âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Jim Morrison (III) •

Hello! I've recently uploaded a one shot with Sherlock Holmes, based on the BBC's Sherlock show. I'd really appreciate if you checked it out on my profile. Thanks! ❤️

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Someone was calling your name through the darkness. The voice was deep yet hypnotic, unlike anything you had ever heard before. You didn't recognise it, but with no other sounds or sights to guide you, you allowed the strange voice to lead you into the uncertain void.

You'd never known darkness like that. It felt impenetrable, like each step you were about to take would be stopped by this solid, black wall. But somehow, you kept going, that mysterious voice laying the pathway stone by stone at your feet.

It was getting closer. You could feel it just as much as you could hear it. Your name in that spellbinding tone, over and over. Like a magician's chant. You'd never known your name could sound so beautiful.

The effect this simple sound had over you was bizarre. With every whisper of your name, it felt as though feathers were tickling at the parts of you that no one could see, griping fingers pulling you along from the inside out. Your consciousness started to take on that voice, every tunnel of your brain infected with its intonation. It was a hypnotic charm, a dazzling tango of magic and danger and everything you'd ever dreamt of.

It was unexplainable, but you had to be where that voice was. Something terrible would happen if you didn't find that voice. As though your entire body were becoming that voice, you found yourself swaying to the gentle melody of its inflections as you walked on. Closer and closer.

You felt your stomach drop when it started echoing. No. It couldn't be moving away. Not when you were so close. Panic tinted the fogged haze that the voice had coated your mind with, and with rational thought forgotten you broke into a frenzied run.

With no idea where you were going or what you might come across in the darkness, you began to run in the direction of a voice, your legs pumping furiously as you mindlessly pushed on, mind full of nothing except that foreign voice.

Suddenly, as you ran blindly through the darkness, a blinding light began to grow ahead of you. Like a spark of spine-tingling hope, your tiring legs managed to push on faster. Closer and closer to the light, the voice, the dreamy sound of your name.

As the light grew closer, your dream-stained eyes cleared to see a door, opening into this Heaven's light. Closer still, and you were shocked to see a figure standing in the light, a shadow person looming in the doorway.
Still, you didn't stop. You could only think how that must be who was shouting your name. And a voice as beautiful as that could only come from an angel.

You were metres away from the door when the shadow turned abruptly, pushing its features into the light. Only then, finally, did you stop. Because the thing in front of you was certainly no angel. It wasn't even human.

This thing had an anthropomorphic shape, with two arms and two legs, but it's face was grotesque, something that George A Romero had nightmares about. Blood dripped from empty eye sockets, staining the blue-tinted skin stretched thin across sharp bones. Its mouth hung slackly open as though its jaw was dislocated, revealing a black hole of a mouth with teeth that stuck up as sharp as fence posts. Yet, still, your name fell from its fragmented lips, no longer in the angel's choir but in a devil's sermon, the deep, cold voice ringing out and chilling the flesh of your arms.