Shadows will breathe

Shadows will breathe
"Careful. Evil has a way of making friends with the good and dragging them into the darkness." ~ Dr. Al Robbins

Monday, February 27, 2012

At Sunset

Nightmare #44
And upon this steep hill – only accessible by foot or by some rugged, all-terrain vehicle – sat a man.  He was older than most, and creepier than any one person I had ever met, dream or no dream.
Beyond my hesitation was a force that pulled me towards him.  I chose to ascend the hill.  The dirt road stood erect with craters the size of meteorite hits and divots of delicate earth that were upturned.  Halfway up the incline, a single sign stood on the side of the path, planted in dead grass.  It simply read:  Blown Glass Ahead.
Then, like a flip of a switch inside my head, I remembered why I was here.  I faintly recall having been at a souvenir shop only an hour before, inquiring about their products.  They had one huge, beautiful blue glass vase sitting in the window of this little cozy shop and it just happened to be not for sale.  With an inherent need to have one for myself, I insisted on where to find one and ended up here - wherever here was going to be.
Sweat dribbled down the middle of my back as I pushed on up the hill.  The day’s sun hung low beside the hillside, playing peek-a-boo behind a think line of evergreens.   I pushed on and thought how great a huge glass of water would taste right about now, or maybe one of those big gulps of cola and crushed ice you purchase for about 10 dollars at the movie theater.  Either way, I was parched and tired and was
Just
About
At
The
Top.
Upon reaching my destination, the craggy man stood up.  His denim overalls and white shirt were caked with dirt and clay.  Or maybe it was paint.  Thick glasses, which made his eyes appear large and wild, decorated his rather small, unshaven face.  He put his hands to his hips and spoke in a gruff voice.  “Get off my property, ma’am.”
“Hold on a second.  I just wanted to take a quick look at your products and hopefully make a purchase or two.”
“Not for sale,” he grunted, turned and started walking away from me.
I followed behind him.  “Earlier, I was shopping at this little store in town and I saw one of your vases.  Absolutely beautiful.  Anyway, they recommended I come up this way.”
“Not for sale,” he repeated, not slowing his walk.
Fighting for breath, I pulled on his forearm to stop him.  “My God, don’t you want to make some extra money?” I asked, still panting for air.  “I hiked the whole way up here to see your work.  I will pay cash.”
He sighed.  “Go.  Go now.  Come back in the morning.  Come at first light.”
“But I’m here now.”
“But I can’t help you once the sun goes down.”
“What?”
He paused and stared off into the distance.  Tilting his head, he studied the passageway of trees.  He refused to look at me when he spoke.  “If you go now, you might make it.  If you wait even another minute, you won’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
And as if to answer me, a wail so deep and boisterous erupted from the tree line.   My heart palpitated so fast and loud that I could feel it beating in my neck, right under my ears.  I tried to catch my breath.  A fear swelled up and resonated inside me. 
“It’s almost time,” the man whispered.  He gave me a nod, and took off into a sprint around the trees and through an open field.  I could just see the top of a tin roof on the other side of the lea.    
A small piece of the sun still twinkled behind the hillside, casting its orange glow about the land. 
Another piercing wail reverberated through the trees.
I started to run.
With panic as my power, I all but skidded down that hill.
Faster and faster my feet took me.
I leaped over one crater of a pothole after another; I bounded overturned rocks and slid through gravel.  The path curved and I knew I was close. 
I could finally see my car.  I just had to reach it.  

