How strange is it... recalling every glimpse you got to remember at day time, purposely intimidating the horrors to their outskirts -- a place where they can not reach you. With the lighting as your safe haven, you can only hope to go on living with another tale, only to see the night take its place.
It's 3 am in the morning -- the time for the hourly rolling blackout. I wake up to the sound of water being filled in a metal bucket -- drop after drop, with Just. No. End. To it. There shouldn't be a metal bucket anywhere in the radius of this house. What's the cause of all of this?
The sound seemed to be coming from the window, directed at the back-yard outside the house. The house is absolutely engulfed in the absence of light. Luckily, I had Mr. Clicker with me -- the pocket torch that restrains me from progressing any further into limbo. Now, my mind had always been logical. I wouldn't believe any of that paranormal nonsense, even as a child. However, lately, my mind has been growing a mind of its own that allows it to wander in uncertainty.
Sadly, no one believes me. They just keep repeating that I am okay; they keep insisting that I am normal.
I get out of bed, and I hear the backdoor unlocking. I've stopped being curious, and now I start being scared. I grab the bat under the bed, and tiptoe as I carry myself towards the back door without waking up the rest of the house. It's quiet. I can hear my own blood flow. My lips puckered, with sweat drops sheltering my eye lids. Rock salt in every breath -- chalked. Fear kept me insulated throughout every subtle step. ...Visible light kept emanating from a single room, that was focused towards the rear of the house. As I took the final turn towards the kitchen, I faced the door that should have been open, but in reality, it was closed shut. Two bolts, and two locks.
The door had two bolts, and two locks that were untouched. As absent minded as I may be, I am constantly reminded about the position of my sanity. The marble floor is unusually cold at this time of the night. Dryness sunk in every crease as unlocked the bolts and loosened the hinges. A gentle push upwards on the handle allowed me to open the door without making a single sound.
Why couldn't the darkness be smart? It was almost as if it was purposely letting me trail it. But why would it only loco-mote when there would be a single person as the audience? Was it shy? What did it have to be shy of -- if that is even a real question.
"Two bolts, and two locks." It was on my tongue. The mind of my mind insisted on having it repeatedly played to my body's natural rhythm. I showed myself the way out. The first step sunk into the mud. The following sunk deeper. My conscious started melting, and the wind roaring behind me. The rain clouds casted a fiery shadowy and backed it up by lightning. Rain was imminent, but I still couldn't find myself the bucket. If anything was out there, it was out of Mr. Clicker's range. I had to go back inside, otherwise, I would get eaten alive.
I shut the door, and I put the bolts back in place. The room lit up with lightning that made its way through the windows. Two bolts slapped back, and ... one lock. Where's the other lock. WHERE DID THE OTHER LOCK GO. I look down, and I see unloosened screws on the kitchen floor. It was at that moment I knew, whatever it was outside, it found its way in.
The color of the lightning changed. From white, to red; the room lit up for longer intervals, harvesting the sound and robbing it from the surroundings -- silence ensued. My legs collapsed -- I lost movement in nearly all my limbs; left kneeling on the kitchen floor. My limbs took the strangest turn I could imagine, and my mouth stretched open as wide as my jaw would allow it. From a harmless rumbling in the stomach, the darkness stretched it's way out of the widest orifice -- the exit. I could feel its resentment, its intolerance to tear its way out of its meat suit into an explosion of blood and organs. Words couldn't express my situation, and they would never have to. The central clock in the living room struck the hourly bell -- it's 4 am. The whole house lit up with a power surge, turning on all the kitchen lights. Bless the habit of my housekeepers to keep the kitchen lights on at night.
What could be heard, could not be seen. What could be seen, could not be felt.
We say a word, and we can get hurt if we're not careful; sometimes, it's even physical.
It's the same philosophy with the monsters. If you're not careful about how you think of them, you can get hurt.
Limitations, limatations. Joy to how the darkness made me fear myself - a mad man. I need to accept that I would be better off if I'm sure that I have lost my mind. I do not know how long I can keep surviving the night.
