It’s raining. Raindrops splash against his window, making tiny patterns. The rain makes him feel calmer than he’d thought it would. It’s comforting. Something outside the window reminds him that he’s living, and breathing, and that everything will be okay.
There’s another noise, soft and insistent. He thinks at first it must be someone knocking on the door. Maybe they forgot something, and want him to pick it up.
Except that doesn’t sound right. Whoever it is sounds like they are calling for help.
“Hello!” he calls out, hoping he doesn’t come across as panicked. “Is anyone there?”
He hears more pounding, louder now, and then comes silence. The knocking has stopped. He waits a few seconds, but still no one speaks.
Maybe there was just a car passing and they didn’t notice him. Or maybe—he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong—maybe he wasn’t actually awake when he called out. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming at all.
Suddenly the feeling is replaced by something else: fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the unknown.
The knocking starts again, softer this time, almost timid. There’s also something else: pain.
Involuntarily, he cries out loud and sits bolt upright. The pain comes in waves, washing over him like a wave crashing onto rocks. It’s horrible.
The knocking stops.
Slowly, he stands up. Slowly, he makes his way down the stairs. The lights are bright.
As he opens the door he can see the outline of someone standing in front of his house, just a little bit further up the road. He can just make out the shape of a person, a person in dark clothes, and—
He doesn’t recognize him, but he’s terrified.
When the stranger lifts his hand towards him, his whole body jolts involuntarily. It hits him that he’s staring at a weapon.
He backs away slowly.
“Who are you?” he asks.
It hurts to ask the question. Because he knows exactly who the man is and who he is not. He’s a murderer.
The killer lowers the gun and shakes his head slightly. He opens his mouth, but then closes it and sighs.
Finally he speaks. “My name is Alastor ” he says. “Can we talk?”
YOU ARE READING
The Crow
Horror"So here's the thing," says the crow, "if you've never heard of me, hear me now. I'm your least expected fortune teller. I'm the one that brings death and despair. Yield to me, so I shall spare you from your doomed fate." "Foolish," says the human. ...