Another wail resonated behind me.  Then, another.  How many where there?  And what were they?  What was coming for me? 
Don’t look back. 
Do.
Not.
Look.
Back.
Instead, I looked up.  The sun gave me one last wink before the hillside snuffed out its light.  The trees around me began to melt.  Literally, melt.  They withered into sadness.  I could hardly believe my eyes. 
What the hell was I doing coming here? 
All of this for a vase?
No.  Too ridiculous.
 I was lured here.  Set up.
I screamed out of frustration and from the burn that took hold of my upper thighs. 
Almost.
At.
The.
Car.
I heard the gravel kicking up behind me.  A running sound of sorts and more wailing, followed by snorts and whispers. 
Maybe wild pigs?
Dogs?
Vampires?
I chuckled. 
Vampires.  So overdone these days.
And in the next second and with one swift movement, I was in my car. 
Doors, locked. 
Key, turned.
Engine started on the first try.
Yes!
I threw the gear shift into reverse. 
And just like the curious victim in a horror story, I had to see it.  See what was coming for me.
I paused.
And coming down the path at an alarming speed was a pack of black, ghastly figures.  It looked as if they were one big puff of billowing smoke, but they had the tiniest pair of skeletal legs for running and their mouths hung open wide, so wide they could probably swallow me whole.  Where their eyes should be, were bright white spaces, the look and shape of eggs.  One of these things raised its thin, bony skeletal arms high above its head.  It and the other shadowy figures wailed in unison.
I started to cry. 
I shoved the gear shift into drive and thanked God over and over again as those horrific figures got smaller and smaller in my rear-view mirror.

The End 

- story written by: Deevious -
Tree pic compliments of Morguefile.  Thank you..

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Think about it

What if we were judged only by our mistakes?



Saturday, February 18, 2012

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Love is...

"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath.  At night, the ice weasels come."    ~ Matt Groening


pic from Morguefile

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Best line ever written


"Terrible thoughts.  Terrible images, the kind that come back to haunt you in the middle of the night when the moon is down and the medicine's gone and the hour is none."         Stephen King (Lisey's Story)

This about sums it up for me.  What do you dream of?


Saturday, February 4, 2012

In demand

One of my most memorable nightmares
and, according to your hits, my most popular to date.
Reposted from The Untold collection:


Uninvited

The amount of blood was impressive ~ by any standard.

He laid in a fetal position, coughing up clots and trying, with all his might, to remain brave. He reached for his cell, pulled it out of his back pocket and slid the unlock icon, seemingly unaware of the massive surge of light it cast in the dark hallway. His fingers dialed the magic numbers, leaving red smudges across the phone's screen.

It rang four times.

"911. What is your emergency?"

His voice shook out a whisper. "I don't know how it got in."

"Hello? Sir? Speak up. What is your emergency?"

He spat another clump of blood onto the hardwood floor. "I don't know... how the...the trouble got in..."

"Sir? Are you okay? Is someone in your house?"

"Not someone...something," he choked.

"Sir? We don't take kindly to pranks-"

"-this isn't a prank," he interrupted. "Please...help me."

"Sir. Are you hurt?"

He stared at the pool of blood billowing around his body. He swallowed hard. "Oh, God. I am."

The operator giggled. "Sir. God is your only hope right now."

A loud crash boomed from the next room. A shadow emerged and filled the door frame ~ its silhouette large; its shape ominous and shifting; its eyes, the only feature he could make out. And he tried not to stare into them, into those blanched eyes that burned white hot into his own.

"Please," he spoke to the dark figure, raising his bloodied hand as a defensive move. "Please," he whispered into his cell to the operator on the other end.

"Please," she mocked him in a childish tone and chuckled. "Sir. Be strong. This will all be over in another minute."

The cell phone went dead.

Then, the light from it's screen clicked off.

The pitch blackness was back, and all he could make out were those eyes.

Those white hot eyes.

And they moved towards him.

He mumbled a half of prayer, wondering if God would hear him.

Those malicious white eyes were level with his own now and he could feel the heat that radiated from them.

He released a tear that slid down his cheek and landed at the corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes.

And drew one more breath.                                      

                                                                                                                                ~~dpb

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Hidden

Check out this pic....
real close.....

Can you find the creeper?

Pic compliments of Bing Images from Fellowship of the Minds @ Wordpress