The Midnight Hour & Other Scary Stories

Faded

Storms were nothing new for the town of Monroe. They came and went with nary a notice. This storm, however, was something different. Newscasters and weather reporters were going on record saying that it was the 'storm of the century' and the citizens of Monroe should stay indoors until it passed.

Mack knew that they were blowing things out of proportion. He had seen nearly every storm mother nature could throw at them, and not a single one had been as bad as people said. So, when the sky darkened and the rain began to fall, Mack was outside, finishing some work for a friend. When he finished, the light drizzle had become a downpour.

His friend offered Mack some shelter inside his house, but Mack, being scared of little in this life, turned him down.

"I'll get home just fine. You'll see." He said with the tip of his hat.

And like that, Mack was off, heading straight into the sheets of rain.

The wind picked up to a howl. It thrashed laundry hung out to dry and whipped at flags and banners alike. Anything not nailed down was thrown to the maw of the storm.

Still, Mack did not relent.

Even when lightning filled the sky and thunder pealed, Mack pushed forward. His clothes were soaked, however, and a chill bit him to the bone. His home wouldn't be far. He could make it.

But then, he saw a figure in the road.

For the life of him, he couldn't make out their features, but that was most likely due to the rain. He didn't like the look of them though. There was something tugging at the back of his mind when they came into view; maybe a warning or an old sort of fear that you can't quite place.

Regardless, Mack found himself looking for the nearest bit of shelter. He wouldn't go near the figure and he did his best not to look their way. Before he knew it, Mack was doubling back the way he had gone, cursing himself for being so skittish.

When he threw a glance behind him, he noticed the figure was gone.

"I'm being a fool! It's cold out and I want to get home." He said, under his breath.

Again, Mack made for his house.

Again, the figure appeared. They were much closer now.

This caused Mack to feel a very real sort of terror. Even as close as they were, he still couldn't quite make out the figure's features. It was as though they were strangely out of focus, like a blurred photograph. He nearly stumbled over himself as he ran away. His eyes desperately began searching for shelter.

And, to his surprise, they found some.

Mack was sure that the house hadn't been there on his way home. He'd run these streets plenty of times before today and never seen the old place. Yet, real as the ground beneath his shoes, it was there; sad and stooped from age.

Mack took the old porch steps two at a time and raced for the screen door.

He knocked on the old wood and said in a voice that was equal parts strained and cordial. "Ex-excuse me? Is anyone there? I need help!"

Mack glanced behind him.

He hadn't seen the figure move, but they were very close now. So close, in fact, that were he to look away, they might very well appear behind him. The hair on the back of his neck bristled and he felt a dry heave claw at the back of his throat.

Then, the door began to creak open.

The sound startled him and Mack turned to find that there was no one in the doorway.