at the wall before he finally hit the light switch.
The bright flash of light caused him to draw back in pain, shielding his eyes with his free hand. He hadn't seen light in ages. The brightness of it stung his eyes but gradually the blurred world around him became clear. Rubbing his eyes, he looked down at what he had killed. It was difficult to identify; white cloth was wrapped all around it, its arms and legs no more than stubs.
The white cloth was wrapped around its eyes and wound about all the way from head to toe. Blood was spreading in a small pool around it, the dark, foul liquid seeping between the marbled tiles. He dropped the club and it hit the floor with a metal clang. The light flickered for a moment and he tumbled backwards, nearly hitting his head on the sink. He had actually accomplished something in his life that was worth doing.
He heard another sound in the distance, overwhelming the sound of the light and he heard that faint ringing again, pounding painfully in his ears even though it was as soft as an autumn's breeze. He struggled to remove the ringing in his ears, which somehow, managed to drown out the sound of the distant wailing. Slowly, he clamped both hands on his ears, which did absolutely nothing to help him impede the irritating noise.
A dark figure entered the doorway and his head snapped up immediately gazing at the shape. It stepped forward as he skittered backwards. It loomed over him and bent over, grabbing his wrist. "Savior!" Thomas cried out. "I've waited long for this moment; a moment when I can be freed of this torture." He was brought roughly to his feet, a pair of metal cuffs snapping around both wrists. His reddened eyes flashed at the manacles. "What? What is this? I have done nothing! I swear it! That is no human! It is a beast! A spawn of hell!" The figure dragged him out of the doorway as he tried to hook his feet into the bloodied tiles. The force was too strong, pulling him beyond the tiles, pulling him out of his only refuge.
Officer White stuffed the man into his police car, slamming the door on him. A second police officer approached him; Julie. "What've we got?" she asked, removing a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket. "Just another psychopath," White said, leaning back on the door of the car. "He killed his own father, the poor bastard..." He opened the passenger door. "You want one?" Julie asked, a cigarette wedged in her mouth.
He waved his hand, dismissing the offer. "No thanks. I don't smoke." She shrugged, placing the cigarettes back. "Suit yourself." Julie climbed into the passenger seat as White walked around the other side of the car, climbing into the driver's seat. "Let's go home. We've still got one more case ahead of us." He switched the gears around and hit the gas. The car slowly shifted into life as it drifted off the fire lane. White felt a faint ringing in his ears as he spun the wheel around, performing a sharp turn. He figured it was nothing.
The tattered cloth of his Cardinals shirt hadn't been washed in weeks, maybe even months; the red fading to a dark burgundy color. His hands fret about frequently as if he were being electrocuted, his entire quivering frame in constant motion. He matted back his hair, careful not to irritate the scars on his palm. It had already struck midnight half an hour ago but he found it difficult to fall asleep, his eyes steadily scanning the abysmal emptiness around him.
Every sound, every stench, every motion he felt, heard, or smelled gave him a feeling of grave discomfort, causing him to jump more often than not. His eye twitched at a creaking sound somewhere in the house. He stood up immediately, snatching up the golf club that lay beside him up to his chest. He drew back until his back gently pressed against the wall behind him. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, most of them illogical and devoid of reason; even more of a reason to have fear.
He dared not speak for fear of indicating his location to the supposed guest that enters uninvited. It was as cold as his unused refrigerated but he still found himself blinking under beads of sweat. Perhaps he was going mad; perhaps he had already gone mad. That didn't matter though; self-preservation was all that mattered. He needed to keep himself alive. No one else mattered. The countless unfortunates that died every single day were no great loss. They were meaningless to his dark world - to his even darker sanctuary. He was deluding himself; he was certain of it.
Surely no place is safe; even the interior of your own home. His feeling of insecurity heightened to its peak as he heard the sound once more. It was closer to him this time. Somehow, he had completely forgotten about the sound. The hair on the back of his neck stood up with a mounting fear, a fear of suffering and torment. The soles of his feet were aching from lack of use as he backed even further into a corner. Corners were usually no good but on this particular occasion, the farther the better.
The measure didn't matter when he was trapped like a rat. He could only hope that this cruel fate would give him as much time as he needed before he followed it under. Something he very much anticipated, but was certain to be disappointed. Bringing his shaky wrist up to his face, he checked the watch. 12:32. Only two minutes had passed.
Two minutes! Only two minutes had passed! Despite himself, he chuckled - but wait - what if the newcomer had heard? What if it had heard him and figured him out? No. That was impossible. The laugh was no more than a whisper. Nothing more. No one could've possibly heard it. He identified a faint ringing in his hears. It was quite dull, the pace increasing in intensity the longer he waited. Another minute passed.
And another. He was beginning to wonder if the intruder had left but the second that thought had entered his mind the creaking had sounded again! It was very close; close enough to be at the door that he could not see. Frantically, he tightened his grip on the club for a moment before he jumped forward and lashed out at the darkness. The metal head of the club came in solid contact with something; something of flesh. It screamed as he stepped backwards and brought the metal object crashing down again and again on the fallen being. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Who - or whatever it was - must be dead by now. It must be. He slapped at the wall before he finally hit the light switch.
The bright flash of light caused him to draw back in pain, shielding his eyes with his free hand. He hadn't seen light in ages. The brightness of it stung his eyes but gradually the blurred world around him became clear. Rubbing his eyes, he looked down at what he had killed. It was difficult to identify; white cloth was wrapped all around it, its arms and legs no more than stubs.
The white cloth was wrapped around its eyes and wound about all the way from head to toe. Blood was spreading in a small pool around it, the dark, foul liquid seeping between the marbled tiles. He dropped the club and it hit the floor with a metal clang. The light flickered for a moment and he tumbled backwards, nearly hitting his head on the sink. He had actually accomplished something in his life that was worth doing.
He heard another sound in the distance, overwhelming the sound of the light and he heard that faint ringing again, pounding painfully in his ears even though it was as soft as an autumn's breeze. He struggled to remove the ringing in his ears, which somehow, managed to drown out the sound of the distant wailing. Slowly, he clamped both hands on his ears, which did absolutely nothing to help him impede the irritating noise.
A dark figure entered the doorway and his head snapped up immediately gazing at the shape. It stepped forward as he skittered backwards. It loomed over him and bent over, grabbing his wrist. "Savior!" Thomas cried out. "I've waited long for this moment; a moment when I can be freed of this torture." He was brought roughly to his feet, a pair of metal cuffs snapping around both wrists. His reddened eyes flashed at the manacles. "What? What is this? I have done nothing! I swear it! That is no human! It is a beast! A spawn of hell!" The figure dragged him out of the doorway as he tried to hook his feet into the bloodied tiles. The force was too strong, pulling him beyond the tiles, pulling him out of his only refuge.
Officer White stuffed the man into his police car, slamming the door on him. A second police officer approached him; Julie. "What've we got?" she asked, removing a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket. "Just another psychopath," White said, leaning back on the door of the car. "He killed his own father, the poor bastard..." He opened the passenger door. "You want one?" Julie asked, a cigarette wedged in her mouth.
He waved his hand, dismissing the offer. "No thanks. I don't smoke." She shrugged, placing the cigarettes back. "Suit yourself." Julie climbed into the passenger seat as White walked around the other side of the car, climbing into the driver's seat. "Let's go home. We've still got one more case ahead of us." He switched the gears around and hit the gas. The car slowly shifted into life as it drifted off the fire lane. White felt a faint ringing in his ears as he spun the wheel around, performing a sharp turn. He figured it was nothing.
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