Lines

The Aranari

A howling wind tore through a few cypress trees scattered against a pond. The waters moved against the rush as well as the perimeter of reeds, causing the cacophony of the cicada and grasshopper mixture to die down if only for a moment.

His name was Tyler, and he was returning home from the factory that has no name. As his hair whipped back in the wind, he shivered ever so slightly against his sweat-stained high-vis vest.

"Fuck, hate this time of year" he muttered under his breath, barely audible against the draft.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and continued his jaunt at a quickened pace, the gloom of his cul-de-sac slowly coming into view.

As he neared his door, he saw it was ajar. His eyes narrowed before he looked around. Scanning the surroundings, nothing else seemed out of place. The lights were out, the windows were intact, the grass was undisturbed, the bed of orchids while beginning to go dormant simply bobbed in the breeze. Their muddy bed, however, contained one singular piece of evidence.

Tyler approached it as carefully as he could, wanting to avoid any undue noise. Slowly kneeling down, it came into view; a single footprint pointing right to the door at an angle through the flowerbed.

He stood up and listened carefully, eyes still scanning the windows for any other signs. No noise, no visual, nothing. A ghostly haunt inside his domicile was taking place, he had to exorcise it or so it seemed.

He entered quickly, gunning toward every light switch he could find. Behind him the front door swung shut from a quick swipe of his hand. As the sound of its slam rang out through the house, his entire first floor was illuminated.

"If you're still in here either come out or I'm gonna fuck you up once I find you."

He stood at the base of his stairs in contemplative haze. The top was dark, a veil of obscurity lay over it. But he had to face the demon above, so he ascended as quickly as he could.

Moving up three steps at a time, his pace was quick and like before every light switch he could find was flipped on. Room after room he determined himself more and more likely to be alone until he had one room left.

His bedroom.

The door was mysteriously shut, when he almost always left it open. He couldn't even recall the last time he shut his bedroom door.

With a start, he swung the door open and reached for the switch he knew was there just past the door.

The darkness enveloped his vision as he took in his room's shadow. He felt the switch against his fingers.

And

And...

He could imagine himself flipping it on, but no light greeted his eyes.

It suddenly was much colder.

He felt cloth against his lips.

He chewed on it briefly before it was yanked away from him suddenly.

Still his eyes were open yet took in no information. He blinked to ensure he was in fact looking forward.

Then a light from above cast down and revealed a figure. It wore a swine's head upon its own. It felt of a childish prank, some Halloween endeavor. Only he just then felt the bindings against his wrists and ankles.

"Tyler." The voice boomed and resounded. His mind took in multiple dozens of room shapes from the echoes as it bounced and moved impossibly. The texture of its voice was foreign, deep, steeped in the darkness that invaded so thoroughly the world around it.